Archive for Health
20 minutes a day
Posted by: | CommentsMy friend Amy over at Crunchy Domestic Goddess came back from BlogHer ’10 with a renewed interest in something you’d assume every blogger is interested in: Writing. She lamented, tongue in cheek, in her “frequent” blog posting, and challenged her readers to join her in a quest to write for 20 to 30 minutes a day. Publish or not, just write it, she said.
I’d love to join her. Twenty minutes a day doesn’t seem like much of a time commitment to do something I actually love to do.
The problem is my focus. I used to go through life thinking, “That’s a blog post!” Lately, not so much. The health issues, which I’m sure you all are a little sick of reading about, have been my main focus in my life, let alone in my blog. Other things that are getting a little of my attention don’t have a place here, because of my fear about who reads this (such as employers).
I’ve been writing for six minutes, and I’ve come to a dead stop.
I’ve recently thought about just retiring this blog, saying to hell with it, I had a good year of focused writing. Then I remember that I haven’t really been myself in a while. Those synthetic hormones, I tell you, are like being taken over by an alien. It’s a different breed of alien than the one that takes over during the “season.”
I haven’t been myself to the point that I’m wondering who that self is anymore. Who is she? What does she want? What doesn’t she want? What will heal what’s still broken inside her?
I got an email from my birthmother last night, in which she apologizes for not being frequently in touch, and says she’s like a flood that spills her energy out without purpose or direction. We have that in common, kind of, because I tend to send floods of energy in one direction or another until I’m dry. I don’t know how to keep anything in reserve. That’s probably why I’m on my couch at 11 am on a Friday. I have a double ear infection and sinus infection, and I can’t remember the last time I actually felt this ill.
Steve and I are in counseling, seeing Judi’s husband Mike because he uses Terry Real’s “New Rules of Marriage” as a guideline for therapy. We’re there, partially, because of my losing my mind (and myself) to the synthetic hormones. We’re there because we’re in what Mike calls “phase 2″ of a relationship: a lot of information and not a lot of love.
We love each other. Most days I’m in love with him. But we’ve gotten really good at pushing each other’s buttons and hurting each other. We want to stop this behavior. Mike also says, “You marry your unfinished business.” Which means that if we were to break up, then get into a new relationship with others, we’d end up with them (eventually) right where we left off with each other. So we’ll stick to it, learn some new skills. Last night, I said to Mike & Steve that I think Steve’s childhood experiences (let’s call it Hell on Earth) bubble up and wreak havoc in our relationship, and that if this is to work, then Steve needs to work on cleaning out and healing some of that crap. It triggers him. I’m working on my own stuff with Judi, and I’ll do some more work with Steve & Mike in our sessions.
Speaking of which, today with Judi I’m supposed to bring a list of things I wish my mother would say to me so we can role play. Um, shit. I’ve put it off like crazy. Maybe something like, “Lynn, I’m sorry I am a narcissist, and that I made you, throughout your life, do everything you could do to win my love because being you wasn’t enough on its own. That’s my crap, and I put it on you. It was wrong. You are good enough to love just as you are, even if you live by a van by the river.”
What does this have to do with writing 20 minutes a day? Well, I just wrote for 20 minutes. Basically, a brain dump, but there you have it. Sometimes I have to clear the cobwebs to get to anything good.
Rehab
Posted by: | CommentsMy brain is foggy from 20 mg of ambien, which I swallowed last night at about 10:30 pm. A single dose hasn’t been doing much for me, just taking me to the in-between place where dreams skim along the surface of my consciousness but don’t pull me in. Almost 12 hours later, I woke up because the doorbell rang–someone looking for Steve, who’s selling his car. I looked at the clock, expecting it to be about 7. I haven’t slept beyond 7 in weeks, even when I didn’t go to sleep until 5. The clock said 959.
I was slightly bummed because I missed my Saturday hatha yoga class. Somehow, I think the sleep–drug induced as it was–was more important.
I’m groggy. I have had more chemicals in my system than Anna Nicole over the past three months. And I’m done with it.
Here’s what’s crazy:
The doctors put me on female hormones to stop my bleeding. They made me bleed worse–most cases much worse. I stopped taking them last Friday and guess what?
I STOPPED BLEEDING.
