"So I think we need a pelvic scan and ultrasound to take a closer look."

Three months later...

"Since you just had a transvaginal-ultrasound, I think it's obvious the mass has grown even larger. I'm planning on referring you. Don't worry, you'll probably just go for a pelvic MRI next."

A week and a half later...

"Glad this is just a consultation. If we don't like her, we just leave and look elsewhere. We'll probably have to be back in the next couple weeks for that MRI," I (Yolanda) say to Andrew in the waiting room.

An hour later...

"So we'll plan your surgery early Monday morning." This is Friday, Monday is just around the corner. 

This last appointment took place a couple weeks ago and we are on the other side of the last few months. Maybe you're a little confused, so let me back up a few months and give you a better picture of what we've been going through. 

Before sharing all the details, we want to make it clear that we had no intention of sharing this with you. What I mean is that this is not JM2Z related. This is personal, this is private, this is us. Nevertheless, after all that has transpired, we feel inclined to share how amazing God is, how awesome and wonderful and how He never ceases to amaze us in big and fabulous ways. The ONLY reason we are sharing this in a very public way is because we feel it necessary to point to His unwavering presence, provision, and place in our lives during a time of uncertainty for us. 

Several months back in May, I (Yolanda) went for my annual female check-up. It was long overdue and there were some things we had been looking into for the past two years that we felt needed more researching (on this another time). While at the Well Women Clinic, the same place my grandmother had visited countless times to diagnose her cancer, I visited with the GP. She was an amazing woman, who listened, respected my conservative view on certain matters, and never belittled my opinions about my own body. Unfortunately, after two similar visits in the States, with two different doctors, I was made to feel stupid, uneducated, and patronized. The time I was given was mere minutes and it was obvious my conservative opinions were looked upon condescendingly by a woman in a white jacket. Both times I walked out of the doctor's office angry that an educated person would speak down to me as if I had no idea about my own body. After a couple visits like this one, I kept my opinions to myself and did my own research on the side, browsing websites, blog posts, and any other material on the issue at hand. Forgive me for being so vague, but this particular issue is not the one I will be addressing in this blog, but it does point toward the level of care I have received in different locations.

Anyway, back to my appointment. It was a regular run-of-the-mill physical exam, paperwork, and medical history report. Since I hadn't been for a round of bloodwork recently, she insisted on sending me for some. I don't like needles. I'm a total wimp and I knew my husband hadn't had bloodwork done recently either, so I volunteered him too :-) The GP quickly scribbled out a lab note for him as well and I smiled knowing I wouldn't be alone in the ugly endeavor of having blood drawn. I walk out of the doctor's office and smirkily tell Andrew that WE need to go for bloodwork. Andrew, who also doesn't like needles, says, "Why me? There's nothing wrong with me? Why do I need blood work done?" I see all the color drain from his face and reply, "There's nothing wrong with me either, but if they are going to poke my arms then they're poking yours too. Besides it's done. Here's the note." I hold out the scribbled lab note I just received with both our names on it. Off we go to labs to have 2 vials of blood drawn. The technicians make fun of us insisting it's a small prick, but neither Andrew nor I look at the needles or our arms as they draw the red liquid. Yes, it is over quickly. No, it did not hurt. Again, a big difference from the last time I had blood drawn. It was in the States and I had to have blood drawn to apply for a green card. The lady with a thick Polish accent assured me she had done this a million times and it wouldn't hurt - she lied. She poked me over 7 times before finding a vein, and not before leaving a big bubble below my skin on the right hand. I was grateful she got it the seventh time because she mentioned moving to my feet next if my arms, hands, and wrists showed no success.

In June, I was scheduled for my pelvic exam and ultrasound. I had to show up with a full bladder, so I drank over a liter before arriving. However, during the exam the technician told me it wasn't enough and sent me out to drink even more water. I drank so much water I felt like I was drowning. I was desperate for the toilet at this point, but now had to wait for her to see another patient. Finally it was my turn and as she rolled the wand over my full belly, I was sure I wouldn't make the toilet in time. I tried to make small talk as best I could, but her answers were short, yet polite.

