My Surgery Story, No I’m Not Being Dramatic

 My Surgery Story, No I’m Not Being Dramatic

This story, my story, might be too much information, but these things need to be talked about

To understand where my mind and body were feeling at the time, we have to go back to May 2018, one year before my surgery. My family and I were living in Iwakuni, Japan near the Marine Corps Air Station for my husband’s job.  I had been feeling off and that something wasn’t quite right. Was it my IUD? This was my third one and it just had not been the same experience as the first two. I made an appointment with the GYN for a routine mammogram since I was 41-year-old. The GYN didn’t see me, but sent his Corpsman, a Marine medical specialist, instead. We talked, and I explained everything from how I wasn’t feeling myself, that I was fatigued, had hormonal imbalances with frequent episodes of crying for no reason, and horrible migraines. My migraines suddenly progressed from a couple per year to one or two a month.  The Corpsman went back, talked with the GYN, returned with the diagnosis of early menopause, and I was to keep using the same IUD. There was no blood work, no gynecological exam, and no follow up with any specialists. I wasn’t happy with the situation, but just figured my body hated me like it always does.

In addition, I attributed my change of emotions to major life events.  In August 2018, Alex, my son, came home from his mission, and left in October to live with his future in-laws. My son was going to be married, but there were no details. Three months later on November 20 of the same year just before Thanksgiving, a young boy from our scout troop unexpectedly died. This was super hard on everyone in our community. It was especially hard on our family. We had known the family for quite some time, and it devastated us. Our families were so close that everyone in our house cried all the time. On Thanksgiving, I went to lunch at my church and sobbed uncontrollably nearly the whole time. There were more tragedies that occurred shortly after in our community, including a plane crash that killed six people. I was constantly falling apart. On December 22, 2018 Alex was married to a girl I had never met before flying to the states a couple days before the wedding. Yes, I was still constantly crying. So many emotions were bubbling over, but I was pretty sure there was an issue with my hormones.

So, into New Year 2019, I was still crying, but Marty and I had to make plans for the year.  In February, we found out Marty needed to go to Chicago, Illinois in May for work and he wanted to fly down and see family for a couple of days, so we booked it.  March 18, my IUD was due to come out, so I decided that maybe it was the issue, and I was not going to replace it. It turns out it wasn’t in there right anyway and so yes, perhaps it was the problem, or so we thought. For April, we decided that we would fly down to Okinawa, Japan and help run scout camp, which is over spring break. 

All plans changed in March 2019 when I had a really rough menstrual cycle. Two weeks later it was back, and it was terrible.  It lasted 12 days and was the week before and during camp. It was rough, almost bad enough for me to go to the hospital. I did not want to talk to all the Corpsmen and the front desk or the medical at camp, so I didn’t. I was borderline on how heavy my menstrual cycle was, but it was like that the full 12 days.  I even started clotting quite a bit. It went away, so I thought maybe it was just because I got my IUD out. I procrastinated out of shyness and some embarrassing conversations I didn’t want to have. Big regrets on my part. So, we got home from camp, and I thought okay, I’m good, no more bleeding. Then it comes back two days later with a vengeance. I soak through a super plus everything every time I stand up from sitting. I have to clean the bathroom every time I used it because it looked like a murder scene. I could not get out of the shower without needing a second shower. I had bloody footprints on the floor. I refused to go to emergency medical on base, as I still did not want to deal with the front desk, all the Corpsmen, and a male doctor who I was convinced would not care. I called, but they couldn’t fit me in at the GYN for two days, so I waited. I told Marty it was terrible, but I don’t think he knew how bad it was or he would have made me go in immediately.

I went in for my appointment, and the GYN said, “Oh, we have to see where it’s coming from, and we need to get it stopped.” She did an exam and an ultrasound and said she saw fibroids sitting on my cervix, and I needed to get them treated in town by the local, Japanese GYN. She wasn’t sure what that treatment would be. She prescribed birth control pills. Her prescription said 5 for 5 days, 4 for 4 days, 3 for 3 days, 2 for 2 days, then 1 a day. When I took my prescription to get filled, the pharmacist said, without consulting the GYN, “Oh, that’s a mistake” and basically rewrote the prescription to day 1 take 5, day 2 take 4, day 3 take 3, day 4 take 2, day 5 take 1. I went home and took the prescription.  Yep, you guessed it; by day four, my heavy bleeding was back and horrible again. I emailed my doctor using the messaging service, and she told me to go on base to the medical clinic’s emergency department and she would write orders for more testing. I went in and got tested for a blood transfusion, but my counts were still somehow okay, so I didn’t need it. I was prescribed Tranexamic Acid, a medication used to treat heavy bleeding during menstrual cycles, which apparently, as I found out later, is a big deal. I started over on my prescription pills with the original plan. I had an appointment already scheduled for out in town a few days later at the local, Japanese OB-GYN. I felt crazy and yes, still emotional, but also now on abnormally high amounts of birth control pills.

