The Story of My Surgery

I find it weird how one part of my day I'm running on the boardwalk(which by the way is about 5 miles total), working at my store which consists of me running around like a crazy person for about ten hours straight with only a break of an hour of which I'm on conference call while stuffing my face, come home to no parking spaces so I must walk about 10 blocks to my house, and then another part of my day I'm laying in bed and not being able to sleep because I have a sharp, stabbing pain in my left side. At which I had to get up and be back at work at 9am. I'm totally used to running on no hours of sleep at work; Saturdays are normally like that for me, but this pain on my left side was not normal. It truly felt like someone was stabbing me in the ovary. I thought it would just go away throughout the day, that I could just walk it off. I thought wrong. As the day went by, the pain became worse. I'm not one to really complain about pain and even when I'm sick at work, I just suck it up and keep going. I've had my head in a toilet and then kept working, had beads of sweat coming off my forehead because of a fever and kept working, couldn't see what I was doing because of seeing spots during a migraine headache and kept working, lost my voice and kept working, been delusional because of lack of sleep and kept working, basically broke my foot from dropping a keyboard right on top of it and kept working. But this pain, I felt like throwing up because of this pain. I left work early that day crying in pain.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. I thought I could just sleep it off and wake up energized and ready for another work day. I thought wrong again. The pain was still very much there. While living in NY I haven't needed to go to a doctor yet. Which I actually hate going to see a doctor anyway, so even if I was sick I'd just take some Dayquil and deal with it. It being a Sunday and not having a doctor left me no choice, I had to go to the ER. I can honestly say I've never had to go to the ER. Well maybe I have after my brother pulled my arm out of socket when I was in pre-school and had to get my arm put in a sling, but I can't really remember that trip.

Thank God for my awesome friends I've made while living in NY. Bridget brought me to the Long Beach Medical Center, which was a bad choice. I got right in, saw the doctor, had an ultrasound, but after they figured out what was wrong with me the OB/GYN that was on call had made plans and couldn't come in. Really dude? I could be freakin' dying here but your plans into the city are more important than my life? Thanks to this jerk, I had a fun ambulance ride to South Nassau Hospital where I was questioned yet again for why I had come to the ER, sat in a hospital gown in a half open curtained room where I could see a fat old man standing in the hallway with his gown halfway off(thank God he had shorts on, but really I did not need to see his belly), an old guy next to me puking his guts out, a guy(or maybe it was a woman?) screaming at the top of his lungs in a very New England accent for a doctor and for some medicine(at which I almost yelled back "shut the hell up!"),  2 hours waiting for yet another ultrasound to be done on my lower half, after which another 2 hours waiting in a bed beside a desk in the ER, and then to get discharged and an IV pulled out of my arm at which blood soaked up the band aid and bruised up my arm like I was a battered wife(which I still have a huge bruise from) and had to walk to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown with my ass almost hanging out for all the ER to see. Yeah, that was a fun day.

So after my total 7 and 1/2 hours in 2 ER's, the conclusion of my visit was that I had a rather large dermoid cyst on my left ovary. They had thought it was torsion or "twisting" my left ovary which would have cut off the blood circulation and would have meant I would have needed emergency surgery to save my ovary. This was not the case so they let me go back home but I was to not work and to call the doctor in the morning. The next day I called the doctor and she said to come right in. She did yet another ultrasound and saw I had another cyst that was leaking and that my dermoid cyst was about 2 inches tall and 2 inches wide(maybe a bit bigger than a golf ball?). On my way there I had been in so much pain I was crying. She said the pain would not go away until the cyst was removed and that I needed it removed soon because she was afraid it would twist my ovary. She had a very busy schedule the rest of the week but she could actually do the surgery that night. I had to be back at the hospital at 4pm that day. This left me an hour and a half to pack a few things, call my family, text my friends, call my boss, and find a ride back to the hospital.

So I know getting a cyst removed is really quite common. I know a few people that have had this done and it was an in and out kind of thing. Knowing this still didn't ease my worries about having surgery. The only other surgery I've had was getting my wisdom teeth removed when I was 16(which was in and out, getting a cyst removed is NOT just in and out!). I was in NY by myself. I have a close group of friends that would do anything and I mean ANYTHING for me, but they all also have jobs and can't play nurse to me 24/7. I was in tears packing my bag for a surgery I was so unprepared, had no idea what to expect, I was alone, and I was scared shitless. This moment has now replaced my scariest moment I have spoke of in another post of when I had a low blood sugar attack.

Bridget took me back to the ER where I had to get admitted to the hospital for my surgery. They asked me yet again why I came to the ER, on a scale of 1 to 10 what my pain felt like, when my last period was, how tall I am, what I weigh, what I'm allergic to, what medical conditions I had, when my birthday was, what my favorite color was, what was my mother's maiden name, if I'd rather be a cowgirl, ninja or pirate, who was my celebrity crush, and what I would do for a Klondike bar(okay so maybe I threw a few questions in there, but I swear if I hear some of these questions again I might just scream.)

