Saturday, August 22, 2009


I am watching the sunrise from what the nurses call the "Princess Suite." And I have to admit, as far as hospital rooms go, it's nice. Through five east-facing windows, the sky emerges in a swirling conglomeration of pinks and blues, clouds streaked with sunlight to rival the best of inspirational poster.

But it's hard to feel anything but gray.

My doc rounded late last evening around 6:30. Her face conveyed to me before she even spoke that she was not the bearer of good news.

"It's grown hasn't it?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she said. "I will never say that 'it's not likely' to you again. You definitely don't fit the mold. In sixteen years of practice, I've had one patient present with this issue."


Ultrasound revealed that the glowing mass is now six centimeters across - roughly the size of a standard tennis ball.

At this point, sitting in certain positions hurts, and even the tiniest pressure on my lower belly makes me cringe. There is constant pressure on my bladder, and I pop Percocet like Smarties.

What makes me the most nervous is now, my doc isn't even sure what it is.

"It could be something called a hemorrhagic cyst, which would be a fluke thing that developed independent of surgery," she explains. "Or it could be an abscess like we originally suspected, as a result of the surgery."

But hemorrhagic cysts don't present with 102 degree temps. And regardless of what it is for sure, it's looking like another surgery is eminent.

Back-to-back IV antibiotics all night alternating between Zosyn and Metronidazole kept me up all night. Once the fever broke, I was covered in sweat, my sheets, hospital gown and hair soaked.

Today, I sit in the Princess Suite and wait.

3:39 p.m. UPDATE:
I am going in for exploratory surgery at 5 p.m. today. I'm told there is a good chance I could lose an ovary.

1 comment:

  1. You can do this, Shannon. You can heal. I just know it. With you in spirit and in prayer every step of the way.


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