Today: nothing there. Who knows when I’ll start again, hopefully in 21 days. You know, a normal cycle. That would be fine. However, I refuse to take any further allopathic medicine to regulate my cycle, because with that, I believe we are treating the wrong part of my body. There is nothing wrong with my ovaries. There is nothing wrong with my uterus. My brain is telling my complex endocrine system to be out of balance, and the excess estrogen is a symptom, not a cause.
Also, my edema is almost gone. My rings fit beautifully and I have zero swelling under my ankle bones. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
I am taking Vitex, a combination of herbs used to balance the female hormones. I took it last summer when I was feeling really great. I am also going to start taking some herbs to boost my serotonin level, because I am really depressed.
Just Say No to Narcotics
I’ve been in a lot of pain due to my dental work, and I’ve been taking triple doses of Ultram to fix it. I went to the chiropractor yesterday, and she adjusted my jaw, bringing me new relief. The drugs make my brain cloudy, soft, forgetful. Mushy.
Valium has also become my friend. On a normal day I take 2 mg. On a bad day I take 6 to 10 mg across the day.
But being in pain adds stress to the body, and my body’s stress response is exhausted. I’m going for arnica montana, rubbed into the joint that hurts, and lots of ice for the residual swelling. Perhaps an ibuprofen now and then, but certainly not the round-the-clock double-dosing I’ve been doing. And some valerian for relaxation.
Say Yes to Shiva Nata
I admit it: I gave up at the end of Level 1 because I sucked at it too bad. But the weird flailing meditation was helping me tremendously, and when I stopped doing it (about the time I decided to go to the allopathic ob/gyn) my ability to see reality instead of my own fucked up view through illness- and anger- and hurt-colored glasses went away.
Really, I don’t like the DVD. (No offense to Havi, since I know the guy on the DVD is her friend and guru), but he kind of creeps me out. But I don’t know it well enough to NOT use the DVD. Havi’s putting together a new Shiva Nata training program, and I can’t wait for it. I’ve tried recording myself saying the patterns, but that gets messed up. So, I’ll just relax and start over at the beginning of level 1, and hope that I can memorize it. And, as Havi says, Sucking is the Whole Point, so being OK with that.
Say Yes to Saying No
All this week, feeling sick and jittery and, well, sick, I’ve told people that I simply can’t take on any more projects. I’m happy to HELP but I cannot lead or be responsible. I am usurping my power and position, which could be dangerous in a way. However, I am also staying yes to those projects that are key for me. I have been so scattered for the past year (maybe more) that I haven’t been happy with my work product or my work process. The only answer is to whittle. And I’m whittling, even backtracking on some promises I made to do some things that are outside my job description because I wanted to help nice people.
Saying Yes to Natural Sleep
This week I’m on a mission to get my body used to falling asleep on its own. That means starting a ritual: setting a bedtime, turning off the computer and/or TV 30 minutes before, having some herbal tea, maybe taking a quick warm shower, reading for a few minutes, then counting down from 300 by 3s. Maybe listening to the Sleep cd I bought but have barely used. OK, I admit that’s a long list of things other than lay in bed and fall asleep. But I have some bad habits to undo.
Also, in learning about how the adrenal system worked, I read that our bodies produce a surge of cortisol from 11 pm to 1 am, That’s the “second wind” I feel that, if caught in it, propels me to stay awake until 3 or 4. (and still wake up a 7).
Saying Yes to Massage + Water
I need a massage just to clear all the crap out of my cells. Perhaps followed by a long sauna and another massage. And lots and lots of lemon water for cleansing.
Accepting that I Will Slip and Falter
Because I will. At least twice, today.
If I go through with it
Posted by: | CommentsI’ve had nothing to say lately, at least not in writing. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, have become my norm. I just don’t have it in me.
Since the D&C on June 22, I’ve been on a hormonal roller coaster. The first birth control pill did nothing. I started bleeding and kept on. Then I went on the highest dose prescribed in the US. Up went my blood pressure. The bleeding slowed to a trickle, but didn’t stop, which was the whole freaking point. Then, last Thursday night I got a migraine. Migraine + blood pressure above 140/90 (which mine had elevated to)=high conditions for a stroke. And the mood swings. Oh the tears, the tears. Over stupid things and important things equally. And the hurt. Everything fucking hurts. My joints, my muscles. I feel like I have the flu, and yet I don’t.
I saw my naturopath last Friday, who said the hysterectomy might not be a bad idea. My chiropractor and acupuncturist said the same thing. Dr. Rena (the naturopath) asked me to stop taking the pill, and I threw them away. I started bleeding heavily on Monday.
