A long and rambling post about needles, boobs, titanium and puppies.

A cool little factoid about my husband is that he works at a cancer center and has been there forever 20+ years, so he knows just about everyone else that works there. It's really handy when you need your annual mammogram because not only do they offer it to spouses for free, but he just has to call over to one of the many women that work there that think he's the greatest to schedule it for me. Even better is that after they take cool pictures of my breasts, he takes me to lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant!

It's also awesome that he is able to get the results of that mammogram before they even send the results to my own doctor.

That also means that before he has to come home and tell me that there is something there that wasn't there the last time, he has already talked to one of his doctor buddies and has a promise to schedule me in asap for more scans and a biopsy if needed.

But, that also means that he is the one that has to come home and tell me that there is something there that wasn't there the last time. And that he's had several more hours to worry about it before he tells me.

So when he tells me "they found something," and I say "that's not funny, don't mess with me, Noah's been an ass this afternoon and I'm not in the mood," and he gives me the no, I'm serious look and then says "but it's small and there is a very good chance it is nothing at all" and I cry, he can make me cry harder because he says, "even if it is something we are a team and we will deal with it together."

(And then we, and by we I mean me, make really bad jokes about it for the next two days until I go in for the next level of mammogram, ultrasound and possible biopsy.)

See, it really is small! (The spot, not my boob!)

By the next night I had him promising to get me pot if I needed chemo, even though he insists that if it is something it's so small I probably wouldn't need chemo.

And then he ignored me listened to me opine about losing my hair because my scalp is in all likelihood horribly disfigured and scarred under my gorgeous and perfectly groomed locks (and no, I couldn't type that with a straight face) because I'm a picker and I wouldn't look good bald even if it wasn't disfigured, because my face is too round and fat to not have hair.  To which he responded "can we just get through Friday before you jump five steps ahead."

No. I can't. Because I'm a planner and a picker obviously and I need to think through all the possibilities so I can get the most impact out of my horribly morbid and inappropriate jokes for the next week be a well informed patient.

Anyway...I had the mammogram Tuesday, and Friday I had a focused mammogram, where they still saw the "irregular density." So then I had an ultrasound, where they couldn't find it (the "irregular density," not my boob. Those are hard to miss). I'm actually not sure if that was good or bad, but I think it maybe confirmed it wasn't a cyst.

So then the doctor said "well, let's do a needle biopsy," and I said, "yes, lets, it's already scheduled" and she looked at me and said "no, I don't think so" and I said "yes, my husband said it was" and she said "well..." and then "we'll fit you in. Go wait in the waiting room."

I sent Rich back to his office in another part of the building (down the hall, turn left, then right at the lobby - in case he forgets some day) and we had this conversation via text.

And then I told the technician and the doctor both that Rich had promised me a puppy. Because clearly that text implied that he was DEFINITELY getting me a puppy. Right?

Anyway...within five minutes they had me in a room setting up for the biopsy. They left me in the room by myself for a couple minutes so I started taking pictures. They totally caught me at it and laughed when I said I had to blog about the cool boob table.

(Remember when I was fascinated by this chair when I saw the doc before my frankenvulva surgery? Obviously I am oddly fascinated by BD/SM inspired medical equipment.)

Before I got on the table I asked the doctor if I could talk to her during the procedure and she said no, which really cut down on my ability to make stupid jokes. Way to kill my anti-stress buzz doc. :(

So... about the table - you lay face down on the table and your boob goes in the round hole and hangs down into that plastic-ish sling looking thing. I assume that is why they call it the "boob hole table."* Then they take more scans, do something on the computer, stereo something-or-other to line the needle up, shoot you up with lidocaine to numb your tit a bit, and wam bam thank you mam you have this huge ass needle in your breast (totally did not see the needle but am assuming "huge ass" is an accurate description considering they were not only taking things out of me but also putting a titanium marker in me and they had to go in almost 3 inches to get to it). 

After the needle was in the right place the doctor told me there was going to be a loud popping sound of air, like uncorking a bottle of champagne. And there was and because I couldn't TALK I could only think loudly in my head that "OMFG, she just totally popped my boob."

After that the needle did some rotating kind of thing and took part of the "irregular density" out to send to the lab. Then they shoved in a piece of titanium to act as a marker to make sure they were in the correct place. Then wam bam thank you mam the needle came out and they cleaned me up and put a totally not fancy bandage on it. Then I had another mammogram to make sure they yanked the tissue from the right place. I can't believe I forgot to take a picture of the scan of my titanium marked boob for all y'alls!

