Or should that read; I visited Laparoscopy and all I got was this lousy infection?
It is over a week since my lap. Even now I am not even sure if I actually had the suggested d&c.
In recovery, as I lazed in the new found luxury of having a whole private hospital ward to myself, I recall Dr. Loverely saying that my innards were “pristine”! Ugh! How does a body that never fails to make a hash of things actually manage to have a ‘perfect’ result on the one occasion it would have been okay for it to have failed? Perhaps if Dr Loverley had found a blocked tube or the need to zap out some endometriosis with his super laser gun, we would have some reason to understand why we cannot get pregnant, or at least have an excuse to hope for some success.
So as staff buzzed about the ward, tidying up last minute things before their Christmas closure I had time to consider more than I wanted to; again we were seemingly back at the proverbial square one; this surgical intervention had been unnecessary (but it was necessary to perform the procedure to prove it was unnecessary); would I ever get this stuff right?
Finally a slightly miffed Dr Loverly returned to my bedside to explain that a “clumsy” nurse had a post surgical needle stick injury. They would need to do a blood test on me to see I wasn’t carrying some communicable disease. What difference would the 47th thousand vial of blood extracted from my body this year actually make? Dr Loverley reassured, “with all these IVF treatments we know you are safe…….” I wasn’t listening as I wasn’t all that concerned. Besides, any risk of disease fell entirely on the poor hapless nurse who showed up ashen face later to get me to sign the pathology release form. The only condition she risked catching was Too Late to Be Trying to Have A Baby Syndrome.
Though there was some soreness in my shoulder from all the gas pumped in during surgery, and I found I was a bloody mess when I went to get dressed, all seemed fine. I had recovered quickly from the heavier anaesthetic that had been par for the course of the three egg pick ups completed previously at the same hospital. Wobbles confidently drove us a few suburbs across to our lovely four star accommodation for the night. Coincidently we seemed to get the room furthest away from the elevator, but still I was mostly comfortable. In the room Wobbles helped me into bed, made me a cup of tea and quietly set about the ongoing process of editing his book on his laptop. I slept lightly through the afternoon and evening, enjoying the fact that the surgery had been quite trouble free and recovery was going to be a breeze.
The next morning moving about was a little difficult. The walk back to the car seemed longer, and sitting up at an inner city café for breakfast was uncomfortable. We had hours of driving ahead, and a few stops on the way to make. By the time we got to the next city for a meeting with a real estate agent about our new home, I was tired and in need of bed rest. I waited in the car while Wobbles went and dealt with all things housing. Next town, it was another stop this time to visit my mother, Nanny Lifeslurper. She loaded us up with ice packed bags full of her home cooking, and we were finally on the last leg of our journey home.
I felt tired, but still nicely dopey from the day before. All was fine until I reached my own bed that night. Like some human form of fluid level device, the gas raced to my upper shoulder as I laid down. The pain was sudden and almost unbearable. Wobbles made a half filled hot water-bottle and spoke to me in calm voice, telling me silly stories until sleep was closer and the pain more manageable.
The next few days were a sleepy blur with the growing feeling that my mid section was sore. I pondered over the view that immediately following surgery I had felt better, but the next day I felt worse. Was I a malingerer, ‘enjoying’ moping about post-operatively? Even the stench of the dressing was not enough to warn me; I assumed it was my usual problem with skin reacting to all things. I had been told to go to my local medical clinic five days later to have my stitches removed. There the nurse took one look and said; “Hmmm….I’d better go get the doctor!” Yes, law of averages would mean it had to be Dr Why, the locum who had seen me umpteen times for my yet to be confirmed bout of whooping cough. He laughed in good humour at my predicament, and ordered I take another course of antibiotics and use a topical ointment to get the infection under control. So it wasn’t just normal post operative soreness from the healing.
Having the stitches removed almost replicated the now notorious childhood incident when four year old Lifeslurper whacked Dr Toddles as he attempted to stitch up her cut palm before the anaesthetic had done its magic. Nurse Why tugged away at the stubborn stitches, repeating; “This is going to hurt!” I really didn’t need to hear that. I suspected it would hurt, and it did – hurt! Still I survived, but my tummy seemed even more uncomfortable for a day or so, after having been tugged about so.
Before I left the medical surgery I realised that somehow I had been prescribed the deadliest of all antibiotics, the very ones that cause me to have anaphylaxis. A quick filling out of an alternative prescription, disaster was averted and I was off to my local friendly pharmacy for what seemed like the 18th prescription they have filled for me in recent weeks.
Days on, I think I am healing. There has been time to regret the spacing of this surgery after the recent illness, no doubt there was a connection there. Not being at full Lifeslurper strength (whatever that is!) after illness possibly made the surgery that bit tougher than it needed to be.
There was a bright side; in bumping into Nurse Why, I had my first in-person meeting with a fellow IVFer. She touched my shoulder, and rubbed my forearm telling me not to give up; that she had given birth to her daughter at age 42 after a heavy schedule of IVF cycles. For the first time in a long time I did not feel ashamed in front of ‘real live’ people about this baby pursuit I keep largely secret. I felt vindicated, I felt less freaky, I felt less alone.
The laparoscopy may ultimately prove to be a big waste of time, energy and money. The chance to have a brief chat with Nurse Why ultimately proving to be the action that has made IVF still worth pursuing.