I had to almost beg my MD to up my thyroid medication since my TSH was at 3. I started taking the new dose on Saturday, and between having enough of that and starting to clear my body of the synthetic estrogen, I actually started to dream again. I hadn’t gotten to REM in at least two weeks.
Dr. Rena also referred me to a medical intuitive, which was a coincidence because I was trying to find one. I do believe some people are able to tap into the connections among all things past, present and future, and this woman, Paula, was helpful. She told me what I know: there is absolutely nothing wrong with my uterus or my ovaries. There is something wrong in my brain. As she said, I have too many chemicals telling my ovaries that it’s time to bleed. She said it’s not that I’m not ovulating, but that I’m ovulating every five to seven days. She said that this condition was first triggered during puberty, and that it has been masked by synthetic hormones all of my life, and once I got off of them, all hell broke loose.
She also told me that Lauren was a miracle, because my body is not set up for pregnancy.
I have scheduled a total hysterectomy, including my ovaries, for Oct. 5. I may cancel. Part of me thinks it’s going to be a big mistake. But part of me says ENOUGH. I can’t take the bleeding, the mood swings, the depression, the achiness, the awful issues with word finding (how about trying to come up with the word ‘experiment” when talking to a MD/PhD and mistakenly saying “appointment” over and over.) Paula told me that it will take a while for my hormones to come into balance, but that getting rid of my ovaries (and thus the overabundance of estrogen) may also help my thyroid function to come back, and help with my depression.
I also have an appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist on Sept. 1. Because there is something wrong with my brain, probably with my pituitary gland. I don’t know if it’s a tumor, or just some weird birth defect because my birth mother smoked/injected something when she was pregnant with me, or what. I want an MRI of my brain. I want more blood tests. Because once I take out my ovaries and uterus, there’s no putting them back in. I don’t want to find out after the fact that I could have kept them and stopped the bleeding another way.
Why October? Steve and I are going on our honeymoon on the Oregon coast the last week of September, and since I’ll be having a laparoscopic-assisted total vaginal hysterectomy + ovary removal, I’ll need 6 to 8 weeks of recovery. No driving for 2-3 weeks. No sex for 6-8 weeks. I don’t want to be recovering on my honeymoon. Not that we’re having sex. I have no libido, and I’m bleeding. Still. He’s being sweet, trying hard to understand, but this is a wedge. We’re in counseling.
So, we’ll go on our honeymoon, and then we’ll come back and I’ll shoot my first wedding as a ‘professional’ photographer, and then I’ll have my ovaries and uterus removed. If I go through with it. If the endo doesn’t find anything wrong in my brain. If I go through with it, I’ll need to be off work for at least six weeks. The timing couldn’t be worse there, but my health is most important, and I’d rather not wait longer or I’ll be recovering at the holidays.
All I know is I hurt. I don’t feel good. I can’t think. I am depressed and moody. And I want my health and my life back.
I want to write about something else, but this is all I have.
Finding a new yoga home
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My new yoga home: Harmony Yoga in Denver at Holly & Leetsdale. Image source: http://harmony-yoga.com
The first time I did a yoga class, I was in my late 20s. My ex and I joined a gym that offered two classes a week in the darkened aerobics room. I watched through the door a few times and thought no fucking way.
I’ve been a dancer in one way or another since I was a toddler, but I’ve never been super-bendy. And the people in those first classes I watched were super bendy, and skinny to the point of being bony. And decidedly “other.” They had that cult-eyed look when they left class, my ex said.
After about a year later, having gotten bored of the standard step-class-and-treadmill offerings, I approached the yoga teacher after class and asked her a few questions. Did I need to be super-bendy? No, she said, that will come in time. Is there some sort of religion to it? She laughed and described it as more of a spirituality, but I could make of that part what I wanted. What if I just can’t do that pose? I’ll help you, she said. We can modify the heck out of everything.
I found myself sitting in the dark classroom on a purple mat a few days later. I’d like to say I fell in love, but I didn’t. I hated it. I hated it because the only place to focus when you’re sitting in a dark room putting your body into foreign shapes is inside. And when I looked inside, I saw my unhappiness glaring back at me. Also, it hurt, during and after. We quit that gym shortly after I took the first class, only partly because I couldn’t look the yoga teacher in the eye when I saw her in the locker room.