And that was it. I find out the results on Tuesday. I assume Rich will stalk the computer until they are available and then call me. Then I'll call the doctor and tell her what the results are.

In all seriousness though (for everyone that reads this blog post after searching for "what a breast biopsy is like," which I predict will be second only to "boob hole" in the ways people find this) the biopsy bit was not bad at all. The pain was minimal and I was probably only on the table about ten minutes, less than five of that involved the actual needle bit. Way less painful than a root canal! Actually, less painful than most of the dental work I've had period.

I'm still waiting for that puppy btw.


*I have no idea if that is what they call it.

 

Post-Frankenvulva repair update.

My apologies for being away for so long. I had such plans for you MNT, but as is often the case when I make plans, they never quite see the light of day.

So here I am 3 weeks post frankenvulva repair and I have yet to tell you about it!

It was...hmmmm...It was, well, OK I guess.  I had spinal anesthesia since they needed to be able to wake me up midway through the procedure to have me cough. The spinal was a bizarre feeling as I had absolutely no feeling or control from my waist down to my toes for several hours.

I talked with the nurse anesthetist during part of the procedure. I'm not exactly sure what we were talking about, but I'd bet money I embarrassed myself in some way. 

The procedure went well I was told and the anesthesiologist in the recovery area told me my vitals were like a teenager's. It was all I could do to keep myself from saying, yeah, that's not the only part of me that is like a teenager again after this surgery. Surprisingly however, I refrained.

Rich was waiting for me in my room. I felt pretty good until the spinal wore off, and then I realized what they did to me really sucked. And that there is no doubt that I am indeed a big baby. Between the IV, the urinary catheter, the blood pressure cuff, and the compression stockings on my legs I couldn't even roll over in the bed.  And then Rich had to leave so the baby sitter could go home and I cried. Actually, I cried even before that because it hurt, and as I said I'm a big baby.

The nurses were wonderful and did every thing they could to try and help the pain. The doctors weren't quite as generous. Damn, but my doctor and the resident covering with him must have thought I was some kind of drug seeking housewife because they were awfully stingy with the pain killers. "Ohh, we don't want you to get constipated," they kept saying. And I kept thinking "Ohh, I don't want to have to grab your testicles and rip them off, so give me the fucking Dilaudid."

They were pretty stingy with what they sent me home with as well, and I was like really, maybe he needs to have someone cut him from his anus to his testicles and see if he can handle that without anything more than ibuprofen.

I was a little grumpy.

But finally I was home and I slept a lot and read or watched tv when I wasn't sleeping. I had it all planned. One week to recover in bed. One week to recover in bed but do some paperwork type stuff, organize photos, catchup on emails, etc. Then two weeks to knock out some smaller home projects I have going on here. 

Are you done laughing yet?? Don't worry, I'll wait, Get it out.

Because yeah, here it is the beginning of the fourth week and all I've done is sleep, catch Kiel's upper respiratory tract infection, take care of Noah one day when he brought the stomach flu home, catch the stomach flu myself and feel miserable and vomit-y for three days myself, in the midst of which Kiel also came down with it.

Kiel's combination of URTI and fever and vomiting required a trip to the pediatrician. The visit itself went well. But on the way home I heard a gurgle in the back seat. I looked up into the rear view mirror just in time to see Kiel projectile vomiting orange liquid a la a bad horror movie.

So there I was, with my eight pound weight limit, trying to clean up the car seat without actually taking it out of the car. To which I finally gave up and just lifted the damn thing out while trying to clench my pelvic muscles together to stabilize them. (I have no idea if that works of not, by the way.) There was no way I was leaving orange vomit in my car until I could talk Rich into taking it somewhere to get cleaned.

A week later the kids are fine, but Rich looks like he is coming down with something. He's been so awesome taking care of all of us for the last three weeks. I'm sure he's ready for someone to take care of him.

As far as  my recovery I had my post-op appointment a couple days ago and the nurse practitioner said I'm healing fine. She lifted my weight restriction for lifting to 12 pounds, but said I still can't vacuum. I told her I love her.

I have a week left until I go back to work. Maybe I'll get something done this week, but I'm not going to hold my breath. I just finished the second book of the MIllenium series and if the third is anything like the first two, I doubt I'll be able to put it down until I'm done. 

It starts out with an enema. And ends up with ice in my panties.

So Monday is the big day for the lady bits!