A few days later, we found ourselves at my father's gravesite. Around this time I received the call that I would need to return for more tests. They found a few cysts, but nothing to worry about. After all, cysts are common in women.

They wanted to give me three months, in hopes that my body would dissolve or absorb the cysts naturally - which happens. I find out that the one cyst is in fact 7cm. That's rather large, 3 times larger than my ovary.

August comes around and we postpone an appointment. My mother is coming to visit and we don't want to cause alarm. The first week of September, I go back for a transvaginal ultrasound - it sounds as fun as the word describes. A specialist this time does the exam. She too is nice, but more chatty and explains more about these cysts of mine. She mentions the cyst is now 8cm... it has not only not disappeared, but in fact has grown in size.

We leave the clinic with less answers and even more questions. Within a few days I receive a phone call at night from my GP - I told you she was amazing. She explains the results and tells me why I've had the various tests done, what they found, what they had hoped, and what is the plan. She asks if I have any questions - I have many - she answers them all. She is patient, calm, and takes time to answer each concern. I had never experienced such excellent care before. She clearly cared. I was not just a number, I was a person with real concerns, real feelings, and real questions. I felt relieved after our conversation. Next would be a referral, then probably a pelvic MRI. God has been so gracious with the care we have received and with our insurance covering everything up to this point.

​I call the referral, but the earliest appointment is October 30th. I tell my GP and she advises I cancel and refers me elsewhere. She also told me the first referral was the best in the country, and thus very busy. Nevertheless, my only request was a female OBGYN. We make a new appointment the following week with this doctor we've never heard of. We google her name, not much - mere credentials. We look for reviews and Facebook profiles - nothing. We intend to go with an open mind, aware that it's just a consultation.

I am not worried. In fact, I'm very calm, reminding my concerned husband that worry will not change anything and that technically we don't know anything yet. I feel I should be more concerned, more stressed, but I'm not. I truthfully feel no fear... except for needles, everyone fears needles :-) 

​We wait in the waiting room for over 30 minutes, it's busy - that's a good sign. The decor is simple, it's closer to downtown than we'd like, but she was referred to by someone we respect and trust. The receptionist apologizes for the delay. The doctor was in surgery and it ran late. She will need to see two more patients before us. We're starving and it's past lunch time. We ask if there'll be time to leave and return, she says 45 minutes. We rush off for some quick KFC. We return and wait some more. At this point, I'm sure this is a waste of time. This delay seems unprofessional EVEN if we are in Africa. Finally 2 hours after we first arrived we are called in. We walk into her office and I quickly suss out the place. I scan the walls, the furniture, the qualifications framed near her desk. I'm trying to decide is she the one, is this a right fit... does she know what she's doing? She smiles, welcomes us in, we sit down and she begins to scan all my paperwork. She looks over scans and test results and history, etc. Then she sits back in her chair and asks, "Why are you here?" I look at Andrew, didn't she just read why we are here? She says clarifying, "Tell me why you are here? What are your questions or concerns? What do you think is wrong? What would you like me to do?" I share my history, my concerns, why I initially went to the doctor, but then why we were actually referred. After patiently listening, she begins to tell me what's wrong just by looking at my scans. This is her specialty, this area is what she does. She tells us what she sees, points it out on the scan, points out a dark mass within my larger cyst. She shares her concerns and then assures us what she's not concerned about. She tells us what she thinks this is a symptom of, the original thing I had been pursuing and researching and wanting answers for. She asks to feel my belly and immediately says she feels a mass. "It will need to come out as soon as possible." There are reasons she says this, due to the other diagnosis and timing, etc. - forgive my vagueness. 

