When last I left off, I was just a few weeks post-op after my first surgery. Much has happened since that time. It is now October 2002 – and I am celebrating reaching the one-year anniversary after my THIRD surgery.
Four months after surgery #1, I went with a girlfriend on a trip to northern Arizona. It was March, the weather was beautiful, and we took full advantage of that by driving the entire weekend with the top to her convertible down. What I did NOT know was that at the time, the pollen counts in Arizona were the highest in the nation; as a consequence, I was left with a terrible cough. Within weeks it was obvious that my cystocele had recurred. I went to see my urologist, who confirmed my suspicion and recommended another anterior repair. I questioned her specifically about the need for a paravaginal repair and was told, no, that was NOT the repair I needed (she drew diagrams and explained the difference between the two – which I already knew – and assured me that she would “use a more permanent suture this time”). I phoned my gynecologist and discussed this with her and she agreed that giving the anterior repair another shot was a good idea. I was planning to move back to Texas when school was out and wanted to go ahead with the repair without delay. On April 23, 2001, I had a second anterior colporraphy done by my urologist (assisted by the head doc in the practice). I had general anesthesia (would’ve preferred an epi but the doc was not comfortable with that), surgery took about an hour, I think, and I woke up asking the nurses, “Are you sure they did anything?” I had very little discomfort after this one, and spent only one night in the hospital.
On May 27, I arrived in Texas and noticed that I was feeling something strange. I tried to ignore it but after a week or so it was again obvious that the repair had failed. I was heartbroken, of course, but still determined to pursue a solution. The small town that I had moved to – just west of Ft. Worth -- had very limited medical care available but I felt confident that I would be able to find someone in either Ft. Worth or Dallas. I had no idea how to go about finding someone qualified but had by this point developed a firm resolve to consult with nothing less than the best urogynecologist I could find.
Via the website, “Allexperts.com,” I contacted Dr. Patrick Culligan (Louisville, KY), briefly explained my situation, and asked for a physician recommendation in my area. Without hesitation, he recommended Dr. Joseph Schaffer at UT Southwestern in Dallas. I obtained his e-mail address from the AUGS site, contacted him, and was urged to schedule an appt. I did so and saw him for the first time on August 21, 2001. I had the most thorough (and unusual) exam I’ve ever had (supine position) and was told that not only had my cystocele recurred, but that I had a prolapse of the vaginal vault, as well, and severe bladder neck hypermobility (full 90 degree tilt on the q-tip test) and that I would need a sacral colpopexy (using Mersilene mesh), culdoplasty, paravaginal repair (I knew it!), and some type of procedure for the bladder neck (to be determined after urodynamics). I asked if I could keep my cervix and he said, yes, that it would probably work to my advantage to keep it. I was not expecting the severity of my condition after 2 very recent surgeries; devastation is just not adequate to fully describe how wretched I felt in that moment. Was I just such a freak, so horribly damaged and ruined and spoiled that I could not be fixed? I cannot explain the difficulty a woman finding herself in that position has allowing herself to hope again. Doing so puts you at great risk for the pain that inevitably comes when those hopes are crushed again … and again. Oddly enough, though, I trusted this man almost immediately and chose to take that risk (I am by nature a risk taker) and am so thankful that I did so.
On Sept. 18, I had urodynamics done again which showed leakage when I coughed. Surgery was scheduled for Friday, Oct. 12. Oct. 2 was my pre-op – I had an EKG & blood work done and a thorough consult with Dr. S. He had decided to do the Burch but was concerned that scar tissue might prevent him from being able to; if he couldn’t, he would do the TVT. He was also concerned about blood loss. I was told that surgery would take approximately 4 hours and that I would be in the hospital for 4 days. I asked him if he had a problem with my preference for epidural anesthesia and he said he did not. I was told that I could have nothing but liquids on the day prior to surgery, and to drink the dreaded GoLytely (which I so fondly nicknamed, “The Jug Monster”) that evening.
Surprisingly (or maybe not, considering), I was not nervous at all this time. Upon our arrival at the hospital, I had blood drawn and was taken to the pre-op area to undress. Dr. S’s fellow & assistant came in to talk to me and announced quite loudly HOW THEY WERE GOING TO RECONSTRUCT MY VAGINA (seriously, I felt like saying, “Um, you think you could repeat that a bit louder cuz I’m not sure the folks out in the parking lot heard it all” … sheesh!). The anesthesiologist came in (very goofy guy; I loved him) and was thrilled that I wanted the epidural. He said that he would do both spinal AND epidural anesthesia, and that he would give me a shot of something “that makes him a lot of friends” beforehand so that I would not remember him placing the catheter (he was right; I don’t). Dr. S & his fellow/sidekick stopped back by, and he asked again if I wanted to keep my cervix. I told him, “yes.” He wanted to know how I would feel if for some reason he was unable to – I told him that I definitely wanted to hang onto it (the last remaining souvenir of my uterus, after all, and supposedly makes for better sex) BUT what was most important to me was getting the job done right and NOT having to go through this again. He promised he would do his best (bless him, he did), and finally I was wheeled into the OR. I was amazed at how huge the room was – fascinated me, as I have no memory at all of OR #1 and just a bit of OR #2. The anesthesiologist did my IV (poor guy; I have lousy veins and this is always quite a chore – he said, “I could’ve poked around on you for 30 minutes and STILL not found a vein!”). He then gave me the shot of whatever, and the next thing I remember is waking up during surgery. I was terribly disappointed that I couldn’t see anything due to a drape that was placed between me & where the action was. This was right in the midst of the anthrax scare (in the aftermath of 9/11) and I remember the anthrax/Cipro conversation going on, I remember some dreadful music playing (I was tempted to say something but even though I was stoned I felt it would be wise to keep quiet about that, considering the The Big Guy, himself, probably chose it), I felt no pain but could * f e e l * very strange sensations (pulling, pressure, etc.). The anesthesiologist was constantly asking me, “Are you okay?” And I would say, “uh huh,” and he kept calling my husband out in the waiting room, letting him know what was going on. At one point I heard him say, “Would you like to talk to her?” And he held the phone for me as I carried on one of those pointless, “Hi-Hi-How are you?-Fine. How are You?-Fine” conversations with my hubby. As it turned out, the surgery ended up taking 6-1/2 hours. Evidently the scar tissue posed quite a challenge (talking to the doc once I was in my room, he labeled the surgery, “technically difficult”) but he was able to do the Burch and blood loss was not the problem he had feared it would be. THIS is the difference having a skilled surgeon makes!
Continue Catherine's Story........
Important Announcement