Monday afternoon I am scheduled to have the frankenvulva revised, my pussy professionally tightened, my bladder put in a sling, and the inappropriate poop pocket that is poking into my vagina removed and redirected to my rectum where it belongs.

Go ahead, cringe if you must. I'm not exactly excited about the next couple weeks, other than I'll probably get more sleep than I have in months.

I'm trying to look at the bigger picture in that two months from now I'll be peeing and pooping like a normal person and at the same time have a flower-like labia with a perfectly tightened pussy.

I like to keep things positive...

So I was thinking that considering my doctor (and the other ten or so people in the room) aren't exactly getting the best view of me during the surgery  (Because no, I don't really consider my acne scarred, white ass with my legs splayed open to be one of my better looks.) that perhaps I should provide them with something to make them smile and/or laugh about as they get started.

Maybe I could draw arrows pointing to my vagina and the message "tighten here?"

A smiley face seems kind of tame considering how up close and personal they are all going to be with me.

I'm a little surprised at myself, but I'm struggling to come up with something clever. Any ideas readers? Go crazy and throw 'em at me in the comments. 

I'll be in the hospital at least one night. Hopefully my bladder will cooperate and I won't have to come home with a catheter (ughh).

Feel free to send flowers or chocolate. Or expensive electronic devices - I've been drooling over the new Kindles. Or a Nook. I'm not picky. I'll certainly have plenty of time to read over the next couple weeks as I sit with frozen maxi-pads in my underwear.

It's all in the timing. And the ability to hide behind the pillows!

Amazingly this morning the stars aligned and Rich and I were able to celebrate Noah's first day of 2nd grade with a few minutes of alone time. And when I say the stars aligned I mean both boys were watching TV downstairs and Rich managed to actually lock and latch the bedroom door.

After our little celebration we talking about the logistics of the week and my pre-op appointment tomorrow with the surgeon that is going to be repairing the ol' frankenvulva in a few weeks.

Rich is very much a "I'll deal with the details when I absolutely need to" kind of guy. I'm more the "need to know everything that is going to be happening a week month year from now" kind of gal. When I don't let it irritate the absolute crap out of me it kind of balances us out fairly well.

So Rich was asking me for oh, the third fifth tenth time in the last two days what time the appointment was. I reminded him and then said "remember, they are going to measure you tomorrow."

I heard a half choking/half coughing sound, and he said "ohhhh, really?"

"Yeah. Remember? You knew that. To make sure they get me tight enough."

"Oh, uhh, OK. Right."

"They measure you when you are erect you know." (At this point I'm practically hiding under my pillow so he can't see me trying not to laugh.)

"Huh, ummm, right. Well, I hope the nurse is hot."

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide the fact that I was laughing hysterically at this point and he was on to me. 

"Gotcha!"

The fact that I couldn't follow it through until the appointment tomorrow was almost salvaged by our next conversation.

"So, how long after the surgery do we have to wait until we can have sex?"

"Six months" I mutter as I'm brushing my teeth.

"Damn, wow." 

*toothpaste splatters the mirror as I laugh*

"Fuck, you got me again."

More discussion of The Frankenvulva

If you haven't noticed already, I rewrote the original "Let's talk about my vagina post." I felt it needed some cleaning up and a little more clarification. If you have a chance go back and check it out and let me know what you think. I'm considering submitting it to a few things so I would love some feedback from you guys before I do that.

The question was asked as to what the doctor will do to fix all of this. He was a little short on the details during that visit but promised me more when we meet prior to surgery. Of course I will have it all researched well before then.

Basically he will do some sort of sling procedure to put my bladder back in the right place and keep it up there. As for the rectocele I imagine he'll be repairing the tissue between my rectum and vaginal wall so my rectum isn't trying to push itself out through my vagina anymore. The uterine prolapse is relatively minor apparently and I'm not clear yet on how he puts it back in place. Of course the first question they ask is how much do you really want to keep your uterus. To which I say I'm really rather fond of it, thank you very much. The actual frankenvulva repair is the more cosmetic surgery stuff. I assume they will essentially recreate the epesiotomy so they have fresh tissue to sew back together.

I do know I'm not supposed to lift anything heavier than ten pounds for six weeks after the surgery. How I'm supposed to do that with a two year old could be tricky, but we'll figure it out.

The doctor said it is done under spinal anesthesia, so I guess I'll be awake. Maybe they'll let me watch! Hmmm...I wonder if I can take in pictures of other women's bits and show him what I'd like to look like? I'm seriously considering asking for a hoodectomy. I would love to talk to someone who has had that done. If you know of anyone would you ask them to drop by and tell me about it?