I went to the local OB-GYN in town, Dr. Shoji. I had heard only good things about the ancient man and his outdated hospital. He examined me, and his ultrasound was about thirty seconds. He told me that I needed surgery and a total hysterectomy. I was so miserable, and I asked, “When can we schedule it?” His reply was he required permission from the base medical clinic, which was baffling because the base acts like it’s not their concern most of the time. I talked to the base medical clinic, received the letter, saw Dr. Shoji again, and booked my appointment for May 23, 2019. Yep, right when Marty would be going to his Mom’s instead of coming home from Chicago.

Surgery was scheduled, and I was psyching myself up for it. The plan was that I would have an epidural, and Dr. Shoji would open me up like a C-section. They said that I needed to have that type of procedure because exploratory surgery needed to be done.  This all just sounded terrible. Hunter was going to have to be my adult and help take care of me in the hospital for the first few days. I think Marty was scheduled to get home three days after my surgery. Dr. Shoji had planned to keep me 6-8 days in the hospital after surgery, depending on how it went. This was the worst timing and plan ever. Plus, I’m still emotional and cry at everything.

May 22, 2019 was my check in day at the Japanese hospital. In Japan, you are required to stay at the hospital the night before any major procedure. This was foreign to me, and I was so nervous.  The day of my medical procedure was strange. Marty had two other ladies show up for support and sit with Hunter while I was in surgery, just in case something happened.  I was scheduled at 1:00 P.M., but I was in so much pain that morning and started bleeding again, so they gave me a shot of pain medication.  I also had to wear this maternity style pink polka dot polyester dress that was so irritating. I walked back to surgery, not knowing what to expect.

When I reached the operating room, I was told to take off all my clothes and climb on the table. This was so awkward and uncomfortable. Then, I was just lying there waiting, with everyone buzzing around.  Suddenly, I was told to roll over and without much instruction I got three shots in my back. They stung so bad but numbed me up. During this entire time, I was still one hundred percent naked. I thought someone was trying to give me the epidural, but I couldn’t feel anything. The nurse said they were having trouble, so she sat me up and hugged me into a ball, all while I was still naked. My leg was shaking uncontrollably, and I couldn’t feel my back, but after maybe five minutes, she laid me down. The nurse finally put a towel over me.  I thought the epidural is in, but no one tells me anything. They started an IV, and more people were buzzing around. I watched the nurse give me a shot in the IV, and I started getting loopy and still completely unaware that they didn’t get the epidural in yet. Then, a mask was placed on my face, which I recognized as the same stuff the dentist uses, so laughing gas.  I was feeling pretty woozy but still awake. Then they started tying me down, and I started panicking and maybe fighting back. I must have drifted off. Then I was awake again, and I was not sure if they knew it or not. I took my last breath. I realize I am not breathing, but I was not panicking. I remember thinking, “I hope they notice I’m not breathing.” Then I felt so much pain in my throat. I wasn’t aware, or maybe I wasn’t comprehending, but I was being intubated while still awake and it hurt. I finally fell asleep after the feeling of not breathing passed.

