Yeah, That’s My Uterus in a Bucket
And other bizarre healthcare experiences in a third-world country
“What’s in the bucket?” I asked my husband from a deep, mellow, hallucinogenic state.
“I’m not sure.” he lied. As I was still under heavy anesthesia, talking about how I was going to go roller skating (even though I couldn’t feel my legs), he didn’t feel it was the time to be honest with me.
It was my uterus.
The Diagnosis
I’d had major bladder issues for about a year. Truthfully, it was more like five. I was the lady on the bladder control ad with the cartoon bladder, always looking for a bathroom even if I’d gone 30 seconds prior.
The new Guatemalan doctor I saw had me lie on her examination table, fully clothed. She pressed on my lower abdomen and said, “Yeah, that’s not right. Go get a scan”. It wasn’t the most thorough exam I’d ever had, but she was more blunt and to the point than any US doctor. Five minutes, in and out.
Waste not, want not.
An ultrasound and an MRI revealed my fate. There were several fibroids on my uterus, one that was ginormous and pressing against my bladder. I needed to have my lady bits removed. A hysterectomy it is.
