Good morning everyone! I begin again with this blog post that I’ve honestly not the right words to write. I am more concerned that I have the energy in alignment with my own soul, than the “right” words.So…second day out of the gate and I did not wake up at 5:00am to blog, as I had committed to. I want to be honest with you about my last two weeks. I’ve not been dishonest, although I have been vague. I have been vague, to be honest, because I have no words. I have words…plenty of words…I haven’t known which ones to use. I will say it has been a mother fucking doozie! So, an update on my medical situation, for those of you following.
I tell you my medical update story now, for those of you following. This may not be one of my highest vibrating blog posts, and I will see what I can do to keep it high, as I relay my experience of the last few weeks of my life. Please keep in mind, as always, that this is my blog. I write to get it all out, and when you see what “it all” is…I am sure you can understand why I need to purge it the fuck out of me. I write about my life experience and I write, only to heal myself. I send all that does not serve me back to the universe to be recycled for the greatest good of us all. I mean no harm in telling my story, not to me or to anyone else. My immediate family and any reference I make to them is fairly obvious, and so I am very dedicated to exercising decorum and keeping my story mine. With that being said, one plus one still does equal two. If you are good at math, you might figure things out or conclude things that I have chosen, for reasons of my own, to be ambiguous about. I am not good at math and even I can do this math. Good thing that I fucking hate math and this is not math class…this is Corals blog…and today, I may say some things that hurt or offend you. I will say some shocking things in this blog today. Today’s blog will be a mother fucking doozie and WAY too much truth for people who cannot really see me. For those of you who cannot feel me, this may be like every other blog, and yet, I doubt it, because you do feel me, don’t you? I feel you too, which is why I put a warning on this blog post, right here, so you can stop reading now and call it a day, if you do feel me. If you feel me, this blog will hurt you and upset you, and I just want you to know, before you keep reading…if you love Sam and if you love Coral, this one is going to hurt you. Fair enough?
With all of that being said, I am going to write about my experience of the surgery I have blogged so much about, until I went silent. My silence, truly, for those of you who know me well, only takes over, when I simply cannot speak of it. I begin by thanking my medical team for all of they have done for me and continue to do for me. Doctors are practicing medicine. I know that, so well, as all of us, no matter our profession, we are practicing every single day, every procedure…we are practicing. Doctors practice medicine. So, with that being said, I will suffice to say that I hope we all learned a lot. We are all just walking each other home and sometimes, we will stumble. It matters not that we stumbled, only that we get back up.
As many of you know, I have some very serious PTSD. I am actually diagnosed with CPTSD. I am a survivor and I have some issues. Fuck, this girl has back issues! Touching me is not a luxury that most people get. I am closed up tight. My body, and my psyche…my very soul…fractured in ways that most people will never be able to comprehend. My body, harmed. My spirit tarnished and getting polished every single day.
I don’t get routine Paps. I don’t get colonoscopies and mammograms. I cannot be put in stirrups. You cannot stick your hand or even your pinky finger in, when my body clamps shut. You can’t talk me or walk me or force me through this. I have forced me and Sam through this and not only does it not end well, it causes me to teeter of of my mother fucking rails. I want to be clear when I say that I cannot, not that I will not, be a “normal” person and walk into an OBGYN and get ‘er done. I cannot do this…not paps, not pelvic procedures and not “let’s just take a look see”…not this girl.
Pain in my abdominal and pelvic area, bordering my rectal area became intolerable, and so Sam and I had to make some hard decisions. Can we live with our pain ranging in our scale, which is off the charts for most? If we cannot, and we could not, live with the pain in our ass and our pelvic area, we have to let someone else help us.
I called a dear friend of mine, one of my very, very dearest friends. I was broken. I asked her to help me and together, we made calls and assembled medical teams to assist me on my road to health and becoming pain free. Countless calls, insurance calls and doctors calls and visits and procedures…Sam and I, with much love and support from Tamara, stepped up to this challenge.
Two weeks ago, we submitted and we showed up at The hospital, ready…as ready as we would ever be…to heal this pain. I had to be sedated to be put under anesthesia. I had to go back, by myself. I did it! Sam and I got in that gurney, naked and scared, agitated and alone….scared and hyperventilating…our voice shaking and tears pouring from our eyes…we closed our eyes tight and we prayed. We said thank you. We asked God to guide the surgeon and her team, that we be mended. After what felt like a long time, we left where we were.
I remember seeing my surgeon, and she was happy and smiling. My anesthesiologist was wonderful. The nurse was compassionate and kind and double checked all of my meds to be sure they were vegan and wouldn’t cause me further complications. My nurse in the room was gentle and kind. My friends, the closest I have, and my girl, all waiting for me in the OR waiting room. All was as good as it could be and so off we went.