After another 3 hours of waiting in the ER waiting room with a man that reeked of BO and a screaming child, I was finally back in. I had my bed back by the ER office desk(I could literally answer the phone from my bed) and the same man nurse that left my arm black and blue. I sat reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang while waiting to get my lower abdomen cut on. I have come to the realization that hospitals are worse than rides at Disney. You wait and wait and wait but the outcome is definitely not a joyful ride down Space Mountain. I felt like Zack Morris in the episode of "they're going to hack Zack" when Zack had to get knee surgery. I even had the cheer going in my head that Kelly, Jessie and Lisa did in Zack's dream of his funeral before his surgery. "Z-a-c-k since he's gone, the sky turned gray, he hurt his knee, went under the knife, who'd have thought he'd lose his life? Yay. Rah." I felt like finding a hot male nurse to wheel me into the elevator and out of the hospital. Too bad the only male nurse on duty was Mohammed Ali and I'd probably just end up with another bruised body part if I asked him to do anything.

An hour before my surgery, my aunt that lived near Philly arrived. Thank the Lord for her. I don't know how I would have lived through this whole ordeal without her. She is a saint. 9pm hit and it was time to go. They already had an IV in me and some kind of fluid flowing. In the operating room, they asked the same questions all doctors and nurses must be programmed to ask. I was nice while answering the questions yet again because 1, these ladies were so nice and B, these were the ones that would be cutting on me. After that, they rolled me into another room, moved me onto another bed, and told me to count back from 10. I have no idea what number I got to before I was out.

I awoke to a huge light being moved out of my face and a few people above me. I thought, shit! I must have fallen asleep in the tanning bed and these people somehow unlocked my door and came in to wake me up. This was until I felt the small pain in my lower abdomen. Yeah this definitely wasn't a trip to the tanning salon. My doctor explained to me what happened. I had not only 1 dermoid cyst, but yet another one on the other ovary. My ovaries had somehow switched places so what we had thought my left ovary had the huge cyst was really my right ovary and my left ovary was where my right one should have been. My uterus and areas around it like my bladder were filled with scar tissue from endometriosis. The doctor had scraped up the tissue from the endometriosis. She had put my organs all back to where they are supposed to go and had removed all cysts. This is going to sound gross but I gotta say it. If you don't know what a dermoid cyst is and have a strong stomach, goggle image it. A dermoid cyst actually might have hair, teeth, nails, skin, fat, and other human parts. After I had goggled this, I had imagined this little blob with hair and teeth biting at my ovary. The doctor said mine had almost as much hair as I had on my head and a tooth(which I have no idea how that much hair is possible). I think in my morphine and anaesthesia state of mind I asked if I could see it. And if it was a blonde(it was not. And no I could not see it).

After telling my aunt a couple of times how I felt like my Nana, I was wheeled to the pediatric floor to a room. I know I look young but Jesus do I really look like a kid? It wasn't that bad except for that first night. Two screaming babies, a machine that kept beeping on the other side of the curtain because the lady didn't know how to keep her IVed arm straight, and nausea sweeping me from the morphine. Let's just say I didn't get much sleep and was very grumpy when the nurse kept taking my vitals every time I was able to finally drift to sleep and then the blood taking lady came. I had no idea what vain this lady was going to stab seeing how all of them seemed to be black and blue at the time.

Later on that day, I was given jello and some broth and told I needed to try to get up and start walking around. I must say, you really do take a lot of things for granted. All I wanted at that time was a #2 from McDonalds. And getting out of bed, easier said than done. I'd taken for granted getting out of bed on my own, being able to sleep on my stomach, being able to use the bathroom, to eat regular solid food, to run or even walk for that matter, to put on socks, to bend down and pick up something, to be able to sneeze or cough and not feel like my insides were going to come out, to shower with both arms since one hurt from my IV, to drive where ever I wanted, to just be independent and not depend on someone to help you do daily things. It really sucks.

Thank God for the nurse and my aunt.  Oh and the hospital bed. I really should get one of those for my bedroom. I was finally on my feet and walking the hallway of the hospital. By dinner time, I was able to eat real food. Yeah it was hospital food, but it was solid FOOD. I devoured a cheeseburger and fries.

I ended up staying in the hospital for 3 nights. Way longer than I had expected or hoped for. I've always hated hospitals but I was grateful to be on the Peds floor away from the old dying people and around a few kids and babies. After being wheeled out of the hospital, it was off to West Chester, PA to stay at the Hotel Callaway.

I am so grateful to have my aunt and uncle help take care of me and help with my recovery. Although I didn't like that I had to leave my home and friends in LB, being at my aunt and uncle's was the best choice for me to recover from my surgery. My days of recovery consisted of more than enough daytime TV to plan a wedding and change my wardrobe(I am now obsessed with TLC), catch up on what I've missed on my soap(I've been watching Days of Our Lives since I was like 5) and get all the good celeb gossip. I watched dozens of chick flicks that took me out of reality, and read "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" that put me back into reality of how guys can be such assholes. And of course I blogged a bit. Hopefully I will have some more posts up soon!