Squaring away my joints
When I was pregnant with Lauren, I had horrible sciatica. Drag-my-leg-behind-me sciatica. My chiropractor suggested that yoga might help. I balked at the idea until I could stand the pain no longer. I found the Colorado Yoga School in southeast Denver, an Iyengar-style studio that offered prenatal yoga classes.
At that point I’d stuck my toe into the world of introspection, so the shivasana-esque issues I hated in the first class didn’t bug me as much. After all, I was pregnant, and I went “within” often to talk to my baby.
I loved my teacher. She was gentle, and sweet, and a new mom herself. Her bottom line: make sure our alignment was perfect for our (changing) bodies. I learned to love cow faced pose and pigeon, both fully supported by bolsters and blankets and blocks. My sciatica lessened, although it didn’t go away until she was born. I continued the prenatal class until Lauren could roll over.
Sara, the yoga teacher beyond compare
By that time, I was back to work part-time. About six months later, a coworker got her yoga teacher certification and started a workplace yoga class.
That changed yoga for me forever. First, Sara is one of the best people to grace this earth. She is an excellent, gentle teacher who also knows how to challenge you. She started with one class a week, Monday at 530, and soon the program was so popular that there were several classes each week, including a few at lunchtime. I became a regular. I admit, I fell a little in love with her. I was a Sara groupie.
Sara’s vinyasa classes were the perfect mix of spirituality and physicality. Every time I came to my mat, my mind and my body experienced subtle changes. I got stronger–in fact, stronger than I ever had gotten from lifting weights. And I began exploring the ugly, hurt places in my mind–which usually sprang up whenever we did hip openers.
My unhappiness was still there, but with Sara’s uncannily relevant readings and time spent focused on my breath, focused in the present moment, everything in my life started opening up. My shoulders, my hips, my mind.
Even though I was still relatively heavy at that point–around 180 pounds–I actually loved my body. I believed in it. I credit my yoga practice for giving me the room to imagine not being married to my ex, and for carrying my through some of my divorce.
And then I entered my yoga gypsy phase
Sara left my company about four years into the program to focus on her yoga and nutrition business, and I flailed around looking for a teacher or studio that gave me that same sense of love and freedom she did. I joined and quit gyms and studios, learning that I don’t favor yoga classes at athletic clubs, nor can my body tolerate hot yoga. (I throw up, once in class. Not pretty.)
My last gym offered a “mind-body” studio, and the yoga there was just OK. I didn’t click with any of the teachers, and the classes weren’t offered at times I could easily get to. I did other things–Zumba and Nia and weights and cardio equipment. I worked out with several trainers. I tried a pilates reformer class. But my body seemed to be missing something, and that something was yoga.
For the past several years, I’ve driven by a studio about two miles from my house called Harmony Yoga. I’ve considered popping in for a class, but until I quit the last athletic club in June I couldn’t really swing $15 a class. I noticed a couple of months ago that they’d added Nia to their offerings, and I was missing my joyous Sunday dancing.
Three weeks ago, I went in for a Nia class, and I loved the teacher. Then, I took a hatha yoga class that, while not super-strenuous, made me sore enough to realize I got a good workout. The teacher, Lisa, has a sweet energy about her. She reminds me of Sara, actually.
I’ve tried out several teachers and class styles. Friday, I took an excellent restorative class that used every prop in the closet. We spent a good part of the class with our legs up the wall, letting the hard week just drain away. Today, I did a hatha-style class that absolutely kicked my ass. My hair was drenched and my whole body was shaking by the end of the 90 minute class. That didn’t stop me from staying for Nia, which again made me sweat buckets.
I think I found my new yoga home
Besides feeling right physically, Harmony Yoga feels right spiritually. Gorgeous mandalas are painted on the walls, and the energy is incredibly positive. The teachers are just woo-woo enough to nourish my now well-developed spirituality, but not so much to be cultish. And the price is right: $30 less a month for an unlimited class pass than my last gym (which was pretty swanky, I admit).
Once again, I find myself weak and unlimber and really tight in places I forgot I had. But unlike that day 15 years ago, I’m not afraid of yoga. Every atom of my being is loving it, even as the little muscles in my hands and under my shoulder blades and on the outside of my ankles are screaming at me. Even as I cried a little in pigeon on Friday–a deep hip opener.
ometimes we forget what works for us, and we stumble around in the dark trying to find the key. I’m remembering now that yoga is a key to unlocking stuck places on my journey–physically and spiritually. It’s good to be home.