I remember nothing, except that I was back in that room and I kept crying in pain and asking for Tamara. For a really long time, I was hurting and no Tamara. I heard a series of phone calls, in which a patient had not been discharged. Several More pages and calls and that Doctor had left the building…could someone please come discharge this patient, as her doctor has left the building? That patient was me and that doctor that left the building, was my doctor. The pain was Intolerable, and time was passing slowly, as they waited for someone else to discharge me. They got me up to urinate, which was a green light to get to go home. I asked to stay overnight from the get go, so that I would not be cathetered and so that They could address any complications. My Doctor has said she would admit me if she needed to and on that morning, she said I would definitely not be admitted. Tamara and I panicked a bit. We live far away. I’m a lot to handle when Sam is clear and present. We accepted that we were going to have to figure it out, and we have figured it out, the best that we can.
The nurse in the room came back in and told me that Tamara said I would be cold, and she was right. Kindly, she rubbed my feet and helped me to warm up. I asked again for Tamara and she said I would see her soon. I told her I was hurting, really hard, and she got the anesthesiologist to come talk to me. He was also kind and injected somthing into my IV for pain. When I peed, before those pain meds hit me , I thought I was going to fucking die. I peed though, so I could go home. That’s what they said and that’s what I did.
Finally, my nurse, went and got my clothes and got me dressed. He was very gentle and kind. I was handed my pain ball, in a little fanny pack, and told that it would do its job, and I need not worry. This pain ball would administer my pain meds for several days and I could supplement with oral meds that I had already picked up from the pharmacy. With my pain ball in hand, and hurting like fuck, off we rode to get my girl.
My surgery was Tuesday morning. I was sent home, with my pain ball. My pain was high, very, very high. I medicated orally. My understanding was that I was in to get pelvic injections, to stop the pain that I came in for. As a trauma victim, high on the CPTSD chart, in times like these, I came in to stop the pain. Extensive measures had to be taken, as I cannot have those injections, in my pelvic floor, in a regular office visit, like the lady before me or the ten coming in after me. I had to be under anesthesia, for this routine procedure, and so I was.
My pain running consistently at 9-15, my family history of cancer and my Mom dying at 66 of stage four breast cancer, bumped me to the top of every fucking list, to get me some help. It was decided, since we were going to have to poke and prod and inject and biopsy, and I’ve had nothing but pain and issues with my girlie parts since I began menstruating at 12 years old, we would do a full hysterectomy. While under anesthesia, my doctor would do a full spay on me, ovaries, tubes, everything, do injections to my pelvic floor, to stop the pain I came in for and scrape any remaining scar tissue, from my childhood sexual trauma. When I woke up, my cervix, uterus…all of it and all of the trauma that goes with it, would be neatly wrapped and sent back to the universe for the greater good of us all. I prayed. I meditated. I had faith and so it was.
By Friday afternoon, after two or three calls to my Doctor, Because my pain was not being managed and my pain ball didn’t seem to be getting lighter, since Tuesday when I came home, we called my doctor again. Every call before, we were advised to turn it up until it started to ease the pain. I was sent home on four and we were up to 12 on he last call. On that last call, it was determined, as Tamara unzipped my fanny pack, to examine the situation, with my doctor on the line, that the clamp on my pain ball had never been unclamped or removed. I had no pain relief and the ball was not lighter, because my pain ball was never unclamped after surgery. I almost hit the fucking floor…I cannot lie…I was in so much pain and Mother fucking defeated. We were advised, on this same call, with my doctor To unclamp the pain ball now and to let it run, and get my pain under control. Again, surgery was on Tuesday and this is Friday at 3:00pm…and I am not fucking crazy! I really did hurt. That fucking bad. Tamara unclamped the ball and I laid back down. I felt like shit and I was so fucking bummed out, so we began again.
At 2:00am, in excruciating pain and nauseous, with my pain ball in one hand, I headed to the bathroom. I was pretty sure I was about to have the BM they spoke of…my first BM since she did bowel prep for my surgery. I don’t even know that the fuck that means, just that she said that on my intake paperwork. Don’t strain, don’t push. Take your stool softeners and your milk of magnesia. I did all of that and I was ready. Nauseous and dizzy and the buzzing in my brain and my ears, wobbly and disoriented, I headed down our hall to take my long awaited shit. Holy fuck did that hurt! I didn’t push and I didn’t squeeze. And I was…wait….yep….grab something….I started puking my fucking guts out, on the toilet, in our trash can. I grabbed my stomach and all of my newly sewn together guts and I just grabbed on for dear life, praying that I wouldn’t bust anything open.
I got myself back together, crying and scared to death. I made it back to our bed and told Tamara what happened. We were both so fucking exhausted from it all, we fell back asleep. When I awoke a few hours later, I was so fucking sick and sore and we looked down again, at the pain ball. My pain ball ran at 12, instead of 4, for almost 11 hours straight. We turned it down to 4, as soon as we saw it. I had overdosed. I felt like I was going to die, well probably because I almost fucking did die. From no pain meds to an OD on pain meds and I was D&D (Done and done).
I texted my doctor and asked if I could pull my own catheter and get that pain ball out ASAP. This was Saturday morning and she said I could, and maybe wait until Sunday. I laid there a bit more and I just couldn’t leave it in. I googled how to take it out, I picked up Pranja, and off we headed to get This out of me. I will suffice to say that I would never have imagined me being able to do that…never…and somehow, out of necessity, I did what I had to do.