Now I am back in LB and still on the road to a full recovery. My doctor said I was healing nicely but I did not need to overdo it. I know I'm going to be fine now, but I'm worried about the years to come. There's a chance the cysts could come back. There's a chance of having trouble or not being able to have a baby. There's a chance of having to undergo a hysterectomy. I come from a family of women that have gone through this.  My grandmother had a hysterectomy at the age of 29.  My aunt and cousin had to have the same later on in their lives. This is something I am not looking forward to but know it's probably in my future. Right now I'm just going to worry about getting better and getting my life back to normal.

I want to take the time and thank my family and friends for all their love and support during this tough time. I definitely could not have lived through this without my aunt and uncle being there for me. And the rest of my friends and family for their prayers, visits to the hospital, phone calls, text messages, and fb message of concern and compassion. After this little bump in my life, it really shows how much love there is out there and how much people really do care about me.

The Game

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Stella right over. Marco. Polo! Red light. Green light! Tag, you're it. Ready or not here I come. Uno! Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.  As a child, games were fun. We could play them for hours on end and never tire, until someone gets mad or hurt. As an adult, people are still playing games. No, I'm not talking about playing Candyland here folks. I'm talking about the relationship game. Or should I say, the non-relationship game?

I thought being in my late 20's, people would just grow out of it. But I've found that it's almost worse than college and high school. Maybe I feel like it's worse because it's so unexpected at this age. At this age I find most people are settling down. They're getting serious, finding the ones they want to spend the rest of their lives with(or until they figure out it wasn't meant to be and end up in divorce). Sure, I've played the game before. And I've had games played on me. Don't hate the player, hate the game, right?  But at this age, aren't we just getting a little too old for game playing?

And by games I mean this: guy meets girl. Guy gets girl's number. Guy doesn't call girl until after 3 days. Guy finally calls(texts in this day in age) girl. Guy takes girl out. Guy doesn't call girl for another 3 days. Within these 3 days, guy is calling other girls. Hanging out with other girls. All the while girl is waiting by her phone. Turning her phone off and on to see if it's just her bad service. Bringing her phone into the bathroom when she showers just in case he calls. Gets disappointed when her phone finally rings and sees it's just her mother. Ignoring the other guy that's calling her that she should be talking to and making plans with because he's the good guy and is actually into her. But no, she wants the guy that makes her wait. The guy that acts like he's not into her. The one that plays hard because she's not the only one he's focused on. She wants the one that is the most challenging for her.

It's a proven fact. Girls love assholes. Girls don't usually go for the good guys. And the good guys just don't understand this. Why do girls love assholes so much? Being an asshole lover myself, I'll give you my insight:
Have you ever seen a chick flick that sounds like this: Guy meets girl. Guy and girl fall in love. The end. I'm gonna go with no. Most chick flicks go something like this: Guy meets girl. Guy is an asshole and the girl hates the guy at first. Some kind of conflict happens and the girl starts seeing the guy in a different light and the guy totally changes into her prince charming. Guy becomes totally head over heels for girl and tells her how he's never felt this way about anyone and how he couldn't live without her. Guy is somehow changed into a whole different person and no longer the asshole from the beginning of the movie. And they live happily ever after. The end.

Girls see something like this in every chick flick. Just look at The Ugly Truth, Failure to Launch, 27 Dresses, Catch and Release, I could go on forever. We want that asshole. That guy that's a challenge that plays games with us but that we think we can change into our perfect man. We want our own chick flick. Why would we want to go for the nice guy? The safe guy that's so easy for us to catch? When I go fishing, I want a huge bass, not a little guppy that always comes to my line. My arms might be tired after reeling it in, tugging and pulling at my pole, I might have to use some really nice bait, and I might have to use help from my friends to help pull my big bass out of the water, but by golly I want a really nice catch to brag about and to hang over my mantel and a good story of how I finally got this nice catch.

I'm sorry to all the good guys out there. Recently I have found myself liking the good guys more and more, but I'm a girl who doesn't live my life taking the easy path. I like a challenge. I feed off challenges. And assholes are challenging.

Assholes are challenging because they play the game. We want the guy who's not calling us. Not giving us too much attention. It may drive us crazy but it drives us to like the guy even more. And most assholes know this. They know how to play the game and they play it well. They are the Tiger Woods, the Derek Jeter, the Lebron James of playing the game. It's sad to think, but we probably wouldn't even like them as much as we do if they weren't playing games.

And to all those guys reading this out there, yes, I know girls can play the game just as hard. I've been there. Which I wasn't a player, I just crushed a lot. Two can play at these games. But when the game starts getting played hard, this is when someone usually gets hurt. And it almost always is the girl that ends up losing because we get way too emotionally attached.

After 28 years of life and about 15 years of that dealing with the assholes out there, I think I have come to the realization that I'm getting over the game playing. I don't find it fun anymore. I can't say I ever found someone playing games with my heart ever fun. I will probably always have that love for assholes and a challenge, but I'm just getting too old and too tired to keep up with it all anymore. Guess that's just me growing up.