Today Will be the Most Beautiful Day of Your Entire Life, and Tomorrow Too: A Cautionary Tale by the Princess of Perseverance

I am going to literally spill my guts - the parts that aren't held together by sutures, that is. This is yet another cautionary tale - with a fairy tale twist, because I'm the author, and that's what I'm writing.

One of the initial symptoms I had when I got "sick" was horrible pelvic pain. In July 2011, when it started, doctors said there was no anatomical reasoning for this pain, and focused more on my thyroid being the issue, since a) there was an anatomical anomaly there and b) the thyroid affects reproductive hormones that could have been giving me the issues with my period and ovaries. The hope was that "fixing" my thyroid would "fix" everything. It didn't, and as you know, I actually ended up with low calcium after the surgeon inadvertently removed parathyroid glands. "We'll wait until after January," the doctors said. "If things aren't better by then, we'll do exploratory surgery."

In January, when things didn't get better, I was told to come back in another 6 months for more tests. It was at that point that I broke down and started crying. "No," I said.

"Excuse me?" asked the resident, whom I had already taken an extreme dislike to.

"I said no. I'm tired of this. Something has to happen. No one is in constant pain like that for months. My thyroid obviously isn't the problem, and I'm sick of taking pain medication; I need to know what's going on, and someone has to do something."

Indeed, although I tried to avoid taking pain medication, sometimes it was necessary, and I had ultimately ended up with a stomach ulcer from being on NSAID pain medications, and then I was given medication to take for the ulcer. I wanted off everything and I wanted my body to function in the manner it was designed too; the way I knew it could.

"I'll get the attending physician," she said curtly. He came in and he looked 10 years older and tired. "Look. I don't see a reason to do this. The job of your ovaries is to make cysts. If you have cysts on your sonogram, they're functional. This isn't how we usually do things."

"If the cysts are functional, they shouldn't have remained on my sonograms from October 2011 to January 2012," I shot back.

"Maybe it's when we're doing your sonograms; where you are in your cycle," he replied.

"I don't think so; I've had sonograms since July, when I first came to the ER because of the pain, and these were never present until October. Not too mention, I'm in pain. It's not my thyroid. It's not the hormones. Something isn't right. The last time I was here, I was told this was the next step. It needs to be done. I can't do this anymore!," I fumed, tears still streaming down my face, hot and burning with my frustration.

"Fine," he said. "Fine."

I emerged triumphant, with a surgery date of February 1. February 1 came, and to the operating room I went. I was having a laparascopy, which is a procedure where they make a few small cuts on your abdomen and in your bellybutton, then stick a very small camera down there so they can take a little look see, while checking for the spread of cancer, removing cysts or tumors, taking samples for biopsy, and even take out organs if need be. The surgeon was supposed to be the most senior surgeon on staff. He came to speak me right before surgery and had me sign the consent forms. As anesthesia flooded my veins, and my eyelids started to flutter closed, I saw the resident who I disliked, and my last thought was "Why is she here?"

When I woke up, she was the first person I saw. I was in so much pain that I didn't even care. This was supposed to be an outpatient procedure, but I was in so much pain, and I couldn't use the bathroom; I had to have a catheter. Because of this, the hospital didn't discharge me and I had to stay the night. I continued complaining of pain and the hospital kept giving me morphine, but no one ever visually inspected me to make sure all was well. I was told by the resident that they had found "nothing remarkable" and there was nothing wrong; she even went so far as to suggest that maybe I was depressed and it was all psychological. Another senior doctor told me there was "pelvic congestion", which is where you develop varicose veins in the abdomen. However, no treatment options were given, and I was told to come back in 2 or 3 weeks to follow up.

I was discharged very late the next day, on February 2. The following day, February 3, I was back at the hospital, in the emergency room, with severe bleeding. The ER doctors called in gynecology, and the resident came. (Yep, her again.) She thought it was a possibility my cervix could have punctured during surgery, but it was "doubtful". After she examined me, it became clear - whoever had performed my surgery had punctured my cervix, which is likely why I was in so much extra pain. Since no one had taken my pain seriously and performed a visual examination, the hospital had sent me home with a punctured cervix. Because I had been laying on my back in a hospital bed, the bleeding wasn't a huge problem and overtly visible. Being at home though, where I was upright and moving about, was another story. My cervix was glued together, and I was sent home again.