Crime scene investigation
Posted by: | CommentsOn Tuesday morning, I visited my PCP and announced, “We’re going to get to the bottom of what’s causing all of my health problems.” She listened, then ordered nine vials of blood to be drawn from my arm.
Since then, I’ve slowly watched the test results come into my electronic medical record, and with the exception of my thyroid and cholesterol tests, all have been normal. So much for the theory I was going on.
The day before, when visiting my OB/GYN to switch birth control pills because, despite taking them, I’d started bleeding again nonstop for almost three weeks, I asked what she thought was the cause.
“Given your history, and some of the other symptoms, I highly suspect PCOS,” she said. My heart leaped. For the first time, someone named it. With a name, you can ask for tests to rule it in or out. With a name and test results, you can have a treatment plan. And with that, maybe I could get my life back.
PCOS: Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome … or not
PCOS is an endocrine disorder, the most common one in women, effecting 5 to 10 percent of the female population starting at puberty. One of the symptoms is ovarian cysts, which I’ve had all of my life. The name is a misnomer, because not all women with PCOS have cysts. Doctors and scientists aren’t quite certain what causes it–there are lots of chicken-and-egg theories. But some classic symptoms are:
- Anovulation, resulting in irregular menstruation. About 30% of women have heavy, irregular periods.
- Acne
- Unexplained weight gain and difficulty losing weight
- Skin tags
- Insulin resistance
- Depression and mood swings, panic attacks
- Excessive amounts of androgens, because the ovaries (which produce testosterone in addition to estrogen and progesterone) are producing too much. This results in anovulation, male pattern baldness, facial hair growth, hairy toes.
The first five symptoms accurately describe me.
- Can you say bleeding for most of nearly two years, with a few weeks (and occasional months) off?
- I break out like a teenager unless I’m diligent with my Clairsonic face brush and Proactive system. And that doesn’t stop all the zits.
- Last year, I gained over 20 pounds, and all of it before I stopped working out in April. I’ve weighed the same since my March 19.
- I’ve had laser hair removal on my lip and chin because of the lovely beard I was growing, and my toes and razor know each other well.
- At my last dermatologist appointment, I pointed out a few new “moles” and the doctor told me they were skin tags. I thought only old people got those.
- My history of depression, which used to last from November to February, is well documented. For the past few years, it seems to have spilled into other months, and my summer “lift” is disappearing.
So, you can see why I might get excited to have a name, a diagnosis. I’ve been living in this world of not knowing what is wrong with my body for the past five years. I Google, I read PubMed, I try different supplements, herbs, acupuncture, chiropractic, drugs, surgery. I do visualizations. I work on affirmations in therapy. And the symptoms continue unabated, and are actually getting worse, especially the bleeding.
And it makes sense that an overarching endocrine system issue would be the culprit. The endocrine system uses hormones to regulate the body’s systems. I have one major endocrine disorder–hypothyroidism–and I also have a chronic Vitamin D deficiency, which is also a hormone.
But so far, the tests say no
No insulin resistance. Normal cortisol and prolactin levels. LH and FSH in normal proportion (in PCOS it’s usually reversed, 2:1 or 3:1 FSH to LH).
My PCP said that PCOS is very difficult to diagnose, that it’s more of a ruling out than a ruling in. She suggested a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist. So I’ll go.
At the very least, the endo should be able to get me back on the right dose of thyroid hormone, because for some mysterious reason, since March my levels have tripled. Having my TSH at 3.0 (when I feel best when it’s just below 1.0) can explain my exhaustion, and it could also explain the continued bleeding (although that’s never been a symptom when my levels are off). And maybe, if I get a long appointment and describe everything, the endo will know what’s really going on–PCOS or something else.
I feel like a detective, and the crime I’m investigating is my health
I can’t remember the last time I felt good, energetic, joyful. Maybe, I think, even if I don’t get a definitive PCOS diagnosis, I should just act as if I did.
The treatment in the Western medicine world is birth control pills (check, and ugh) and Metformin, a drug that helps your cells process insulin better.
Eating a 40/40/30 diet (protein, carbs, fat)–aka low-glycemic–plus exercise seems to be on the treatment menu, and perhaps some electro-stimulation acupuncture, which my acupuncturist does. And chromium, which is shown in several recent studies to help with insulin resistance. I have an appointment with my naturopath next Friday to look at things from that perspective.
