There will be blood [part 1]

*WARNING* readers of a sensitive disposition should refrain from reading this blogpost - it contains slight to moderate gore and medical/biological oversharing.

And now the time has come for me to (belatedly) share a few details about the surgery I had last month. But first, some background ... In May last year I went to give blood and discovered that I was anaemic ... because of very heavy periods I had been suffering for a couple of years . In the space of about a month I had appointments with my GP and a specialist at York Hospital - an abdominal scan was shortly followed by an MRI scan which established that the underlying cause of the heavy bleeding was a large fibroid on one side of my womb (urgh!) and a large ovarian cyst on the other side of my womb (eek!).

The recommended course of treatment was surgery to remove both the fibroid and the cyst ... or in medical terms, " a laparototomy for myomectomy and ovarian cystectomy" ... *warning* do not do a google search on any of those terms, you will be scarred for life. I was warned that the surgery would be "very bloody" and that it might involve removing one, or both, of my ovaries or require a full hysterectomy depending on what they found when they opened me up. In the month before the operation I was also told that there was a 80% chance that I'd need to have a blood transfusion but that they'd be using something called 'cell saver' during surgery to re-use my own blood to try and avoid the need for a transfusion.



The week before the operation the dark shadow of bereavement fell heavily across my family's world and my thoughts settled on my own mortality more readily than usual. The day before my operation I scribbled down my final wishes on both sides of a postcard just in case the unthinkable happened and I didn't make it through surgery. I knew that the chances of that happening were infinitessimally small but I also knew that I didn't want my husband and family having to unecessarily worry about making the right decisions about funeral arrangements etc. On the day of the operation I couldn't find the postcard so my poor husband had to take my final wishes from me verbally during the car journey to the hospital. I will always be grateful to him for not trying to hush me up or tell me that I was being stupid while I talked him through everything. [In case you're curious, the main points were: cremation (unless he had strong feelings that he wanted to bury me); cheapest funeral possible; Bird on a Wire by Leonard Cohen; any opportunities to make money from my art should be exploited; ashes to be scattered into the sea or a river.]