Hysterectomy Gone Awry {Part 2}

When last we spoke on this topic, I left off with me about to leave the hospital.

But first I want to back the truck up a moment, because I realized belatedly that the title of these posts is something of a misnomer.

Saying that I had a hysterectomy gone awry is a bit of a lie. The hysterectomy went just fine. My uterus is in great shape, in that it is no longer inside of me. And the holes in my belly healed nicely.

It’s the incision FOLLOWING the hysterectomy that gave me all the problems in the aftermath.

It occurred to me I really need to belabor this point, because I don’t want to scare anyone into thinking I actually did have a hysterectomy gone awry… and because I don’t want to change someone’s mind about surgery given how messy mine got.

My problem was not a hysterectomy gone awry.

My problem was barfing gone wild.

Just so we’re all clear.

Sorry for accidentally being a big, fat, liar-pants.

Let’s talk about my holes.

That sounds dirty, but I assure you I ain’t even trying to go that direction. So get your mind out of the gutter and focus, people.

Hole #1: My belly button.

It’s now been over six weeks since the procedure was performed, and my belly button is still somewhat angry over the invasion. I don’t think it ever forgave me from the first time it got stabbed – I had a laparoscopic tubal ligation performed shortly after the birth of my daughter, who is about to turn ten, if that gives you any idea how much time has passed.

Pretty sure I can never wear a bikini ever again.

*snort*

Hole #2: The right side of my belly.

A second entry site to my belly button was necessary for the hysterectomy.

This one closed up and healed over pretty quickly. Now it’s just a scar.

Nifty.

Hole #3: ALSO on the right side of my belly.

I didn’t understand, at first, why I had two holes over there. When I asked my doctor in a subsequent visit, “Hey, so what’s this stab wound all about?” she reminded me of my ever-so-fun JP Bag.

Oh.

And just so you know, I was kidding just then when I called the JP Bag “fun”. It wasn’t fun in any way whatsoever. Let me tell you about this gem.

What is a Jackson-Pratt drain and how does it work?

A Jackson-Pratt (JP) drain is used to remove fluids that build up in an area of your body after surgery.

The JP drain is a bulb-shaped device connected to a tube. One end of the tube is placed inside you during surgery. The other end comes out through a small cut in your skin. The bulb is connected to this end. You may have a stitch to hold the tube in place.

The JP drain removes fluids by creating suction in the tube. The bulb is squeezed flat and connected to the tube that sticks out of your body. The bulb expands as it fills with fluid.

So basically I had this disgusting bag of gut juice hanging from my stomach. I could never remember what it was called so I kept calling it my Fun Bag, which nobody else appreciated.

And now let’s talk about my incision.

Let’s pretend I didn’t draw this, mkay?

For several weeks following my surgeries, the incision through which emergency repairs were made remained fairly gnarly. I felt, many days, like a ragdoll not quite properly sewn together.

It got infected. It stayed slimy. I visited the ER more than once. It’s been extremely slow to heal. Every time I follow up with my doctor, she burns it closed again with silver nitrate. My hubz thinks I must be worth a fortune with all that silver in my system. I just worry about setting off metal detectors.

It’s finally beginning to show some semblance of healthy mending. But this is after six weeks of hell, lots of pain killers, and several doses of antibiotics.

I told my hubz that the doctor said I could start having sex again, and we just laughed and laughed. There is nothing either of us wants less than seeing my gut torn open while in the throes of passion.

Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, doc.

We’re all good over here.

The post-surgery blues:

I spent the first week after being released from the hospital at my sister’s house, and it’s a darn good thing I did. I needed help with so many things.

I somehow managed to wipe my own ass sans assistance, but only god knows how.

Taking a shower during that time period counted as having had an extremely productive day, as doing so wore me out.

I slept a lot.

And I texted my sister for the most miniscule things. Usually when she was right down the hall from me.

Turn on my light.
Turn off my light.
Fetch me some water.
Fetch my chapstick.
Get my book.
Get my iPod.
I need my charger.
I want my purse.

Jesus, I don’t know how she put up with me. Especially on top of providing my meals and driving me to check-ups and just generally babying me. She is an angel.

And that’s what I gained most from this situation.

Not just better health from having my uterus removed. Not just knowing there will be no more painful periods. Not just saving money on all the feminine products we never have to buy for me ever again. Those things are all terrific, in and of themselves.

But more than all that, I learned how lucky I am to have family who will do the gross stuff, the hard stuff, and the embarrassing stuff.

There is nothing quite so humbling as not being able to pull up one’s own panties.

My sister must really love me a ton.

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