So, I had my post op and I relayed these things to my doctor. As she typed away, I forgot to ask what she found out…Am I okay? What did my pap tell you? I asked about the pelvic floor injections, the ones I went in for, because I’m special and cannot have them done without being under anesthesia, which takes a fucking village, by the way, and a major surgery. “Oh, she said, I didn’t do the injections. I didn’t have enough marcaine, since I had to do the extra incision”. I knew nothing of what this meant. Apparently, I am too narrow…and she could not dock her robot on my pelvis, as she had intended, so she had to make an extra incision to dock the robot, on my left side. So, my procedure, the one I went in for, or so I understood it, the procedure to stop this excruciating pelvic pain, did not get done, while I was asleep. My doctors answer was that she could do it right now, as she had just given a couple of women injections, in office, just that morning.
I am not those women. I am Coral and I am a survivor of horrific sexual and emotional abuse…literal, lifelong abuse. I cannot, hop up into your stirrups right now, anymore than I could a few weeks ago when I spoke to you initially. And yet, I said nothing. I asked nothing. I wandered back out into the waiting room, to deliver the news to my girl, that after all we just went though, my pelvic pain had not been addressed, and my injections were not done. My pain ball was not turned on on the OR and I went from surgery to Friday late afternoon without pain management that I thought I was getting. Addressing this caused me to literally overdose and think I was dying, puke like you never want to do, especially after surgery.
The very decision I made to heal me, to address my pain, has caused an onslaught of a shit storm, that I am slowly walking out of now. I still have the pain I went in with, plus the pain that comes with having major surgery. I am a fucking wreck. Sam is a fucking handful.
This, without going into any more detail, and without getting anyone in trouble…this is my reality. This is how my last two weeks and Tamara’s last two weeks have been. Thank God that Tamara’s sister, hopped on a plane, leaving behind her life and her newly graduated boys, her husband and her daughter…to come and give us a life preserver. We are so thankful for you Michele. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. We were fucking drowning.
This blog is a reminder To is all, that we are all just human beings, being human. We are practicing our crafts. Doctors practice medicine. In my situation, in preparing a place, in doing and not doing procedures, I was harmed simply because I was not able to be really seen.
People cannot see what they have no parameters for seeing. Seeing a 44 year old woman, who is whitty and funny and charismatic and charming…even as she tries to slay her own demons…well its a mother fucking doozie…because inside I am fucking screaming and these, amongst so many other reasons, are why….no matter how loud I talk or how much I need to be heard, I and my CPTSD…Sam and Coral…we are D&D. Since you are here loving me and praying for me…I just wanted you all to know why. I wanted to give you my true update on what has really been happening with us for the last two weeks.
As always, and more than sometimes, we could really use your love and your prayers, whatever you’ve got…I love you and I am sorry I’ve been distant. I hope this will help you to understand why that is so.
For now though, grab my hand and let’s get going. I will not enroll in any negativity around this, as we are all just walking each other home. We had some good practice this round, didn’t we?
Here is what I want us to take form this…we must open our eyes and our hearts, if we are ever to truly see one another. We must listen and we must speak, even when our voices shake. We must know that we never know anyone else’s struggles…we just don’t. We must be kind and we will always be right.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the medical teams that assembled to help me to help me. Thank you to my dear friend who made all of this possible. You will never truly know how deeply I love you, how deeply I have always loved you, my dear friend. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
To the most amazing girl in all of the land, my girl Tamara…you are my heart and I love you with all that I am. I thank you for the hell you have walked through, just to keep me afloat and to love me though this.
To Michele, we were drowning and you came and saved us. Any way you look at it, your love, carried us through a place we couldn’t walk alone. We fucking love you sister! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. With all of our hearts and from the very bottom of mine, thank you for being there when my Mom died, and for being right here, as I come back to life.
To my Mom…I love you just the same, you beautiful fucking soul! Shedding that body and buffing the shine on that radiant soul of yours suits you well pretty lady. Mom, with all of my heart, after ostracizing you briefly, so that I could catch my breath and heal a bit, I invite you back…I welcome and want you back. Thank you for the much needed time and space to sort it through…please, please, please come back! I fucking miss you!
To everyone who loves me, to everyone who prayed and continues to pray for me…to friends physically and in spirit at the hospital, to everyone who called, texted, PMed me…to Sigrid (who’s says I can use her name), I love you silly and I have no words for the love I have for you, for us, and who we are, in spite of it all….and the un-named who I honor and appreciate, just the same. To Regina…no words needed, never have needed them, have we? I love you Regina. I love YOU so so much! To my little Brother, I love you Shawn…we will get there…I promise. To my hero, David…literally, YOU are the reason I can do my work with appreciation and gratitude, in ALL things. YOU are such an inspiration to me Dave, and I love you with all of my heart.
To our dogs…with all of my heart and all of my love…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you guys with all that I am…thank you for meeting me and loving me where I am at.
To God…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Never a day, never a doubt…never a single solitary second that I don’t know that you’ve got me. When the master is ready, the student healing and coming back better than new, is ready!