And a last one, this time from just under a decade ago

One more post from way back when - a recounting of my adventures getting (the first of three) lasik surgery to correct my hideously bad eyesight. The squeamish should bow out now, I think.

---

Ok, so I'm back, have slept off the worst of the valium, and am ready to tell my tale, for those of you who have strong enough stomachs to read any further. Here's how my day went:

9:15 am - suffered power blackout at work; since I work in a lab where the loss of ventilation can be hazardous, all of us trooped over to the cafeteria to hang out. Nothing better than time to sit around with nothing to do right before surgery, so you can dwell on exactly how scared you are. Contemplated the possiblity that the power wouldn't come on in the next hour or so, which would cause the plant manager to send first shift home early for the day, which would mean that I could save 1/2 a vacation day. That was the bright spot of the morning.

10:55 am - power restored, first shift had to stay. Darn it!

11am - bid farewell to coworkers ("See you Monday . . . hopefully!). Felt sense of elation that in a few hours, I'll be able to stop worrying about the damn procedure. Thought about taking my safety glasses with me in the car so I could pitch them out the window on my way home after the surgery, but decided that littering wasn't the best idea.

11:15am - choked down a light lunch at Subway. Contemplated which toppings would look best if circumstances caused me to regurgitate them all over the laser technician. Fretted.

11:55am - arrived at doctor's office. There were only two cars in the parking lot, a parking lot that is usually full. Is the place closed? Has he been sued for malpractice? Or are they just slow because of the lunch hour? Remembered to bring inside the bag of pre-surgery stress reducers I've gathered (stone I use to keep my hands occupied instead of biting my fingernails; photos of loved ones; handkerchief from my grandmother who breezed through several cataract surgeries with no difficultes, and whose estate made the surgery financially possible for me; plastic baggie and napkins to use in case of nausea).

12pm - signed in. Signed disclaimer that boiled down to "anything that goes wrong ain't the doctor's fault." Took 10mg valium. Tried to read engaging book to keep my mind off of impending procedure (
i O is for Outlaw;
very good book so far). Held husband's hand. Fretted.

12:15 pm - young woman who just arrived is scheduled for the surgery slot after mine. She looked calm and ready to go. And skinny. Wished fervently that I was more like her, or at least looked that good in overalls.

12:30 pm - assistant came to prep me for surgery. "I'm supposed to be feeling less anxious, right, because that isn't happening yet." "We'll get you prepped and get you another pill."

12:40 pm - Began crying. Just a little. Reassured by assistant, who had laser surgery herself, that everything will be fine, but I don't have to continue if I don't want to. Gulped down another 1/2 a valium, preying for some dopiness to start soon. Eye area was swabbed with betadine solution, and I had to put on a little blue shower cap to keep my hair out of the way.

12:50 pm - Waited in small waiting room for doctor to arrive. Assistant stopped by every few minutes to make sure I was feeling ok, which interfered with my stress-reducing yoga breathing techniques. Panic was still there, but manageable.

