Part 5

A few days after I got the, “wait and see what happens” instructions from Dr. Bean in mid-September, the pain subsided and I went back to life as normal – as normal as your life can get when you are living on pins and needles waiting for the next ball to drop – or in my case – next cyst to explode.

Six weeks go by and I am starting to feel a little more at ease.  Perhaps it won’t happen again, right?

By now, it’s November 2nd and I find myself in Rock Hill, SC working with a chapter at Winthrop University.  It’s early in the morning and I arrive, Starbucks in hand, ready for the day.  The chapter women haven’t arrived yet, but I meet the chapter advisor and begin to set up.  We talk about the chapter, what they’re struggling with, what I should expect from them that day, and how I can ultimately help.  Set-up is put on standby while we wait  for the Recruitment Chair to bring a LCD projector with her, so we sit and continue to talk.

Time passes and it’s now 9:45 a.m., with a 10 a.m. start time and the chapter women begin to roll in – but still no projector.  I’ve learned, in my years working with college students, to not get stressed about starting on time, to not concern myself when things don’t go exactly as planned, and to be ready to roll with the punches – so at this point – I’m not worried about our lack of projector.  I’m glad the women are there.

10 a.m. comes and goes.  Again, I anticipate starting late – it’s a universal principle I call “Sorority Time”.  10:15, 10:20, 10:25 a.m. comes and goes and at 10:30 the Recruitment Chair rolls in, projector in hand.  I immediately take the projector and begin setting up, letting the women know we’ll be starting in 5 minutes.  Just then, I got this insane cramp in my abdomen.

Oh, no.

These things always start with a cramp – a feeling of an impending bowel movement.  I finish setting up the projector and head to the bathroom – hoping that was all it was.  As I sat down, I knew.

“ARE YOU F’ING KIDDING ME??!?!?!!  CAN I GET A BREAK AT ALL?”  I’m mad, I’m scared, I’m stressed, I’m in a pencil skirt.  This whole distending of the stomach is going to get really uncomfortable in about 45 minutes.

Another cyst had just burst.

Just like last time, I go through the whole, “what should I do?” scenario in my head.  Should I just go in and cancel the program?  Should I power through?  What should I do???

I decide that the first couple hours aren’t that bad, but the pain gets worse and worse.  I should be okay for a couple hours.  So I make a game-day decision and decide, “It’s about 5 hours Jessica.  You did it in September, you can handle it again.  Power through.  You have enough time before your flight to go to a prompt care and get some pain medicine.”

So I do just that.  I pop some Advil (again, didn’t take my pain meds with me…dummy) and deliver 5 hours of training to the Winthrop chapter.

To say that those 5 hours were easy would be an overstatement.  The pain this time was worse – much worse.  In 45 minutes time, my stomach had distended to the point where I could barely sit down in my pencil skirt for fear of it splitting straight up the back-center.  In between speaking, while the chapter women were working on activities or practicing, I would sit down (which I rarely do) and practically curl myself into a ball.  The pain was bad – really bad.

I text Ben during a break to let him know what’s going on.  He’s mad, “Why does this keep happening when you’re gone?  Why does this keep HAPPENING?!?!?”  He demands that I go to a hospital or prompt care facility immediately after the program.  He’s headed to the Purdue-Ohio State football game with a friend in West Lafayette.  He’s driving.  While he’s driving, our friend, also named Ben is texting me locations of prompt care facilities between where I am at Winthrop and the airport.  I am now convinced that I have to go there right after the program – the pain is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.  I need to get pain medicine right away because I’m not going home tonight – I’m headed straight to another chapter program – and this one I can’t cancel.  Tonight, I’m headed to a very important chapter, for a very important client and if I miss it – there’s no rescheduling.  I can’t miss it, but I CAN deliver the program with a little help from a friend called Norco.

Alright, now some of you think I’m crazy.  Or perhaps you’re considering that maybe I am exaggerating how bad the pain is.  The answer is simple:  I am deeply committed to the work I do and often times I make decisions where my passion overrides my good sense.  That’s unfortunately my reality.  We all have our vices, right?  Apparently mine is excruciating pain and intense commitment to a cause.  This part of my story is unfortunately where my good sense disappears and is overridden by my belief that the work I do matters.  I digress.