I want a crystal ball
Posted by: | CommentsAnd the body drama, which I thought would be fixed by the D&C, followed by daily birth control pills, continues.
It’s been a month since the procedure. For the first 10 days, I sat in deep worry. All I remembered my doctor saying was they found some abnormalities, and that if a cancer diagnosis came back, we needed to be prepared for a quick hysterectomy. And I waited and waited to get the pathology back. Apparently, three days after the procedure, she left a message saying the pathology was normal–no indication of hyperplasia even–but the message didn’t go onto my phone. Who knows where she left it. I didn’t get it, and I spent a whole week past that date thinking that they must be running more tests, that it must be bad, because if it was normal I would have heard something. I got it in my mind that I had cancer. And then, it turned out I was OK.
Except I had a uterine infection, post-surgical, and that required a week on flagyl. Now any woman who’s taken this drug knows that a) you cannot have any alcohol because you will get sick as a dog and b) the longer you take it the worse it makes you feel. By day 10 I had to take in in the middle of a meal so as not to get nauseous.
At that point, I’d been taking a low-dose birth control pill for two weeks. The plan was that I would take the pill continuously, skipping the placebos to suppress my period. Two Wednesdays ago, I had a night of insomnia, followed by a day of intense sugar cravings and mood swings–my typical PMS. Last Friday, I started pack 2 of the active pill. And I also started bleeding.
That was a surprise. I’d expected that if I took the active pill continuously I’d skip my period.
My cramps were bad enough that it took 600 mg of naproxen + valium to make me mobile. All the other issues I’ve had since I was 12 1/2 came back too. Let’s call them digestive upsets. By this past Wednesday, I was bleeding heavier when the bleeding should have tapered off, per my “normal” cycle. I emailed my doctor, who said it is not abnormal for it to take a couple of packs to override my cycle. (WHAT normal cycle, I thought. I haven’t had a normal cycle since 2000.) Yesterday, I’d stopped bleeding.
Then, this morning I went to a hatha yoga class. We’re talking easy. No sun salutations, just holding a few poses, lots of breathing, a few hip openers, a couple of twists. Halfway through I felt myself starting to bleed again, enough that I had to leave the class for a moment. My cramps came back toward the end of the class.
This is the pattern I was in before. Stop bleeding. Exercise or have sex. Resume bleeding. It’s why I quit my gym, stopped working out. My once A+ sex life is nonexistent.
I came home from class in tears. I really believed that the D&C, getting all that overgrown crap out of my uterus, would make things right again. That the pill–which has put enough weight on me that I had to go up yet another size in the past month–would make me normal again. That I was done with this, that my marriage could be repaired after the damage this whole mess has done to it over the past 6 months, for sure, and the last 20 months most likely.
I emailed my doctor, and I have an appointment on Monday at 815. I feel guilty about reaching out to her that way because I’m taking advantage of the fact that we work for the same institution. Other patients don’t have that access. Yet we do have the precedent. And I’m fed up. I am tired of suffering with this.
I don’t know what options she’s going to give me: another, stronger birth control pill? Perhaps an ablation since the pathology showed no abnormalities? Maybe I should just throw in the towel and have the hysterectomy. That will certainly solve the problem, but what other problems will it cause?
I want a crystal ball that will tell me what will give me the best outcome. I want someone to say: Drink this potion and everything will go back to normal. Steve says he wants his wife back. Well, you know what? I want me back too.
Benign
Posted by: | CommentsThe pathology was benign. The ucky stuff the doctor was worried about was a dying polyp–death caused by the awful progestin I was taking. The D&C scraped all that stuff out of me, so the inside of my uterus is shiny and new again. The new birth control pills I’m taking should keep it that way. Also, the pathology showed the hyperplasia found on the original biopsy is gone.
All good news. Great news. I’m OK.
Now, I get to stay on the pill for the next two years and have a biopsy (this time with lots of Valium and painkillers in my system) every six months. The next one: Nov. 12. Dr. A expects it to be normal. I’ll stay on birth control pills for the foreseeable future to ensure I don’t get the lining overgrowth again. I get to keep my uterus, and my ovaries, and my cervix.
I’m still in shock. I was so prepared for the news to be bad, to need a hysterectomy at the very least. The good news is slowly sinking in. It feels unreal. This situation has dominated my physical existence for almost two years. I can’t believe it’s over, so simply. I’m so happy it’s over, so simply.
Now, where was I in my life?