1:10 pm - Doctor is here, ready to go.
* Sit in something like a dentist's chair, only it tilts so far back that you feel like you're going to slide off headfirst onto the floor. Head was positioned just so, then held in place with an inflatable donut-shaped pillow. They moved the laser in place over my eye, and the focusing ring around the outside was so bright I could barely look at it.
* They put a patch over my left eye. Had to stare at the light while they attached a suction ring to my right eye. This caused me to lose all vision in that eye, which was probably a blessing, but it was really uncomfortable - like someone pushing fairly hard on your eye with their knuckle. The keratome (translation - knife) attached to the suction ring, and after a few seconds of vibration, the flap was cut. They removed the suction ring, and I breathed for the first time in several minutes, or at least that's how it seemed. Probably would have been impossible at that time to pry the lucky stone out of my hand.
* Also luckily, with the flap cut I couldn't really see what was going on too well. First they attached a speculum to my eyelids to keep them open. Then they flipped back the flap, made sure everything was ready, and started up the laser. The trick to the laser is that you have to look right at that super-bright area (with a pulsing red light in the middle; that's the actual laser) without moving your eye, or it gets all screwed up. Unfortunately, to me it looked like the damn target light was moving, so I kept trying to follow it with my eye. Luckily the doctor has a view of the whole thing, and every time my eye started to wander, he'd flip off the laser. After the fourth or fifth time that happened, he was probably getting a little annoyed. Meanwhile, the laser technician was counting down how many seconds I had left to go. Longest 48 seconds ever recorded in the history of mankind.
* Once the laser was done, they flipped the flap back in place and used some sort of spatula or brush or something to smooth it back into place. Thanks to the negative pressure in your eye, there are no stitches necessary to hold the flap back in place. Then I had to sit there with the speculum holding open my right eye (so the flap could get nicely dried and stuck down before I blinked) while they started on my left eye.
* So the right eye was bad, but the left eye was even scarier, since I knew exactly what was coming. The suction hurt worse on that eye - was bordering on pain, instead of just being uncomfortable. I'm hoping that whimpering uncontrollably doesn't mean that I wasn't brave, since I made it through the whole procedure for that eye, too. Of course, I may be picking rock fragments out of my hands for a few days, but hey - at least there was not vomiting!
* After the left eye was done, they put some drops in my right eye, then took out the speculum. Then I had to wait for another few minutes with the speculum still attached to my left eye (and it pinched!) while the doctor and technicians made small talk. Then they put in the drops, took the appliances off, and damned if I couldn't see! Well, I could see pretty well until they taped some clear eyepatches over my eyes to keep me from scratching at them overnight - they blur things a little bit.

1:30 pm - All done, including the post-operative counseling to let me know what types of pain and/or problems are bad enough for me to call the doctor at home and drag him with me to the hospital. Arrived in the lobby, triumphant, and looking unbearably stupid with both eyes tremendously bloodshot from the suction

Jackpots and satellites

Or, TMI about my feet. [ETA: Now with 100% more gruesome post-operative photos at the end of the post!]

Public service announcement: If you think you have a wart on your foot, do not let it fester for seven months before going to the podiatrist. You'll regret it.

Now would be a good time for the squeamish people to do an about-face and go look at cute kid pictures or something.










******

So the thing showed up on my foot in October. I know this because I assumed it was a callous or a plantar wart and used OTC callous/wart remover on it, which resulted in my wading around at the water park on my birthday in early November with a bandaid covering the hole in my foot. I was pissed, because I had planned to get a pedicure at the spa as a birthday present for myself, but I wasn't going to risk it with that on my foot. I burned the living crud out of that hard little nubbin on the bottom of my foot just where the back of the foot joins on to the instep, burned it until so much skin was gone that it hurt to touch it.

Meanwhile, another one showed up in the exact same place on my other foot. I decided that maybe it wasn't a wart, because really, what are the chances of them showing up in identical locations at virtually the same time if it's a viral infection instead of some physical issue? I had just stopped wearing my sandals and started wearing winter shoes, which irritated the spots and made them hurt even when I wasn't wearing shoes at all. I researched other possible culprits, including bursitis, and heel spurs, and plantar fasciitis (I love words with two i's in a row), and corns. Didn't look like any of them, or like warts for that matter, so I went to see my doctor.

Corns, he said, grinning as he used a scalpel to cut the center out of each of them. Probably developed to protect something wrong with the architecture of my foot, or aggravated by switching to unsupportive shoes. Wear supportive shoes and pumice away the hard skin around it, and it should go away once the annoyance has been removed. They felt better for a few days after his impromptu surgery, until the centers started to grow back.

