Forewarning: I have a blunt and dire sense of humour, and humour is how I handle bad news. However deprecating. Also - google has already done a great job of executing my hope for a future free of symptoms; please don't share stories for your struggle and wrong turns right now... as I'm sure you'll read I've already been frightened by doctors misdiagnosing another illness.
After quite an exciting end to 2016 where Santa gave me the Appendipocalypse for Christmas, (my Appendix grumbled since November, was diagnosed as everything that could go wrong with a woman except for appendicitis and was then removed on the 24th December as I tip toed on the tightrope of blood poisoning. I'm hoping for fantastic presents this year for the 30th I tried to not make), my health became a mystery. I'm not sure when symptoms began - I'm terrible at keeping diaries and remembering timelines and often misremember the age of my cat - but I became more aware of them as I slowly healed from emergency keyhole-turned-open surgery. And more anxious when they seemed unpredictable in how they presented.
The surgeon had removed the thing which was causing my discomfort.
I had spent four days hooked up to a drip feeding me antibiotics and water to flush the infection from my system.
I had rested like the text book had described and become more active as recovery allowed.
With the luxury of a physiotherapist I was regaining control of my core so I would be able to return to hillwalking, climbing, cycling - this I felt was the gateway to finding me again after such a large operation.
Why was I being woken up by a crippling nausea and clawing pain in my abdomen?
Why was I having to stop mid-cycle to breathe through what felt like a twist in my gut This wasn't the pain I was hoping for during a steep climb - my legs weren't even burning yet.
Why was sex uncomfortable, I found I needed more to distract myself.
What on earth had been done to me for such suffering after an orgasm?!
I spent time after intercourse, or when doing nothing drooling with nausea into the toilet (which is exceptionally clean now. While waiting for nausea to pass one might as well scrub the bog), clutching a hot water against my abdomen because pain relief wasn't giving me relief for what I thought was either my phantom appendix coming back to haunt me or the worst period cramps of my life.
I periodically visited my doctor and once we could confirm the pain wasn't from scar tissue knitting and tearing as my body put itself back together, I began to go for scans. First we considered the pesky ovarian cysts on my right ovary (annoyingly on the opposite side from the most intense pain) but when monitoring suggested that these cysts were benign I was referred to a a specialist gynaecologist. I saw him today - after putting it off in the hope of saving myself the indignity of having an internal ultrasound - which never happened anyway.
Because I'm already on nexplanon, which is what they'd use to try and stop my periods in the first instance (my body would like you to all know that it will have a period when it feels like it, artificial hormone rods be damned!), and I've had the scans and ultrasounds, it feels like the most appropriate action is a laparoscopy to see if they can find anything where it shouldn't be. There's also a likelihood that my symptoms are coincidentally corresponding with my cycles (this time around, I can't remember a connection in previous episodes) and that the problem is actually scar tissue. If it's something simple they'll try to fix it while they're inside.
I'm shitting myself, of course. I don't like the idea of having the complications described or a reoccurrence of the symptoms in the future because my body has decided to malfunction in a most inconvenient way (I recently had my helix pierced, it's become inflamed. I see this as an omen for how my body will punish me in the future for how I decide to interfere with it)
On the bright side, I really like the jelly pots that hospitals give you when they're trying to entice adults to eat. I'm looking forward to getting some more of those with my dinner.
The laparoscopy should be in the next few weeks. If I respond to the anaesthetic this time in the same way I did last time you should look forward to me singing about my experience and sending it across social media.
My friends are still talking about it. Sigh.