Then she says, "You can book into the hospital on Sunday evening and I'll perform the surgery around 6:00am Monday morning. You could be discharged late on Monday, but I highly advise against it. I would like you to stay one more night in hospital if at all possible." I can tell my husband is feeling the room turning. All color is drained from his face. His love me results in great concern...concern for the unknown. Surgery, in this country, in Africa? She continues and I interrupt asking about the MRI. She insists it's not necessary, she knows exactly what it is and it needs removing. She reminds me that as she scanned my results she had to do a double take on the size of my cyst, assuming it was mm not cm in size. Andrew excuses himself. I know his world is spinning, yes this is small. This by no means is the big C, no one has seemed too alarmed but for him, this is big, very big! She continues to explain the procedure, which will be laparoscopic (I told you, it wasn't big). She explains how, why, and when. She is clear and answers each of our questions. I try to steal a glance at her credentials again, hanging proudly on the wall - UZ, she studied at the University of Zimbabwe. Why am I concerned? Andrew returns and he's very pale. He has a water bottle in his hand. She backtracks on the procedure assuming he'd want all the details. I remind her that he's uncertain of the level of care I would receive here. She acknowledges my words and assures me that the hospital is a private hospital and that there are still very capable educated people here - I already knew that! One last thing, she needs me to go for more blood tests. She needs them before Sunday - she wants to know my tumor markers. Tumor? Why don't I like that word? She assures me it's merely to ensure that she doesn't go in blindly. She reminds us both that there's a slight possibility she may have to open me up, but that is rare. I'm still calm. I'm still not stressed.

We go to a 24hr laboratory to have blood drawn - I hate this. We get there and I mention how I don't like needles. The nurse says it'll be fine. I remember how it was quick and painless the last time, but then she tells me she's taking 5 vials of blood - are they trying to feed a vampire, who needs 5 vials of blood? Needless to say, I sit very still with head turned and eyes closed waiting for the inevitable prick in my arm. Before checking my left arm, with the band tied tightly around my forearm and me pumping my fist, she makes a cultural statement, a compliment of sorts. "I see you have much fat. We will have to push through all this fat to find the veins. Your arms have lots and lots of fat." My husband smiles toward me, reminding me of my beauty and to ignore this completely culturally appropriate "compliment." I tell her the last time they drew from my right arm, so she takes off the rubber tie and moves to my other side. "Yes, I will get through all this fat." She rubs my arm, willing the veins to show themselves. As she finally pokes me and starts drawing the blood, she begins to address my fat. "I am sooo thin. You are sooo fat. I have had 2 children. You have had none, yes?" I nod and she continues. "I try everything to get fat, like you." The compliments keep coming and my husband insists on my eye contact, as if to assure me of my body-image during this conversation. I tell her she has a beautiful figure (she is slender in her physic). In response, she compliments me in return, "But you are fat EVERYWHERE." She really enunciates the last word, insisting I understand her expression. I smile and say thanks. She says a few more things along these lines and I smirk. I shake the thought away and finally she has her 5 vials.

We make the 2 hour drive home and it's already 6:00pm. The sun has gone down and it's a Friday night. We try our best to never drive the Harare - Chinhoyi road after dark, and certainly not on a Friday evening. But these are extenuating circumstances, so we make the trip back. There's very little chatter between Andrew and me on the way home - we are both deep in thought.

Friday night was a whirlwind of calling Stateside to talk to our health insurance company. We wanted some assurance that they would be covering the surgery or the hospital stay - something, hopefully most everything, but we weren't sure. The best they could say was asking us to send them doctor's letters and diagnostic reports to have their team actually ok the surgery. Either way, I was having the surgery. Saturday came too soon and we still didn't have answers. It was the weekend and we needed documentation from the doctor, including letters and all sorts for our insurance. At 7:00pm, we finally heard back from the receptionist who asked if we could wait until the next day - no we couldn't, it would be Sunday. The time difference and schedule made this time sensitive. Once again, God showed Himself through the graciousness of the receptionist.

"Don't worry. I live not too far from the office. I'll try to get a hold of keys and then go around to the office tonight to get this all figured out. I will send you a letter this evening." Who does that? Who goes above and beyond? Little did we know at this time, but Friday was technically the last day for this receptionist. A new person would have her job by Monday and we would be working with someone else in this capacity. God knew, God provided.

On Saturday, we took time informing family, packing a bag (it should only be overnight, but we packed for the week just in case), contacting possible accommodation for Andrew, more insurance e-mails and calls and more research on the hospital I would soon be booking into.