Let's talk about my vagina, shall we?

I like to keep it real on MNT. And I figure if you can't talk about your cooter among friends...well...

I recently had an appointment with a urogynecologist about the misbehaving lady bits.

It was an interesting appointment.

The exam chair was Teh Awesome!

That puppy moved up, and it moved down. It tilted backwards and it tilted forwards. My imagination was working overtime when I was sitting on it. And then when The Doctor sat on his chair in front of me the possibilities were almost overwhelming! But I digress...

Before The Doctor saw me, the nurse made me pee in "The Pot.”

That is no coffee can folks. That is one super-fancy pot that measures how hard, fast or slow your tinkle is, and then graphs it all out for everyone to see. I was able to watch it in real time. I tried my best to draw a pretty tinkle graph, but quickly learned I'm going to need more practice in the art of Decorative Tinkle Graphing.

After I played in the chair and pissed in the pot The Doctor came in to do his thing. He did a lot of measuring of the lady parts, inside and out. Every orifice down there was well examined.

After I was poked and prodded and measured, I sat in the waiting area with a bunch of old women and their husbands. Those lucky old couples got quite an earful when The Doctor took me in to the consultation room, which is right off the waiting area. At least half of the conversation was about Teh Sex and how the falling bits and bulging things and the peeing are just not conducive to Teh Exciting Sex Life.  I figured if The Doctor is going to be down there manipulating things around he might as well do what he can to improve the old orgasm potential. I'd be crazy to not ask, right?

The Doctor drew some pictures for me. Its clear why he's a surgeon and not an artist. Despite his lack of artistic talent, I recognized the parts.

And I knew what he was going to tell me.

What I have suspected for months is now official.

I have The Frankenvulva.

~~~

Make yourself comfortable friends; I have a story to tell.

I was 42 weeks pregnant and finally the little monster angel decided to make his appearance.  But something was holding him back. So the kind doctor pulled out a medieval instrument of torture called The Forceps to help him along.

Let me explain:
To use The Forceps, they fillet the laboring mother open from her vagina to her asshole (they call this The Episiotomy). It's a bit like having a zipper put in; a rather bizarre flesh zipper, but a zipper no less. They "unzip" the area far enough to get the The Forceps in and then the baby's head out. Then they spend an hour or three zipping (stitching) it back up.

This leaves the mother in a very vulnerable state, yet no one really tells her before she has a baby just how painful it is after the baby is born. And for how long!

They also don't pound it into her head that she is not 20 years old and also, is not super woman.

Even if she is told, she doesn't remember that she shouldn't do anything but sleep, eat and take care of the baby.  

Seriously new mothers, fuck the vacuuming.  Because if you don't, you'll end up like me with a zipper that unzipped itself half-way down while you were trying to take your first shit, and then refused to zip itself back up.

How's that for a visual?

But all of that? All of that is only the cosmetic part of The Frankenvulva. The Frankenvulva is actually an entire family of messed up gynecological misfits.
Let me introduce you to The Frankenvulva family.

First we have Prolapsed Uterus. She's a bit of an attention whore and is constantly trying to make appearances when and where she isn't wanted.  

Prolapsed Uterus has a brother called Rectocele who occasionally visits My Vagina. Rectocele is a real pain in the ass.

Prolapsed Uterus and Rectocele have a cousin, Stress Incontinence, who resides in My Bladder. Stress Incontinence is very unreliable and often moody. In fact, he is downright pissy. It's believed that he suffers from a poor support system.

Now, My Bladder used to be a nice, reliable part of My Pelvis. It wasn't big, and it wasn't fancy, but it was the kind of place you could count on. Unfortunately, over time things started to slide downhill in My Bladder. (Personally, I think the Republicans moved in and put a stop to all the supporting connective tissue that was keeping it stable. One of those "can't see the forest for the trees kind of things." They felt it was too "big pelvis" and since they couldn't see how it directly benefited them...well, you know those Republicans.)

And that, my friends, is when Stress Incontinence moved in. And let me tell you, he is an intolerant fool. He especially has it in for Coughing, Sneezing, Jumping, Running, and anything even remotely related to Exercise. He's a vindictive son of a bitch and takes joy in pissing everyone off. Literally.
                                                          ~~~
I go back soon for bladder function testing. Yeah, more chair time! And then we'll schedule a surgery date to attempt to evict The Frankenvulva family from My Pelvis.