Reno or Demo? The Follow-up Appointment

So now the follow-up appointment where we learn the fate of Aunt Flo's granny suite. Since there were no polyps to be found it came down to two choices.

Reno, otherwise known as enometrial ablation. This is where the doctor cauterizes the lining of your uterus. Many women have had this procedure and are quite happy with it. Recovery time is about 10 days, and it's done as an outpatient procedure. The success rate is pretty good. The problem is you may not know if it was successful for up to a year after the procedure. Also, the amusement park might be under maintenance for the first three months.

Demo, otherwise known as a hysterectomy. It involves surgery, at least one night in the hospital and six weeks to recover. But at the end of that six weeks - it's done. No waiting to see if it worked. No more maintenance at the amusement park. No more cramps. No more back ache. No more wanting to throat punch the guy (it had to have been a man) who came up with the whole "Have a Happy Period" advertising campaign.

Guess what folks? Auntie Flo's going to be looking for a new apartment soon. I'm going with option two.

I was thinking of doing this post with a Love it or List it theme, but figured it would just get gross.

You're Dying to Know Right?

Because I know you're all dying to know what's been happening with my uterus, I decided it was time to share an update.

I finally did get my Hysterosonogram. If you missed me bitching about it earlier, getting the appointment for this test was like trying to win a lottery. In fact during the five months it took me to book the test I won $108 on the lottery.

When I arrived for the test, the ultrasound department had just moved into their new home so I was shown into a lovely large room instead of a curtained cubicle. The technician pointed out that the bed had a depression in the middle - like I didn't notice and know exactly what that was for. What she forgot to do was let me know that it wasn't a good idea to use that part of the bed as an access point. My knee discovered that it's all hard metal under that sag in the fitted sheet.

Once I was suitably laid out - it was time for my audience. It's a good thing the room was large because this event was attended by the Ultrasound Technician, an ultrasound trainee of some kind, the radiologist and my gynecologist. That's more people than I would invite to a dinner party, never mind a viewing of my privates.

Nothing was really set up for the procedure, because it was a new room. Turns out the lighting that is best for ultrasounds is not necessarily best for seeing up inside of a vagina. Since the gynecologist didn't bring a head lamp with her, there was some scrambling to find a lamp of some kind. In her rush to get one in place, the radiologist nearly took off the gynecologists head with the lamp.

Finally everyone got themselves settled for the show, my uterus playing the lead of course.

If you were wondering, having a catheter threaded up your cervix so your uterus can be filled with saline is not a pleasant experience. On a scale of 1 to 10, with Mirena installation being an eight, the procedure ranks a 10 for pain discomfort. Childbirth isn't on this scale because at least they offer you drugs for that.

The technician, the gynecologist and the radiologist started muttering amongst themselves. Since it was my uterus they were discussing, I assumed it was acceptable to barge in on the conversation.

Me: So there are no polyps?

Gynecologist: No polyps.

Me: So it's a completely normal looking uterus?

Gynecologist: It is.

Me: So what's with all the bleeding?

Gynecologist: Sometimes that's just what happens. We'll discuss treatment options at your next appointment. You may experience some spotting over the next couple of days.

I was pissed. Not at the gynecologist, at least she tried to find a reason for the issues I was having as opposed to my last gyno who just slapped a Mirena in there and called it good enough. I was pissed that I waited five months for that test and it showed nothing at all.

If you wait five months to see what the inside of your uterus looks like, shouldn't there at least be some vague swirls that look like the face of Jesus or something? Even a smiley face or a hand flipping you the bird. Anything would have been better than nothing.

This may be my longest post ever, so go pee and grab a drink first.

Last week I spent a good portion of Friday and Saturday bitching about my own stupidity as opposed to my usual bitching about the stupidity of other people. I had a day and a half of vacation time still coming to me. With Christmas and Boxing day being Statutory Holidays (ones even my workplace actually observes) I could have taken the Friday and the Saturday and granted myself a little mini-vacation.

After a year of working 50 to 80 hours a week, who doesn't want a little mini-vacation?

I kept thinking about the lost opportunity and how it wouldn't work this week because New Years is only one day off and there's no day-after-New-Years day off. Then I had an epiphany. Once we hit New Years Day it's a new year. Which means I will have 2 weeks plus a day and a half vacation to take.

So I booked Thursday, Friday and Saturday off. Add in the day off for New Years (another stat holiday we actually get to have off) and the Sunday and that's 5, count em, 5 days in a row of not having to drag my ass out of the house in the morning.

Sometimes I amaze even myself with my brilliance.

Plus, I go back to work on Monday and then I have Tuesday afternoon booked off for a hysterosonogram.

This is the point where anyone squeamish about period talk should just stop reading and come back tomorrow. Also, I will mention my uterus and probably my vagina too. Especially my vagina - mostly because I like to see the discomfort the word vagina seems to inspire in other people.

Vagina, vagina, vagina!

A very long, long time ago - last spring - I decided it was time to evict Aunt Flo from her Granny suite, or at least get her to behave more like a respectful tenant.

The first step was going to see my family doctor. In Ontario, if you don't already have a family doctor you have to apply to become a patient. Thankfully I had already completed that process three years ago. I just never actually went to see him.