And the pain got worse. Instead of feeling like I was walking with a nickel in my shoe all the time, it felt like I had a pointy rock digging into my foot whenever I went barefoot for more than a few minutes or wore any shoes other than Birkenstocks. A dull ache most of the time, unless I stepped on something in that area ... which I inevitably did, several times a day, sending pain so bad it brought tears to my eyes shooting up the nerves in my foot. Worse, the concave shape of the areas after my doctor's little craft project was done made it act like a suction cup on wet surfaces, so when I was in the shower my feet would literally stick to the inside of the tub, and boy, did that hurt when I picked up my feet and the skin stretched a little before the suction let go.

Just a corn. Wear supportive shoes. Give it some time to heal. Eventually I decided that the fact I was avoiding going for walks meant it was bad enough to go see a podiatrist, but every time I called the one my doctor had recommended, his office was closed and I got the Surly Answering Service Lady. Then the thyroid stuff came up, and I decided that seeing one specialist at a time was all I could handle.

Thyroid situation on hold, I called this week for an appointment. Got to have another chat with Surly Answering Service Lady, but the following day I booked an appointment for today. Huzzah, more fun stuff to look forward to! More expensive tests and x-rays and stuff! Orthotics! Surgery! Debilitating longterm condition that requires amputation!

Or, not. I walk in, he takes on look at my foot, and says, "Warts." More specifically, "Wow, those are some big ones you've got there." Dude, I sooo did not want to hear that. Anytime my doctor seems impressed with my particular affliction, it's a sign that bad things are about to happen. "Yeah, you hit the jackpot on these. They're in a sensitive area, so we can't go in with novocaine and the laser (!) and cut them out, unless you want to be off your feet for a long time. So we'll just use this 70% acid solution and burn them off every couple of weeks until they're gone." He grabs a bottle of liquid and a scalpel and goes to work without even giving me a chance to get a word in edgewise. I am a total pussy when it comes to pain - ask my parents about my childhood band-aid removal tantrums - so I keep talking to try to keep my mind off of what's going on down there.

**********************

===="So, my regular doctor said these weren't warts, just corns. Are you sure we need to be digging them out like that?" erghhhhh oh, not pleasant at all
-----"Honestly, family doctors are not the people to see about feet issues. See how this one is bleeding? Warts are vascular like that. Boy, this one is a lot deeper than it looks!" I hazard a look toward my feet and see him wielding the scalpel like he's coring a tomato. Blargh. Look at ceiling. Look at kid. Do not look at feet. Dig dig scrape dab wipe dig dig
===="And the fact that they're in an unusual location, and showed up on both feet at the same time?"
-----"Lucky coincidence."
"Mommy, can I ride in the chair when you're done?"
===="We'll ask the doctor once he's done digging all the way up to my knee with no anesthesia and ooooh boy, dammit, that's gone from uncomfortable to painful, could we let that one have a break for a while?"
"Mommy, we don't say dammit."
-----"Dude, have you seen what he's doing to my foot? I think it's okay for a grownup to say it in this situation gaaaaaahhhhh."
-----"Okay, taking a break. Now this one, wow, that's a big one." He's tackling the one on my other foot now, the calloused white crater that's the size of a dime and actually made Jason recoil in horror when he saw it last night. Dab dab dig dig wipe off blood dab dab dig dig
===="Yeah, that's the one I didn't treat with the OTC stuff. Hey, I guess the dozen little craters that showed up on my heel a week ago aren't just my winter callouses wearing off from pumicing the sore spot, huh?"
-----"Nope, those are satellites. They're still tiny, so we'll get rid of those pretty easily."
===="So, what are you coloring down there, Liza? Wow, nice letters. It was nice of the nurse to lend you those highlighters, wasn't it?" Please try not to notice that I'm gripping the arms of the chair so hard that I've lost feeling in my fingers. Boy, I should have brought my knitting in for this one. I couldn't have knit, but at least I could have stabbed the dude back with something pointy in retribution.
===="Arrrrrrgh. So, you're sure this is the less painful way?"
-----"Oh, yeah. Trust me, you don't want to dig these out all at once when they're in this part of your foot." He's finished now, wiping the debris off and getting bandages on my feet. Liza is fascinated, watching over his shoulder like a residency student. She's a little miffed that I didn't get Hello Kitty bandages like she does when she gets a boo-boo.
-----"So, are you going to be a doctor when you grow up?"
No, I'm going to be a ballerina astronaut.
-----"Okaaaaay. Now these shouldn't hurt much. We'll just keep digging them out a little at a time. Another four or six visits and they should be gone, okay? See you in two weeks!"

