The Event Without a Happening

This year I am grappling with a severe bleeding problem linked to uterine fibroid tumors. There is a whole cascade of events that led to this monthly hemorrhaging issue: oral contraceptives caused a blood clot that led to a pulmonary embolism that led to a year of blood thinning medication that made the bleeding worse.

I met with two surgeons in the past year in an attempt to address this problem. One lost my confidence when he failed to communicate with my hematologist, and I canceled surgery. The other suggested using a progesterone IUD until I was off of the blood thinner and able to have a safer surgery.

Fortunately, I saw my hematologist the day after a particularly bad bleeding episode which expelled the IUD. I was very weak and my INR had shot up due to the great blood loss. She insisted I have surgery as soon as possible to address this problem. For the first time that I can recall, a doctor related my inability to resolve blood disorders to this monthly bleeding problem.

The hematologist recommended a surgeon at her hospital. Everyone pushed their schedules so I could coordinate a surgery by late August. My COBRA insurance expires at the end of September.

I rushed to gather images, wean off of blood thinners, take additional blood tests, arrange to have someone pick me up the day of the procedure, notify the insurance company, and meet with the surgeon and hematologist to get clearance for surgery. I even learned how to self-inject Lovenox -- something I never thought I would be able to do. It was a lot of work.

Despite some minor drama with a persistently low iron level, anemia, and a positive D dimer test (an indicator of too much clotting material in the blood), my hematologist continued to advocate for the surgery and provided detailed instructions for addressing the clotting risk during and after the procedure.

Finally, I got clearance and went to the hospital anxious but glad that this problem would soon be resolved.

When I woke from anesthesia, I was a bit groggy and nauseous but delighted that my long odyssey was over. My dear friend showed up and we giggled as I drank ginger ale and read aloud post-op instructions to "not put things in the vagina for a week."

Then my surgeon entered the room and informed me that she had bad news. She was not able to remove the fibroid because it was too large. To get it out, a different type of surgery would have been required. There were options we needed to discuss at a later time, such as trying Lupron shots or a surgery involving an abdominal incision.

I was shocked and horrified. I would have to write a big check to pay for an unsuccessful surgery and self-inject Lovenox for the next month, yet the problem remained. Worse, I would lose my COBRA and have to resort to some crappy insurance that would probably cover a far smaller fraction of another surgery cost (if any).

Fortunately, I was too groggy to worry about these implications.

My dear friend took me home and fed me bread. I sat on the couch for an hour, and then felt like taking a walk. It was a beautiful day.

Since the operation didn't involve any cutting, I felt pretty normal. We went to the park and hit the Barney's Warehouse sale.

At least the recovery was better than expected.