As I am wrapping up the program, all I can think about is getting in the car and heading to a prompt care facility.  I have about 6 hours until my flight – plenty of time.  I climb into the car, unzip my skirt, and open up my text messages to copy and paste the address into my GPS.  Just then my phone rings…

“Hello?”

“ding-ding-ding — ding-ding-ding.”

For my seasoned travelers, you know that that means.  It’s an automated notice from an airline that your flight is totally f-ed up.

“Hello, this is US Airways calling with an important message regarding a —– flight cancellation.  Please press 1 to talk to an agent.”

Crap.  I press 1 and learn the only flight that would get me to Virginia with any opportunity to work with the chapter tomorrow leaves in 75 minutes.  I am 30 minutes away from the airport, driving on the interstate headed that direction.  I take the flight and drive inordinately fast to Charlotte airport.  On the ride, I call Ben and let him know the plans have changed – he’s outraged – and justifiable so.  I probably should be headed home.

Instead, I’m headed to Roanoke…right now…no stopping for medical treatment (in hindsight, this was a terrible decision).  I get to Charlotte airport and walk up to my gate just as they are beginning boarding.  All I can think about, again, is getting to my hotel, Nike shorts, and an oversized t-shirt.  Luckily this is a non-stop flight and my hotel is close to the airport in Roanoke.    I pop my last two Advil as the plane is taking off and hope to fall asleep for a short time.

I wake up to the slam of the airplane tires on the runway and am thankful for some sleep, even if it was only about 30 minutes.  I get off the plane, get my rental car, and head to the Sheraton – my favorite hotel – their pillows are pure heaven.  I check in and buy-out the gift shop of every type of anti-inflammatory pain medicine they have.  I get to my hotel room, change my cloths, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. Yep, this time I brushed my teeth.  Cavities = bad.

I can’t sleep.  The pain has become so bad that I have the chills and I’m burning up.  I chalk it up to getting sick – but what my doctor and a Google search have since told me was that my body was in SHOCK from all the pain.  I get out of bed, pile on as much clothing as I can find, crawl back into bed, and bury myself in the covers.  I turn Pitch Perfect on my iPad and spend the night writhing in pain, shivering to death, honestly praying that I’ll live to see another day, and considering calling 9-1-1.

The next morning my alarm goes off at 5:15 a.m. but I’m already awake.  The chills are gone, but the pain isn’t.  I pour myself into the shower, get ready, pack my bag, and hit the road.  I have a close to 2 hour drive ahead of me one-way today.  The good news, when I’m done I head home tonight.  I stop at a gas station grab some coffee and a donut (I don’t make good food choices when something explodes in my body) and make the drive to the chapter.

When I arrive, I’m a little early.  I sit in my car, close my eyes, and ask for grace…and some sweatpants. All I need is enough strength to make it through one more program, one more chapter, one more day.  That’s it.  I pray for just enough.

The next thing I know the day is over and I’m headed back to my car to go to the airport.  I honestly barely remember bits and pieces of the day.  I remember being in pain.  I remember making them laugh. I remember really enjoying the group.  I remember my boxed lunch.  But it’s all a pain-induced blur.

I wake up the next morning, call Dr. Bean’s nurse and they schedule a pelvic ultrasound for that morning.  Great, just what I want, someone digging around in my uterus when I am in excruciating pain.  This time, the ultrasound isn’t at the imaging center, it’s at Dr. Bean’s office.  This time the radiologist is kinder, warmer, gentler.  She talks to me.  She empathizes.  It doesn’t hurt.  She also tells me what she sees.  She says, “Yep your uterus is retroverted.” “Yep you had a cyst burst.”, “But you also have some masses on your ovaries.  I’ll have Dr. Bean take a look and call you this afternoon.”

Masses on my ovaries.

I ask, “What could that be?”

She says, “That’s for Dr. Bean to look at.  It could be cysts, it could be endometrioma, it could be a number of things. Dr. Bean will call you today once he takes a look.”