*****************

I got to my feet gingerly, convinced that the warts are going to bleed through the bandages and ruin my good Birkenstocks right before the summer starts. But the only thing that hurts is where the self-stick ace bandage thing that's wrapped around my instep bends and pinches the top of my foot. All that unpleasant digging and scraping that led me to believe that I have a gaping wound the size of Pluto (with satellites!) on the bottom of my foot ... is miraculously pain-free, even though I'm standing with a lump of gauze and bandage and stuff strapped directly over the previously painful spot. You know, the exact spot that had me howling in agony if I stepped on a wrinkle in the bath mat with it.

Holy shit.

Damn right I'll be back in two weeks ... I might have a three-bourbon lunch before I come so I can sit in that chair without digging holes in my palms to match the ones in my feet, and I'll probably avoid bringing the kiddo with me, but I'll be back. Now, if I can just get up the nerve to rip off the bandages tomorrow morning, I'll be fine. shudder

************

ETA: Time for the squeamish people to REALLY leave.

You know how in Great Non-Fiction Literature Like This the author sometimes exaggerates things for comedic purposes? Like, for example, comparing the size of a wound to Pluto? Hah! How funny that was! Do you have any idea how distressing it is when the author finds out she hasn't actually exaggerated things, it really is that bad? I thought I was joking about how big the wounds on my feet were, but .... here's the bandage from my right "wow, that's a big one" foot, which was loose so I foolishly decided to change it tonight (stupid, stupid me):

And here's what was underneath:

For comparison, here's the foot that was treated with the OTC stuff and this morning had a small lump that was only slightly annoying:

Those tiny red dots are the "vascular" thing the podiatrist mentioned, which you couldn't see before he carved up this foot. Similar dots were clearly visible in the other foot this morning, but you can't see them in the middle picture because they're obscured by the remarkably quick upwelling of blood that showed up any time I took pressure off of the wound.

As I hopped around trying to wrangle a camera in bad light with a dripping foot, I joked with Jason that I hoped I didn't bleed out while I sleep tonight. Hah! See, there's that comedic exaggeration again!

I slapped some antibiotic ointment on an extra-large band-aid and covered that with a sock to keep the whole mess in place overnight. Then I got ready for bed, marveling at how the actual giant gaping wound on my foot still hurt less than the wart did this morning.

Then I noticed that I was leaving bloody footprints on the floor. Through the bandaid. And the sock (which luckily was a store-bought one, not a hand-knit one, or I'd have been really pissed).

Now I've got an extra-thick jogging sock (thank you, orphaned sock pile!) over it, and I'm going to go think good coagulating thoughts for my poor wounded appendage. Wish me luck tonight! Because if things go badly, I'll have Jason post pictures of my exsanguinated*** corpse tomorrow before he calls EMS. And nobody wants to see that.

***thanks to my college drama teacher, I actually knew that word without having to look it up online. That, and "defenistrate" are two of the least useful bonus point vocabulary questions in the world. But now I finally used one in a legitimate context! Hurrah! See, there IS a bright side to this whole bloody mess.

45/365

1. I remembered to do the follow-up ultrasound on my thyroid.

2. During the ultrasound I got to see my trachea and my carotid artery.

3. I also got to see the nodule and cysts! Hooray for knowing your enemy!

4. The endocrinologist I was referred to has a month-long waiting list for appointments, but there was a cancellation so I get to go in on Friday.

