I am almost a week post-surgery, and my body is testing my limits. I can barely walk or eat anything more than rusk or boiled carrots, and I haven’t showered since I came home…. 7 days ago.
When I received a call from the hospital to come in the next day, I was unprepared. I wanted to celebrate a family member’s birthday and eat, or at least shave, before I have to go in and lie in bed for weeks until I heal. It was all so fast.
Lia just received new medication that morning, and I wasn’t going to be with her as she adjusted (she didn’t) and got better (she didn’t). I wanted to clean my home, so I came back to a cleaner one, and buy food, so I returned to a stocked pantry.
No time.
I arrived in the hospital on Wednesday morning and waited to be admitted for hours, missing not only lunch but also dinner, because they, once again, “forgot” I was vegan. I unpack, take a shower, and get to reading Gone Girl that I brought with me for some relaxation (and because I didn’t go to the library the day before).
My anxiety was through the roof because I wasn’t at home with Lia to see how she is doing and to witness the side effects (there were none). My surgeon said that while he cannot give me any guarantees as to what will happen because they will make the big decisions during, I knew that my spleen was pretty much gone, as was my gallbladder. Oh, how I wished I could have had a few more days to prepare.
But I have been hospitalised before, so I knew I could handle being away from my cats for a few days and that my family would manage.
The next day, I learned I was second on the schedule, and things began happening. The nurse comes in, tells me to take a shower and change into these incredibly ugly “underwear” and a robe, sit in a wheelchair, and off I go. They kept asking if I was nervous, and I was just like, “I have literally begged them to do something more than just puncture with my splenic cyst, so no, I am excited.”
Well, the surgeon did say the evening before that they won’t remove it but simply “cut the cyst open and leave it to pour out and hope it never refills” (my wording, obviously lol), but I kept hoping they would remove it. In the last 11 months, I have had three unsuccessful punctures, and they have been promising me a splenectomy since the day I went in for a first appointment in January 2025!
Yes, I know the spleen is important. Yes, I know it’s crucial. Yes, I know I need it. Yes! I know all of this!
I also know that I have been living with horrible abdominal pain for years, which left me anaemic (in combination with heavy periods), and that I have gone through three punctures that failed because the cyst kept refilling. I am exhausted, and every other word in existence that means “my body and mind are ready to sacrifice my spleen to never return to the hospital again”.
We arrive in the surgery rooms, and they are so cool, like, so much cooler than the one where they did my punctures. I could feel in my bones that lives are saved in there, and I was quite emotional being there, and I am now, as well. They put a cap on me, talked to me like I was a child (about my cats!) to keep me calm (I was), and kept telling me that I was in great hands and everything would be great. It was a group of all women anaesthesiologists and assistants, I assume, and they were kind and reassuring. Once the oxygen mask was on my face (that shit slaps wtf), I was ready to wake up and hear that spleen will never again be the problem.
Having had epilepsy for 10 years when I was a child has prepared me for what happens when you are between the conscious and unconscious. The fogginess, the mental pain, like actual mental pain, when you are just so out of it but can’t touch the dreamworld.
All I remember from being in that “post-surgery room” was that they commented on how it took me a long time to wake up, and that I must be cold because my teeth were chattering. I remember barely being out of it and kept repeating “no, it hurts a lot, I am not cold, it hurts”, but half of them stayed focused on finding me a blanket, while the rest were like “more medicine”.
The room temperature was great, but I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering because I was feeling it all. My abdomen was burning, and I could feel pain in my vaginal area, lmao, and I was like “wtf were they operating there for?”. It was just a catheter, which was so humiliating to think someone was looking at my private parts during surgery, but I guess it comes with the territory.
Back in the hospital room, I am not moving, leaving the catheter in because no, I am not getting up and going to the bathroom, since I can’t even fucking turn to the side to hold up my phone. The whole thing was made worse by the fact that this hospital department, or however you call it, had the worst nurses, a television mounted on the walls, which means men in the next room were loudly watching the news and commenting, bathrooms had piss on the floor (again, males), and not only did they forget my vegan meals like it happened the first three times, but this staff didnt even call the kitchen to set it up apparently because they kept talking about “the system”.
At one point, one of the nurses was fighting with the doctor, and when the doctor said I could eat some mashed food in the evening after surgery, the nurses said I shouldn’t listen to the doctor because I can’t eat, and they yelled when I ate one fucking piece of beetroot. Okay, so if I can’t listen to a doctor, then who should I listen to? Seriously, how badly is your staff organised and led if they disagree with doctors and raise their voices with them?
So embarrassing for them.
Thankfully, I was able to leave the hospital the next day and go home to my babies and to my bed. Not before a male nurse said he was the one to take my catheter out, and I kindly asked for a female nurse because I was tired of feeling uncomfortable and wanted at least something to go according to my plans. Sadly, the nurse who came in instead was robotic and made me feel even worse with her depressing attitude.
Before you judge, I am not saying you have to smile, but can you look like you chose this job and not like you were forced to wear scrubs at gunpoint?
The entire thing was deeply disappointing because the surgeon said that there remains a small chance the cyst will refill, and then they will most likely do what I’ve been promised, a splenectomy.
I am tired.
For the last few days, I have been moving slowly and using wet wipes to clean my body because I can’t even sit on a toilet without feeling like my stitches are about to pop. I’m still full of gases they used during the surgery, and my digestion is still a mess, so everything I eat and drink just doesn’t… move.
My father’s partner also doesn’t have a gallbladder, so she helped me so much with all the information. She told me what to eat, drink, and how to move so I could get through the first stage of healing. Seeing how she can enjoy all the best vegan meals helps me to slowly move forward, knowing that I don’t have to give up much. At least not for too long.
Spleenful was supposed to be about my recovery from splenectomy and how much I learned from losing it. I was sure my spleen’s days were counted, and a new journey was ahead of me. Since January 2025, I have been preparing for this, and nothing has changed because the healthcare system is broken and patients are not heard.
I sincerely hope my spleen heals, and my scheduled ultrasound in July will confirm it, but I am not holding my breath.
In the meantime, I am starting this new publication that is dedicated to my recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder, and what self-harming to the point of almost losing my spleen taught me.
Tanja
