The E Ward, where I spent the next nine days, I have nicknamed the “estrogen” ward; it has no walls, four rows of beds and full of women in transition. Miscarriages, fibroids, ovarian cysts, mysterious bleeding and lots of pain and sadness exist in the “estrogen” ward. My focus was to allow myself to be present with everyone I came in contact with, in the most authentic way possible. I shared my books, research about our wombs and one of the most valuable sharing was breathing
By Tracy Douglas
On Sunday, February 13, 2011, our son’s twenty-first birthday, I woke up at three o’clock in the morning, bleeding.
My name is Tracy Douglas. I was born in Jamaica, Queens, New York quite a few years ago and have recently moved to Guyana with my Guyanese husband. I am an artist, counsellor, Reiki Master and co-owner of Pandama retreat, winery and Centre for the Creative Arts.
I was on my menstrual cycle beginning two weeks before February 13, which I thought had ended. So when I saw my fibroid and the amount of blood that was coming out of me I was quite alarmed. The type of fibroid I had was called an intracavitary pedunculated fibroid. It was attached to the uterus and descended down the cervix
Now all of this was not a surprise. I was diagnosed by a local gynaecologist and the matter of fact solution was hysterectomy. I remember the room going grey, hearing cost, hospital choices with no emotional attachment, just business. This sent me into a frenzy of seeking information about the operation and possible alternatives.
For months I had been feeling tired, experiencing heavy bleeding during menses, but thank God no cramping. In all the research I had done I came to a place where I thought that with dietary changes and increasing my iron, I could live with the more than occasional discomfort.
Nature has a way of putting things in perspective and importance. That Sunday I realized that my fibroid was not going to simply pass out of me without taking my life with it. The bathroom began to get dark. I called for Warren, my dear husband to bring me a pillow, because I knew I was going to pass out. I woke up in his arms with just enough energy to help him get me in the car. After he got me settled in and covered up I told him to take me to Georgetown Public Hospital. Every part of my life of focused on being connected and guided by spirit. There was an internal knowing that, that is where I needed to be.
Game plan
I was well received and well taken care of by the attendants, nurses and doctors. They did the necessary test to diagnose and admit me for surgery. Even though I was in crisis I used every opportunity to connect with all the people who were taking care of me, to at least ask their name and share a smile.
The game plan was put in place; build up my blood count by midweek so I would be ready for surgery by Friday. I forgot to mention that not only was this our son’s birthday, who is serving in the United States Army, this was also the day very good friends of mine were getting married and I was supposed to be giving the bride away. The Saturday before my trip to the hospital we had a “rites of passage” to marriage ceremony for the bride during which I facilitated the dance segment. At the end of the ceremony I told one of the other facilitators that I thought I had danced my fibroid out, not knowing how close to the truth that was.
The E Ward, where I spent the next nine days, I have nicknamed the “estrogen” ward; it has no walls, four rows of beds and full of women in transition. Miscarriages, fibroids, ovarian cysts, mysterious bleeding and lots of pain and sadness exist in the “estrogen” ward. My focus was to allow myself to be present with everyone I came in contact with, in the most authentic way possible. I shared my books, research about our wombs and one of the most valuable sharing was breathing. Most of us want to yell and scream when we are in pain, which just creates more pain. The women in Ward E were quite open to learn how to breathe to manage their pain while waiting for their medication. It felt so good to be present in my environment sharing all the gifts I had with others while I was healing and preparing for surgery.
Most times when we think of our health care system we forget the caregivers. As I got to know the nurses I could see how tired they were and how much was demanded of them. If each patient sends some form of a thank you back to the people who most graciously take such good care of us, we could make a major shift of consciousness. And a gentle reminder to our caregivers, a smile is the universal symbol for joy. Since most of us going to the hospital are scared to death it would really help in the healing process.
I wanted to be a good patient, cooperative, fun, a bit troublesome, but within the boundaries of getting out as soon as possible. My care staff included nurses in training, a lively chatty group, nurse’s assistants, nurses, doctors in training, interns and a staff of doctors. When the staff made rounds I made sure to bond with each soul. As much as our health will permit, we as patients need to ask questions and listen to instruction that we are given. We need to be informed about what pills or other medicines we are taking and potential side effects. The nurses were very informative and even went out of their way to make sure I was given thorough information.
Footies, please
My week went by on schedule. All tests were done to prepare me for surgery. I received the blood needed in order to build my blood count and on Friday February 18, 2011, I walked into the theatre for surgery. (I would like to request footies [booties] for surgery patients; the floor is quite cold.) I was not expected to be coherent so soon after surgery. I had to call my husband who was so tired and getting ready for a hot meal to let him know I was awake and anxious to see him.
The next day during rounds I asked what I needed to do in order to go home. I needed to eat, bathe myself, go to the bathroom and walk on my own. By Monday I was able to check everything off the list and get discharged. The rain was falling so heavily that my husband had to back all the way to the door so I wouldn’t get soaked. We stopped at the grocery store before going home. I sat in the car watching the rain fall heavily on the car and then I began to cry. I cried so hard my depths vibrated a deep moan. When my husband returned to the car he began to panic thinking I was in pain. I told him I felt so grateful, so well taken care of by my friends, family and the care staff at the hospital, that I was overwhelmed. When we are able to trust, show up with a purpose and know that all is well, it is.