5. I can now drop the phrase, "my endocrinologist" in casual conversation. I feel very adult. Now, if I can just get an appointment set up at "my podiatrist," I'll officially feel old.


FWIW, the nurse who called with the test results showed I have "multiple small cystic areas" and a 1-cm nodule on my left thyroid. So I've got a pea-sized interloper and a couple smaller cousins in there somewhere ... now we just need to see whether they stay or get nuked.

On the positive side, any nuking probably involves me having to be completely separate from all small children and animals for several days so nobody other than me gets irradiated, so - SCORE! - no child care duties for me and I probably get to stay in a hotel!

Retroactively proactive

Okay, so rather than wait a few more months for my thyroid to explode (ha! there's a mental picture!) and probably forget to get the followup work done, I did some detective work this morning and managed to find the info on when and where I got the original scan done. Hooray for overly organized packrat tendencies!

One phone call this morning, and the original scan should be beeping and whirring its way to my doctor right now. I love when the folks at the hospital consider my privacy rights protected by requiring a witnessed speakerphone assertion that yes, I am the patient, and yes, you can fax the results to my new doctor, y'all.

So now we can see how much better/worse it's gotten in the last three years, at least, without the chance that I'll forget to go back.

eerily similar

What I wrote October 14, 2005:
I got the results from the ultrasound today - I have a nodule on my left thyroid lobe. AKA see, I'm not crazy, I'm actually sick.
The nurse said the hospital usually recommends waiting six months and doing another thyroid ultrasound then to see whether it's still there or has grown, but my doctor usually wants to go ahead and do the nuclear scan to get a better picture of where we stand now. I asked whether they can do the nuclear scan if I'm breastfeeding, and they said no. So what they recommend is that I wait to do that until I'm closer to wanting to wean Liza, and in the meantime I should come in again in a month or so and get the blood test done again so they can monitor my hormone levels.

I found that e-mail to Jason a couple months ago as I was searching my archives for something completely unrelated.

I had completely forgotten about this whole thing, about the freaky easy post-partum weight loss (breastfeeding helps, but it doesn't explain losing 30 pounds while sucking down Sonic milkshakes every day) and the hair loss, the blood tests and the ultrasound and the freaking out because they sort of wanted me to stop breastfeeding Liza so I could have the nuclear scan (which would have made me and my breastmilk radioactive for several days, and I wouldn't have been able to go near her - or probably be in the same house as her - for that time). And the possibility that I'd have to nuke my thyroid and take synthetic thyroid hormones for the rest of my life. Realistically, I knew it wasn't the end of the world - some of my friends have had the same thing, and they're doing fine, feeling much healthier than they ever did when their thyroids were actually "working," but it still freaked me out.

I remember now that my follow-up bloodwork showed my TSH levels were back in the range considered normal, and I never went back for the second ultrasound to see if the nodule got any larger. Completely forgot to, what with the depression and the moving and all that.

Then I found the e-mail, and I happened to be going to the doctor soon to get my prescriptions refilled anyway, so I brought up with him the fact that I might have some sort of hideous thyroid malady that's been festering for the past three years. Well, actually I said, um, do I need to get the ultrasound still if the symptoms are gone? Because my days of losing weight while drinking milkshakes are sadly past.

Last week I finally got around to having the test run - yay, I love the feel of lubricating gel on my throat - and I wasn't thrilled when I asked the technician, "So, I don't have any aliens living in there or anything, right?" and she said, "Your doctor will have the results in a few days," without even cracking a smile.

What I found out October 15, 2008:
I got the results from the ultrasound today - I have nodules on my left thyroid lobe. Since I don't have the actual results from 2005, they want me to wait a few months and get the test done again to see whether they grow.

Ah, well, at least nobody has mentioned irradiating vital parts of my body (yet).