We arrive at the hospital in Harare on Sunday evening. I get rather nervous after seeing the reception area. The place is dated. The tables are shaky, the chairs are in desperate need of reupholster, the tiles are dark, the lighting is minimal and it's clear they haven't made any cosmetic updates since this place was first built back in 1983 (I was born in this hospital 3 years later). Since we had only been in one other hospital in Zimbabwe, last year when I fell and hurt my feet, we had high expectations. The other hospital was updated, brand new and Andrew even commented at the time that it was the nicest and cleanest building he had ever entered in Africa. This was unfortunately not the case. We tried hard not to judge a book by it's cover and filled out paperwork while we waited to be called. Andrew is calm, he reminds me everything we see is purely cosmetic - I agree.

​Andrew attempted to book us a private room. Our insurance only covers a semi-private room (2 bed room). We preferred a private room because it allowed Andrew to stay with me as long as he wished. He wanted to see me off before my surgery at 5:30am. He also wanted to come and go as he pleased, rather than be limited to visiting hours. The receptionist was quick to point out that a private room would be an additional $800. We politely declined. We were disappointed but grateful that insurance covered the semi-private room.

We finally handed over our credit card to cover the $2,500 fee. Unfortunately, while we were finalizing the room the receptionist told us that only a 12 bed room was available. At this point my eyes well up, no privacy, no Andrew. I look at Andrew and immediately know that he is envisioning the Chinhoyi Hospital, where we visited Elizabeth. She was in a dormitory room with 16-20 beds, no privacy, limited visitation hours, and lots of eyes. Andrew handed her the card again and said, "We'll take the private room." I insist no, we can't afford it. However, he insists, we need this. We follow the Dave Ramsey method of finances and knew our emergency fund would soon be depleted upon this expense. We make another transaction and then we're finally on our way. Andrew is calm, he keeps reassuring me this was the best decision. Andrew is polite to the receptionist during all of this. He takes the lead and handles the conversation.  

We get to the third floor and are welcomed by smiles. A nurse directs us to our room (one of only 2 private rooms in the ward). We get to our room and it's comfortable, it's clean, it will meet all our needs.

Soon after arrival, a lady brings me a thermos of cold water and ice. She also offers me tea, to which I say yes. She brings not only a cup of tea, but a few sandwiches triangles too - Andrew eats them, since I've lost my appetite at this time. After a few hours, the anesthesiologist comes by. She introduces herself and is incredibly nice. For some reason, I had imagined a shorter, balding, overweight, middle-aged man, with a thick accent (I have no idea why). Yet, instead it is this beautiful young, 33-weeks pregnant woman, who speaks better English than I. She visits with us for some time. She asks if we have any concerns and makes sure we fully understand the procedure that will take place and answers all of our questions. She assures me that I'm in good hands and that it's normal to feel some fear. In an attempt to calm my anxiety, she tells me she would be far worse. Andrew makes her promise that she will not go into labor while I'm in surgery and she just laughs. Before leaving, she inserts the cannula - my dreaded fear. Who knew that a small little piece of plastic could cause such discomfort? Unfortunately, she taped my fingers as well, which limited my ability to bend my hand (at the knuckles). Each time I did, the plastic needle would protrude below my skin - not a fun feeling. 

​We are incredibly grateful that we decided on a private room. Andrew stays into the night. He doesn't want to leave my side, which brings me much comfort. To be honest, other than the initial thought that I may be alone tonight, I have felt rather calm. I haven't felt much anxiety and even going as far back as May to the initial exams and tests, I had felt rather relaxed. My opinion has been that worry would not change anything so why bother. Before we could rest, we had some awkward and uncomfortable situations - due to me not being able to use my right hand from the tape for the cannula and the necessities for my upcoming surgery... it's a good thing I have a husband, and we'll leave it at that!

​At midnight the nurse came in to attach an IV and get fluids into me. The cords hung all over my head and there was no way to get comfortable because of the placement of the IV bag and the hand chosen to host the cannula. Needless to say, I did dose off. The bed was very comfortable and maybe I had some internal stress I wasn't even aware of that tired out my body. I would constantly wake up and look over to see my husband reading the Bible or checking sports scores on his phone. He just sat there in a hard plastic chair. It was obvious he would not get sleep tonight and that made me feel terrible and yet his presence gave me such incredible peace. Andrew is my constant - the roles from Friday have completely reversed. I'm nervous, he is calm, I am nauseous he is put together, I am emotional he is stoic, but with tenderness in every word and action.