I was awake, and I heard doctors speaking in Japanese and tools clanking and I felt things. My brain thought it was a nightmare. I thought maybe I should lay off the Criminal Minds. I felt pain, and I thought wait, my surgery isn’t till next Wednesday. This can’t be real! I need to wake up. Then the worst pain shot up my spine. I felt a strange feeling, and I realized it was the doctor’s hands inside of me, taking out my insides. There was more scooping and clanking, and I felt him lay something down on the table between my thighs. I was trying to talk, but I couldn’t move my mouth or make any sounds. I couldn’t open my eyes. The nurse was holding my hand; I could feel her rubbing it, so I thought I would try to squeeze or move my fingers, but no, it didn’t work! I thought maybe my toes would move; I kept trying, but nothing would move. I felt an indescribable pain, and it seared up my spine every time the doctor moved in the scooping motion. I realized I can’t do this. I cannot physically endure this pain, and I was going to die! I wanted to die. I was praying ferociously and saying, “I can’t endure this, it’s more than I can handle.” The pain continued, and I wanted to scream. I began asking God to let me die so that this pain will end. In that moment, when I was at peace and letting go of everything, my head twitched without me trying.

Someone grabbed my head, and the pain continued. He let go, and I tried and twitched my head again. Immediately everything stopped. There was no more pain. All the tools were laid down. The nurse began rubbing my arm, and a few seconds later, I was asleep. The next time I awoke was with Dr. Shoji yelling at me to open my eyes, but I couldn’t.  Finally, I open one eye. Somehow my cornea in the other eye got scratched. I drifted out again. I awoke again to Dr. Shoji yelling at me some more to open my eyes and wanting to know if I can breathe. I immediately panicked and remembered that I can’t breathe! I told him yes just to get the tube out. He removed it, and it took me a bit to breathe again. I’m pretty sure they were holding their breath too. I fell back asleep.

When I woke up, they were dressing me, then lifting me to the bed, and rolling me to the room. I was so upset and in kind of a mental shutdown, but also on a lot of drugs, so I was unable to communicate in a coherent manner. Hunter and Paula said I kept mumbling. While I was still in the operating room, they took Paula and Hunter back where they thought it would be my recovery room, but nope, it was the room next to the operating room.  This was where Dr. Soji showed them my fibroid tumor. Of course, Hunter took a photo. It weighed 1.04 pounds and was the size of a softball. So basically, I had been three months pregnant for who knows how long, which explains why in April I lost weight but needed bigger clothes.

I was so miserable. Every time I fell asleep, I would wake up gasping for air. I was also allergic to the sticky pads on the heart monitor, so when they pulled them off, it took the skin with it. I had two scabby circles on my chest, and they burned.  In the first 24 hours, I had an IV with effective pain meds. After 24 hours, they switched me to Tylenol - the regular kind. The pain was awful. At 24 hours, I also lost my catheter and had to pee since I was getting IV fluids and antibiotics. I had to walk 40 -50 feet down the hall to the bathroom. They needed to measure my pee, so they gave me a clear cup like a solo cup to pee in. So, picture this, twenty-four hours after this trauma, I have an 8-inch incision, and I only have Tylenol as pain medication, and I’ve walked leaning at a 90-degree angle with a walker to the bathroom! And, now I’m supposed to somehow pee in this cup!  This continued for three days, people.

In the first few days recovering in the hospital, I basically refused guests. I cried so much and was just balled up and extremely traumatized. I kind of felt like a prisoner and incapable of escape. I did finally let someone come and give me a blessing. I also had support through pray from my church’s stake patriarch and his wife. A few days before my surgery, I received a call from him, and he was looking for Marty. During our conversation, the stake patriarch asked me how things were, and I just puked up all my stress and health issues on him. He was super sweet; his wife had had issues and surgery before, and he was so understanding and said he would pray for me. The Sunday after he had flown in to visit the branch and after church came to see me. It was then when I finally felt a little peace and was able to start talking. Marty came in on Monday evening, and I must have looked rough because he looked at me like I would break. Additionally, I let Kjirsty, my good friend, visit and finally, I felt like I wasn’t alone. I was able to tell her what happened, and she confirmed I wasn’t crazy or making a mountain out of a molehill. She also washed my hair because I couldn’t shower for days and brought food that wasn’t fish and rice, the typical Japanese diet, because I was still in a Japanese hospital.