Oh, and for anyone who's interested in what this is all about, there's tons of info here:
thyroid nodules: http://www.endocrineweb.com/nodule.html

She's my hero

And you thought I was giving you too much information a few months ago?

http://wipingupsnot.com/2008/05/29/my-vagina-version-20/

At least Karly didn't post photos - and you KNOW she's got 'em if Cleatus liked it that much.

We interrupt the Christmas cheer to bring you Too Much Information

It started in August.

It continued through October.

And November.

By early December my regular doctor was back to "well, maybe it's yeast, so here's some diflucan (again), but if it comes back you'd better go to a gynecologist." Oh, and I don't have diabetes.

I'm thinking that when the gynecologist I met yesterday asked, "How are you?" she probably wasn't expecting me to reply, "Great, if you ignore the last six months of fiery itching in my nether regions." I was supposed to say, "Fine, and you?" right? Darn my underdeveloped social skills!

After poking and prodding and culturing and sampling and answering a million questions, I got a "Well, I don't know what to tell you." That's doctor-speak for "WTF?" She doesn't think it's yeast, doesn't know what it would be other than yeast based on my symptoms, and since she doesn't know what it is, there's not much she can prescribe to help relieve the symptoms. Have a happy new year! And try not to scratch!

That ranks right up there with "Your cat has cancer - happy Thanksgiving!" on the list of "phrases you don't want to put on a holiday greeting card."

Too much information alert

So last week I had to visit the doctor to clear up a recurring yeast infection, or, as I like to call it, crotch rot. Nothing says fun like having a pelvic exam with your doctor-phobic two-year-old in the room, during her normal lunch time. I didn't hear a peep out of her the whole time, praise be to Barney and the portable DVD player.

(See that - half of my readers just clicked away in disgust, and Jason passed out on the floor of the conference center in Shreveport from acute embarassment after the first sentence. Hi, honey! It's 48F in our bedroom because I forgot to close the window today, and I'm killing time until it warms up enough so I can't see my breath. How's things down south?)

Anyway ... after giving me the prescriptions for the anti-fungal pill and the antibiotic gel, which in combination should pretty much napalm anything living below my waist (as well as some stuff above it), my doctor says as he's leaving the room: "And if this still doesn't take care of it, you'll need to come back in, and make sure you schedule the appointment to have a fasting blood sugar test done, because you might have diabetes."

Well thank you, Dr. Positive Thinking. Remember, this is the guy who told me I might have brain tumors because I get screaming headaches at the same time every month. Very nice guy, just a little eager to suggest I have life-threatening illnesses.

So today I finally got around to looking up diabetes and yeast infections on the internet. I love the internet - you find the most interesting things there. For instance, once you weed through all of the sites sponsored by major medical institutions, drug companies, and college health centers, you end up with a bunch of rant-filled sites that offer natural alternatives to the OTC and prescriptions solutions for crotch rot.

Out of curiousity I poked around a few, and I found that there are apparently quite a few women (or wimmin, or womyn, depending on which site you visit) who have the following thought: "I don't trust the independently-tested, quality-controlled, governmentally regulated remedies for this problem. I think I'll douche with yogurt instead."

Wha?????

My personal favorite was gentian violet, which I had heard of as a natural solution to thrush problems and yeasty diaper rash in infants. Hmmm, take a pill that costs $8 at the pharmacy, or repeatedly paint my private parts with some chemical that stains everything it touches bright purple. Tough decision. And did I mention that it's "paint my private parts - inside and out"? According to the directions, a speculum is required to reach those tricky areas, like your cervix ... darn, I think my speculum got lost in the move.

Oh, and for anyone who landed at this page because they searched for "yeast infection," you have my sympathy. Please be aware that I spent less on the copay for my doctor visit and two prescriptions than I did for the OTC treatments that didn't work. Next time, I'm heading straight for Dr. Doom and Gloom and getting the napalm right away.