By this time, I was absolutely over the entire situation, and knew that advocating for myself wasn't enough if the people I was advocating to didn't have the skills to perform the necessary procedures needed. I knew I had to switch doctors, and quickly. Due to an issue with my insurance, I was having a difficult time changing care providers. However, I got it worked out, and after a lot of research, I found a doctor I decided was a good fit.

I went to see him, brought all my records, and he actually took the time to read them. He showed concern, and also commented he didn't think that my laparascopy was completed in its entirety because of the way the cuts where positioned, and mentioned that he felt we needed to do it again, but he wanted to wait to let my cervix heal completely from the trauma I'd endured.

We set a date for March 29. I went to the new hospital (NY Methodist) for pretesting two days before, and liked the staff their as much as I liked my new doctor. I was nervous after my previous horrible experience, but knew this had to be done.

When I woke up March 29, I felt my stomach and felt that there was a cut much higher up than my bellybutton and much larger than the others; my heart sank, as I knew that meant he probably had to remove things. Moments later though, the thought comforted me, because it meant that he had done his job as a doctor. Sure enough, when he came to talk to me after surgery, he said that he'd found (and corrected) severe endometriosis, a cyst on my left ovary, and a cyst in my left fallopian tube. (The majority of my pain had been on my left side.) Most people wouldn't be overjoyed at hearing something like that, but in a way I was; I felt validated and I felt confident that I had placed myself into good hands for care.

My body and my intuition was correct. My pain wasn't a figment of my imagination. My body was crying for help - any one of those conditions could have rendered me infertile if left untreated, let alone the combination of the three.

I didn't have anyone else to pick me up from surgery, so my ex picked me up. I appreciate him for picking me up, but his overwhelming negativity was just too much. I felt so good when he dropped me off, because I knew I left a lot of things I didn't need in the past- that horrible hospital I came from, him, and the bodysnatchers trying to live all up in my tubes and ovaries.

I have pain and swelling from the surgery, but it's a different kind of pain; not the same pain that I've woken up to nearly every day since July 2011. That makes me happy- and hopeful.

Gaping, bruised, and bloody wounds - my "owies", as I've christened them....they're kind of ugly, but they're kind of not.

I guess it just depends on how you choose to see it.

In getting rid of the ex, the horrible hospital, and the bodysnatchers, instead of being a hole or a wound, there are spaces. These spaces let the line shine through. They create space for new things...things that nurture me and heal me; things that allow me to nurture and heal them.

It's the same kind of space in between my fingers, where someone else's fingers fit so perfectly, intertwined; someone actually told me that the scar from my thyroid surgery was cute yesterday. For a few minutes, I thought he was either an angel, or crazy, or maybe both.

If you don’t know what you want,” the doorman said, “you end up with a lot you don’t.” - Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

My torso is held together entirely by stitches, flaws, and good intentions; the same thing that I myself am made of. I am delivered from being perfect and I am given permission to be myself- all of myself. That's beautiful, and brilliant, and maybe I'm riddled with holes, but dammit, what a light show!

"I just don't want to die without a few scars, I say. It's nothing anymore to have a beautiful stock body. You see those cars that are completely stock cherry, right out of a dealer's showroom in 1955, I always think, what a waste."

- Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

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April Dawn Ricchuito, D.D., MSW is a writer and integrative practitioner who brings a unique voice to the field of health and wellness by combining traditional evidence-based techniques with ancient practices such as yoga and newer findings in contemplative sciences. She has been recognized as a part of "Generation Inspiration" and is also named as one of 20 Young Champions for Women by the White Ribbon Alliance and WIE Symposium, presented by Donna Karan and Arianna Huffington. She is a member of the International Honor Society in Psychology (Psi Chi), the International Association for Yoga Therapists (IAYT), and the Association for Healthcare Journalists (AHCJ), as well as a Koga Fitness instructor. You can learn more at beingandwellness.com, or check out her written works at Verbal Vandalism.