Ha! The backstory is that I’ve been spotting or bleeding for nearly six weeks. While each burst of actual bleeding was accompanied by extreme anxiety, I knew that I wasn’t bleeding anything like a hemorrhage so I tried to breathe deeply. Compounding the panic was the memory of my mom’s odyssey with cancer that started with exactly the same symptoms at exactly my age. She was dead two years later.
I tried some of my own healing arts but found that I couldn’t concentrate through the anxiety. Not surprisingly, my efforts were ineffective. Last week I started a round of visits to conventional medical professionals—I posted some of that story on my Facebook Page. None of the medicos wanted responsibility for my long term care: the GP sent me to a gynecologist, after ordering a raft of blood tests and radiology; the gynecologist insisted that I needed to follow up with the GP, after ordering more tests, because they “only do vaginas and babies here” and clearly I had bigger issues going on.
The ob-gyn did prescribe some Provera (synthetic progesterone, the hormone that down-regulates menstrual bleeding among other things) to shut of the faucet, as it were. Being the crunchy granola, nuts and berries kinda gal I am, I asked for natural progesterone but she never studied the natural stuff and didn’t know what it would do. I agreed to take the Provera after a two-day trial of over-the-counter progesterone, though I would rather have taken a prescription compound that was regulated for potency, if the progesterone didn’t do the trick.
It did seem to work fairly well—if I didn’t eat or ingest anything that inflamed the ongoing allergic cough I’ve had for weeks, or do too much (since hubby was out of town, as usual, it was hard not to overdo)—until Saturday, when it didn’t. So I trotted off to the pharmacy only to discover that the script never arrived! Argh! I called the doc yesterday morning to have it called in again but couldn’t pick it up until evening. I planned to start it this morning after the hormone cream I’d been using all day had worn off.
Just before five in the afternoon, I heard from the GP’s office that my bloodwork, ultrasound, and x-ray had all come back normal; everything seemed fine (!?!) But about nine o’clock last night, the bleeding switch turned on overdrive and I started to bleed quite heavily. By ten-thirty, I was checking into the Emergency Hospital. They were so quick and efficient, I didn’t even have time to make the necessary Mom arrangements. I ended up phoning and texting my daughter at her party, my husband in Indiana, and other moms to pick up my slack, all while lying on the gurney with my feet in stirrups or being briskly wheeled around the halls (wow, talk about dizzying!)
Of course, the ER ran their own blood workup and ultrasound but their results agreed with the GP. Nothing obvious to be causing the bleed—which, while heavy, was becoming clear was not nearly the dangerous state I feared. So they watched me take the Provera that the ob-gyn had prescribed and sent me home. Within a couple hours, the drug did its thing and dried everything pretty much right up.
Now that major polyps, tumors, giant fibroids, etc, have all been ruled out, I have a couple more tests scheduled: still to come, endometrial biopsy for cancer and something long and painful for fibroids not otherwise visible on ultrasound. But it is looking like a hormonal disruption consistent with incipient menopause—also consistent with the autonomic nervous system dysfunction that I can’t get anyone to notice.
Meanwhile, on this the Day of the Dead, I feel hung-over, exhausted, and used up. I feel beat up on the inside, weak and helpless on the outside. Getting out of bed to use the toilet seemed more effort than it was worth. In the last couple hours, though, I have been able to scramble some eggs, shower off my Halloween party residue, and crash back into bed. Had enough energy to write this post but I feel a nap coming on now!