My timeline after surgery is a little wonky because of the state I was in afterward. Sometime around day 3-4 post-surgery, I asked Dr. Shoji when I could go home. He laughed and left with no reply. I also asked him what happened during my surgery. His replied that I was okay. I asked if I got to keep my ovaries. He said yes (true, I think), but total hysterectomy, which later I discovered was not true. Around day five, I couldn’t take the pain and started keeping an ice pack on my belly. Finally, after many tears, I was prescribed Loxoprophen, a much more potent drug, according to them. It was not FDA approved, and it was just good ibuprofen. My pain was better managed but still terrible. I never slept more than 45 minutes for the whole hospital stay since I frequently woke up gasping for air and coughing, which really hurt after surgery. Later I found out my pain was multiplied by the fact my muscles retracted during the surgery when I woke up from the trauma and pain. After I spent eight days in the Japanese hospital, which I call prison, I was so glad to be home. After a few days, I went on base to the medical clinic, was prescribed tramadol, and finally experienced some real pain relief. I had a follow-up appointment at the clinic with the GYN, where I was finally given aftercare instructions.  One would think that Dr. Shoji would have given them to me after my surgery. Guess not! I told the GYN what happened during my surgery, she cried, hugged me, and helped book a counseling appointment. I was a mess.

At my two-week appointment with Dr. Shoji, my incision was oozing blood and not closed up all the way. He said I was fine and released me from care with zero instructions. I continued care on base at the medical clinic and was told to use Neosporin to help close up the incision. I developed a yeast infection on my skin due to the moisture from the bandages. At five weeks post-surgery, I went to scout camp with my troop. I didn’t lift or do much; I was there for my experience and my brain, and that was it. At my 8-week follow up exam, it was discovered that I still had my cervix.  I did not have a total hysterectomy like Dr. Shoji told me. The GYN on base at the medical clinic speculates that when I woke up, they just did what they had started and left everything else. My surgery cost $6000, including eight days in the hospital.

Summer 2019 was long and painful. All my muscles hurt, and I couldn’t walk much, but I kept just trying. Finally, I decided I needed to work through it! I started being able to do more, and I flew to the states with Hunter for college. We went to Nashville, Tennessee to spend time with family, picked up my car, and headed to Arizona to drop off Hunter at college and visit family. The second night on the road, we stopped in Flagstaff, Arizona and I needed to get the brakes fixed on the car before heading to Yuma. That night I was in so much pain, and I had been struggling with water retention in my legs. I thought about calling an ambulance but was afraid to leave Hunter in an unknown place and in a different country than he was used to. I decided to tough it out. I got the car fixed but had to walk to lunch and back and thought I might die. I considered stopping in Phoenix for the hospital but was worried about what to do with Hunter if we got stuck there. I called my Mom and told her I needed to see a doctor as soon as I got there. Luckily one had just moved to her area and worked evenings. The doctor saw me for only a few minutes and decided I needed to be seen at the hospital, as she thought I had a blood clot.

In the emergency room, the medical staff thought I had a blood clot as well; they just weren’t sure where. I underwent two CT scans with contrast and an ultrasound of my legs.  Twelve hours and $12,000 later, surprise I had pneumonia and diverticulitis. No one could hear the pneumonia, not even the respiratory therapist who examined me when he came to give me medication. The CT scan showed that both lungs were completely filled with pneumonia. The ER doctor wanted to admit me, and we went back and forth. I promised her I would rest more if I wasn’t admitted. The thought of being trapped in another hospital was terrifying. The ER doctor was pretty sure I acquired both infections while in the hospital during or after surgery. I had a double infection all summer, and the fluid issue was the beginning of kidney failure. She said it was the kind of pneumonia they don’t usually get lucky enough to find until it is too late. Once again, I was blessed to survive. I did rest, but I also had to get Hunter signed into his dorm room at college and shop at Walmart using the motorized cart for all of the stuff he needed.

My two-week trip to the states turned into a month before I was cleared to fly back. In the months since I have had physical therapy every few weeks until January of this year, now I do it on my own. I still have a lot of physical pain. I still have psychotherapy every week. It is amazing how everything just kind of layers until you break. The surgery no longer causes me physical pain when I talk about it, but I still get very anxious when I have to deal with doctors. In 2020, I’ve stopped crying so much. This has been a challenging time in my life, and everyone has been extremely patient with me, especially when I was so fragile. I am feeling stronger as we approach the one-year mark, but I still have some struggles to overcome.  Since then, my first grandchild, a little girl, was born. I think she has really helped me to heal. Part of this healing process has been learning to sit with the broken pieces until they can be mended. The other part for me was realizing at those times where I have been the most helpless and as alone as I could get, Heavenly Father was there with me, and he carried me out of those places when I couldn’t bear it. I recognize His hand in my survival and my healing process.