The Letter

"I am delighted to confirm the result of the ovarian cyst that was sent off following your recent operation confirmed a benign dermoid cyst (normal)." Finally! A letter arrives not bearing more bad news. Over the past five months I have become used to: "Further to your recent pelvic scan, unfortunately..." or something to that affect. I've come through a turbulent year on a runaway roller coaster and finally I have some good news to move forwards positively with. After six weeks off, recovering post-operatively, I am almost ready to return to work. Mentally I don't feel ready to contend with a corporate office and would prefer another six weeks off to think about going back to work. The psychological implications involved with the operation still need addressing via some form of method. Physically I am doing much better and am able to partake in gentle exercise and walking. An appointment with my Consultant Gynecologist, tomorrow, will confirm if I am fit and well enough to return to office life.

Movements

At an attempt to avoid sea-sickness on this boat I have started making a few little movements throughout the day. I am quite fit and healthy and my body seems to have taken to the operation well. However, there is the tendency to do too much and then end up in quite a bit of pain in the evenings. I realised this yesterday after weaning myself off the painkillers. It was probably too soon to make so many actions and to stop the drugs. The focal point is to listen to my body. For example last Friday evening my body said "have a glass of wine." So I did. And it seemed to help a lot. All the drugs had given me the shakes and I was feeling quite sick. The wine seemed to help relax me and bring the colour back to my cheeks. It had to end there however, as I am unable to consume lots of alcoholic beverages. My body can't take much more than one or two drinks and this is, of course, a positive aspect. All that said I plan to bring the pub to me this Sunday as I cannot go to the pub. This will involve a beer garden and sitting outside in the sunshine with newspapers, pub banter and a pub quiz . And live music - which I desperately miss! I cannot wait to sit down at my drum kit again.

Outside

There is life outside my house, I can see it through the window. I have been outside only a few times in the past week and a half. Once to to travel to hospital, the second time to come home from hospital and the last time to travel back to hospital to have my stitches removed. Yesterday I sat in my back garden with a friend and ate lunch in the sunshine. Next week I am hopeful that I will walk five minutes up the road to the cinema. In the meantime I can only imagine what is going on outside in the hub of Brixton. All the people queuing for the 159 in the morning, scrambling for a seat. The regular change collecting man hustling people for a penny in the street, the laughing-urinating lady, the mass of kids hanging out and streams of people coming up from the underground heading towards the Academy. Then of course there's the gym I usually attend pretty much daily. Familiar smiling faces.

I miss people.

Loss

I used to be a morning person. Currently the enjoyment I derive from that time of day is on hold. Waking up seems to be a real chore at the moment, especially when one has run out of pain killers. My usual form is to neck the drugs and then put an episode of Extras on before I've even thought about breakfast. Thank goodness for Ricky Gervais. I think I might marry him. This morning was particularly bad after having my stitches removed yesterday. A painless event yet what followed was pretty immense. Every movement is a struggle today.

In terms of the actual operation and how I feel about it I am 100% that it was the right thing to do. I was lucky to receive the best treatment money can buy through my private health care. The size of the cyst showed up as being smaller on the pelvic scan and therefore my Consultant Gynecologist could not see the extent of the damage it had done. It wasn't until she operated that she could identify exactly how big it was and the crushed ovary. I am lucky the cyst was removed and that it did not do any further damage. Having one ovary lowers fertility by 20% and not 50% so it's not disastrous. But it's still a loss.

One of my cousins has an ovarian cyst but is reluctant to have surgery regardless of its size. I hope that she will consider it now. Having major surgery is tough and the recovery process like a marathon. But once I'm at the finish line I am free. I would recommend the laparotomy to anyone considering ovarian cyst removal.

Doing Nothing

Father Christmas came in the night on Saturday. When I woke up he'd delivered a large bag full of dvds and left it in the shed in my back garden. For someone who seldom watches TV I have found the transition from being mega active uber busy girl to mega lazy chilled horizontal girl quite easy. A bag full of comedy assists with this new low-gear style. Also the fact that I can't actually do much at all and therefore it leaves me with little choice but to do nothing.

A usual day for me would consist of waking at 6am and heading to the gym for an hour, catching the bus to Lambeth North and walking to my job in Mayfair, in the evening I could be volunteering with a local youth drama group or playing drums or seeing friends. A usual day for me now consists of waking up, feeling like I have a steam roller strapped to my waist, taking some pain killers, hopefully not sitting on the toilet for an hour, getting back into bed and watching comedy. Comedy=laughter, laughter=ouch. It's probably not advisable to laugh too much but one needs to be able to see the funny side.

Friends

Coping would not be possible without them.

Holding my hand, pulling me through
cheering me up from feeling blue.
Coming together and making me strong,
reminding me that the pain won't last too long.

Late night phone calls with warm thoughts
turning my mind from being distraught.
Sat at my bedside, bringing bright rays
injecting calm into my daze.

Beautiful gestures and actions received,
a tapestry of kindness for me they've weaved.
Without them I'd definitely fall right apart,
I'm keeping you all locked inside my heart.

Morphine

I should not have been left alone in a room with a self administering morphine button. Fortunately I couldn't go anywhere as the various tubes running from different parts of my body prevented it. Did the drug dilute the pain or my brain? I can't work out if I was still in agony and the drug stopped the feelings from registering in my brain cell network or if it just shut down certain gates on nerve endings. The nausea was horrid. And, of course, more drugs to prevent the nausea - administered through a different tube into a different vein. The morphine combined with my wonderful hospital gown and anti-embolism white stockings made me look rather attractive. I recall asking the nurse if she thought I would pull in my new outfit...