It's funny how a doctor can call even the most simple procedure "surgery" and consequently send patients into a downward spiral of panic. Last week I went in for my six-week post-partum checkup, and everything was fantastical until I mentioned that I was still bleeding- not profusely, but just, you know, still bleeding. At a point when it probably should have stopped. She ordered an ultrasound and afterward I was informed that I had "retained placenta" and had to have a D+C. Hmmm, OK, and what is that exactly?
Good Lord, that is such a dirty word when you're the one who has to go through it.
So a D+C is a simple procedure where they get all up in your business and scrape out the inside of your uterus. Something for which, fortunately, there is an anesthesiologist present who injects the good stuff into your veins and knocks you out completely. Takes 30 minutes or so. Breezy recovery. So it's not that bad- why the brief bouts of terror?
You see, needles don't bother me- until I see them. I've had my ears pierced, and even had a period of rebellion in my life when I pierced my tongue and got a tattoo. Because I never saw said needles, and I was fine. But show me the needle and FORGET IT. In addition, you can pretty much stick me with a needle anywhere and I barely notice, but get a sharp object anywhere near the crook of my arm where they draw blood and I go white as a ghost. Therefore, pregnancy and childbirth, as easy as I had it, was not a walk in the park for me when it came to all the blood tests I had to have done.
So here's the backstory. When I was six years old, in our family doctor's office, a man who was so caring and wonderful and who I trusted completely, I had to have my blood drawn. At six years old, I had no idea that it would be better not to watch them do it- I thought, in all my infinite wisdom, that I needed to see it and I would feel better. So I watched. AND PASSED OUT COLD. When I woke up, I thought I died, and I have had a phobia of getting my blood drawn ever since. I know- pathetic, right? I was six years old! Get over it already!
So the worst part of today's surgery was the fact that I had to sit there for about an hour, fully conscious, with an IV line sitting in my arm in preparation for the glorious anesthesia I'd be receiving for the procedure. It bothered me SO MUCH. I couldn't even feel it but the fact that I knew it was there made me all lightheaded and weirded out. It's the first thing they do and the last thing they remove before you're all done. But whatever, I survived to tell the tale, and I'm at home less than two hours later and feel like a million bucks.
How I ever took up sewing as a hobby I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. There are a lot of needles involved in that pastime!