Under the knife

(Warning to my male and/or squeamish readers: Stop reading now. Vagina-talk will ensue. And not the good kind)


Tomorrow morning I go in for surgery. It sounds way more dramatic than it actually is. If you remember a few weeks ago, I mentioned a trip to my good friend, the gynecologist. I wish it were for my normal annual pap and exam. It, unfortunately, was not. About six ago, while removing my NuvaRing (birth control), I felt something, er, weird. It was kind of like a little water balloon was just chilling out in my vajayjay. It didn't hurt and I didn't even notice it until this day. I immediately began to panic that my vagina was falling out. I called my doctor in the morning and they got me in the next day.

When my doctor walked into the room, he goes "So, you said you're feeling something weird? A lot of women think that there's something there but the way your anatomy works, it's usually just the folds of the vagina." Only being a patient of his for the last year - since I left my last OB/GYN after an unhappy birth experience - I suppose he thought I was a hypochondriac or an over-reactor. Believe me people, if I am in the gynecologist's office and it's not time for my annual or I'm not pregnant, there is definitely something wrong. I don't know many women who go, "Ya know, I'm a little bored this week. I think I'll make an appointment to lay on my back, spread eagle in front of a doctor and a nurse while he pries open my girly bits with a giant metal speculum." Anyway, after the examination, I sit back up and he says, "What I'm 100% sure of is that this is nothing to worry about. What I'm not sure of is what it is." Gah-reat. He proceeds to tell me that it is definitely a cyst of some kind but he has never seen one of this particular nature. Young, down-to-earth, and trying to level with me he then says, "I don't have a huge ego and I'm not going to bullshit you. I'm going to get in touch with some colleagues that I trained under at Yale and get back to you. But I think we'll definitely get an MRI."

Oooooooh-kay.

So, he called me back a few days later and after discussing my vagina with other doctors, he said they all think it was probably a Gartner's duct cyst. I did have the MRI, which confirmed this. The Gartner's duct is an embryonic remnant, that just sits useless, usually causing no problems. But, I'm me, people. Weird shit ensues.

The next step, however, was what exactly to do about it. Unfortunately, with these cysts, most doctors say to leave them alone if they are not symptomatic, as they are benign. Though not in pain regularly, it affects and causes pain during the shakey-shakey-booty dance, if you know what I mean. I also could no longer use my Nuvaring (I had to switch to The Pill and HATE it). While the answer seems logical enough -just remove the duct - it is apparently a complicated surgery. When my gyn called back to discuss surgical options, he said "Most gyns wouldn't touch this with a ten-foot pole. I'll be in the room and assist, but I need to find someone who will agree to perform the surgery." He did call back a few days later with the name of a gynecology oncologist who agreed to perform the surgery. Though my cyst has nothing to do with cancer, this surgeon is skilled in difficult gynecology surgeries and agreed to meet with me. After my appointment with him, he explained the procedure to me and why it can be a difficult procedure.

Apparently, this duct can have a large blood supply making excising it a difficult task, and sometimes transfusions are necessary. His surgery plan involves attempting to remove the duct, but if he encounters problems and feels it is in my best interest, he will abort the excision, and just remove the part of the cyst that is bothering me, doing a procedure called "marsupializaton" where he essentially cuts it, then sutures it to itself, allowing it to close over. The reason he just doesn't do this first is that the duct still remains and the cyst can come back. Even though it sounds scary, they assure me it will be fine. It is only a 30 minute outpatient surgery and since I go in at 5:45 am (kill me now), I should be out of there by early afternoon.

Because I have to be there so early, I have to drive myself. Mike will get up with the baby and take her to dayhome and meet me there. I normally don't mind being by myself and have had enough surgeries that I know I won't die from the anesthesia. However, the last time I went under for my gall bladder removal in April, I had a bad experience with the anesthesia. When I woke up, I could see people and hear people and was mentally awake enough to want to talk to them. When I saw Mike I wanted to ask how the baby was and see how her day was. I was thinking clearly. But I could not move. I could barely speak without slurring. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I wanted to wake up and I couldn't. I felt trapped in my own body and started to panic, but couldn't tell anyone. Eventually, it wore off, but it took the rest of the day and the night. That is what I'm afraid of. I don't want to have that feeling again. I'm hoping it was a fluke, or maybe the type of surgery it was required me to be more "out," or maybe I just had a bad anesthesiologist. In either case, I will definitely be telling the doctors about this when they come to see me before the surgery, and hopefully since it is only a 30 minute procedure, it won't happen again.

I'm sure the anticipation is worse than the actual surgery and I will be fine in no time. I figure the healing and pain will be similar to that of my stitches from my tear from giving birth, hopefully less, since it will be controlled cuts rather than a tear. And of course, just like giving birth, there will be an approximately four-week coitus hiatus, much to my husband's chagrin. I'm sure he'll live.