Making the appointment was a major pain in the ass. To call from my workplace is long distance and I worked the same hours as the receptionist and then some. Which meant I had to put extra minutes on my pay-as-you go cellphone. Yes that's right - I PAID MONEY TO SIT ON HOLD ENDLESSLY WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ANSWER THE GODDAMNED PHONE!

Once I actually got to see the family doctor, he scheduled me to come back for a physical and some blood work - 3 weeks later. He was also supposed to refer me to a gynecologist. I soldiered my way through the blood work (easy peasy) and my physical (not so easy, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do). I was assured that the Holy Grail was within reach and the gynecologist would call me any day with an appointment time.

One month later I still hadn't heard from the gynecologist and not only is Aunt Flo sticking around for two and three weeks at a time she's also popping in unexpectedly during play time.  So I call the doctors office.

Me: Um, I was supposed to be getting a referral to a gynecologist and I haven't heard anything yet.

Receptionist: These things take time.

Me: It's been over a month.

Receptionist: It takes time. When they have openings it's on a first come first serve basis.

Me: But it's been over a month and I should at least have an appointment by now.

Receptionist: Well what are you waiting to see the gynecologist for?

This is where instead of telling the nosy woman that it's between me and my doctor and none of her effing business, I started almost bawling, told her never mind and hung up. An hour later, my phone started to ring. By some miracle I still had minutes left.

Me: Hello?

Nurse Practitioner: Hi Vanessa, this is blah blah I'm calling from doctor blah blah's office.

Me: Okay?

NP: Vanessa it seems doctor blah blah forgot to fax the referral request to the gynecologist.

My Brain: May his prostrate be permanently inflamed as his penis endlessly dribbles pee. 

NP: Were you just seeing the gynecologist to have your Mirena removed - because I can do that for you.

Me: Well it was for more than that - I'm having never ending periods too.

NP: Let's try taking the Mirena out, it's almost time and it might help. I can give you a prescription for birth control to regulate your periods and I'll fax the referral as well.

So I made another appointment. Of course she can't actually give me a prescription for birth control because I'm over forty and I smoke. I knew that was too good to be true. She removed the Mirena - which was a whole hell of a lot easier than the installation of that bastard - and suggested sponges and condoms as birth control. She also referred me for an ultrasound, since the gynecologist would probably want one anyhow.

After I got dressed she came in with a handful of packets that at first I thought were condom packets. No such luck, it was a handful of single dose Advil packets. She left me with the advice that I might experience a little bit of spotting the next day. If you want an exact description of what followed for the next two weeks there are entire websites devoted to women who can't spell, describing their experience after Mirena in excruciating detail. I will leave it at saying "a little bit of spotting" was like calling Niagara Falls a trickle. The Canadian falls, not the US falls.

However, the long awaited gynecologist appointment was booked for the end of August. One week before the designated day, I received my ultrasound appointment - for the week after I was supposed to see the gynecologist. Which makes absolutely no fucking sense.

So I called the ultrasound booking department - where I was told that my doctor's office knew weeks ago when the appointment was. Had they bothered to call me when they got the appointment, I could have made arrangements to go to Windsor and have the ultrasound done well in advance of actually seeing the gynecologist. So after bawling on the phone to the poor lady booking the ultrasounds about how they might as well just sew up my vagina since I couldn't use it anyhow, I had to agree to postpone the appointment with the gynecologist to mid-September.

On the day of that appointment I was just about ready to piss myself with excitement. Finally I was getting somewhere. Until my cellphone rang. The specialist had been up all night delivering babies and I would have to reschedule.

Two mother effing weeks later I spent the morning on pins and needles hoping I would actually get to go to this appointment. This time, I finally got to meet my new gynecologist. Surprisingly (insert sarcasm), she had not received the results of my blood-work or pap smear. Her prognosis?

Gyno: I think you have polyps. It explains all of your symptoms - even the ones from five years ago. I'm going to send you for a Hysterosonogram.

Except, she doesn't actually book you for the appointment. You have to book it yourself.

First you wait for your next period to start. Then you call the booking department on the first day. They count out 14 days from that day and try to book you an appointment on the Tuesday closest to that day. Because of course they only do the test on Tuesdays. Once you have that appointment, you call the gyno receptionist (who is awesome by the way) and she sees if the gyno is available at that time to attend. Which is when I said "so basically it's like trying to win a lottery?"

First month - no appointment available.

Second month - no appointment available

Third month - I get an appointment but the doctor isn't available.

In the meantime just to prove it's easier to win the lottery than book this test, I won $108 dollars on the Lotto Max.

Fourth month - Aunt Flo doesn't show when expected but she sends out a warning of her arrival. 14 days before Christmas. I'm disappointed because I know there's no way I'm going to get my appointment for Christmas Eve. For once, Aunt Flo decided to show some Christmas charity and delay her arrival for another week. I cross my fingers and call the booking department.

Booking Department: So let's see, 14 days brings you to the 31st. We aren't doing any of those on New Year's Eve. 

Me: I get that they are trying for mid-cycle. I get that they want me to be near ovulation, but come on! I'm 43 freaking years old. Who knows when I ovulate or even if I do?

Booking Department: That's true - I have an appointment the following week, do you want to try that?

Me: Sold!

I call the gyno office and the doctor was available that day.

I may not be able to win millions on the Lotto, but who cares. I won the goddamned Hysterosonogram Sweepstakes!