S​ide note: At some point Andrew lies on my hospital bed, in hopes of getting some rest - he's exhausted - he stayed awake ALL night. A nurse comes in to clean the linens. She finds him, takes pity on him, and covers him with a cover and lets him rest.

The moment I left Andrew's side, fear overtook me like something I've never felt before. I started shaking uncontrollably, my breathing was very heavy, and I could tell my eyes were quickly welling up. I tried hard to calm myself, remind myself I'm not alone. God is with me. I tried to slow my breathing, but it was pointless. My body wouldn't calm down. The operating room nurse kept rubbing my arm, insisting I calm down, assuring me it would all be ok. I nodded, but kept my eyes closed. Seeing all the lights above me made me queasy. Once in the operating room, I saw all the tools and the machines and knew I needed to close my eyes and ground myself somehow. They started putting heart rate monitors on me and checking my blood pressure. I heard a rapid heart beat immediately on the machines and now the tears rolled down my cheeks - what was wrong with me? This was pretty minor where surgeries are concerned. 

​Finally the anesthesiologist entered. She had a big smile, she rubbed my arm, and she assured me all was well and fear was normal. She told me I was in good hands. Her words don't comfort me, I still hear the heart monitor beeping loudly and rapidly in the background. In enters the surgeon - the woman I had just met 3 days prior - the same woman about to cut into me. She notices my condition and immediately I hear tone of concern in her voice. She wipes my tears with the back of her hand. Then she looks in my eyes, takes my hand and asks to pray for me. I'm shocked, but nod yes. Everyone in the room stops what they are doing. The clinging of tools and moving trolleys stop, I see heads bow and eyes close. And she begins to pray, "God please guide my hands as I perform this surgery. Lead the eyes of the anesthesiologist as she watches over Yolanda. Help every person in this room to do their job at the best of their ability. Please Lord help the surgery go smoothly and we also pray for a good recovery. Lord, I pray you replace Yolanda's fear with perfect peace from your Holy Spirit. Calm her nerves..." I start to hear the heart monitor slow down in its beeping, "...All these things I ask in Jesus name, Amen." My tears are gone, my body is no longer shaking, I hear someone say, "She's calmed down." Then the anesthesiologist says, "This will burn a little." I feel a sharp burning sensation in my hand and grimace...

me. Nurses keep coming in checking my blood pressure, my heart rate, pumping stuff into my cannula, stuff that burns so bad it makes me scream. Each time a nurse pumps stuff into me she apologizes. She tells me, "It will hurt, this will burn, I'm so sorry. Patients always cry from pain because of this med." Same response from each nurse each time she gives me stuff - whatever stuff that doesn't feel like it could possibly be good for me. They keep swapping IV bags and pumping me full of fluids. Everyone is so nice, everyone is so kind, everyone is so helpful - God is present in the service through others.

​Evening comes and Andrew goes to get dinner and eats with me. The hospital food is pretty good. Small portions, but the nausea ensures I wouldn't want an extra bite. I finally insist that Andrew leaves. I slept most of the day anyway. He is so tired and needs sleep in a bed. I insist I don't want to see him until later the next day. He nods and leaves. Nurses come in all throughout the night giving me meds. I'm so grateful I don't have to get out of bed for the restroom, due to the catheter - I get some rest.

​Tuesday comes quickly and now it's clear I have had surgery. A nurse offers to help me shower, but I insist my husband will arrive soon. Andrew arrives, earlier than I expect - even though I've been awake since 4:30am. They finally remove the catheter - relief! My stomach looks like I'm about 7 months pregnant - literally. They have pumped so much gas into my stomach to perform the surgery. The skin feels tight, there's a lot of pressure, and I have 4 smallish bandage/tape covered wounds. Lunchtime I have no appetite. My tray of food sits for 2 hours and the nurse insists I try eating. Another lady offers to heat my food in the microwave. They've already been in twice today to clean the room, sanitize light switches, door knobs, wiping down my food tray and mopping the floor. We are so impressed with the cleanliness level. Thank you God for providing such a good hospital. 

​Andrew helps me get up each time I go to the toilet. Once he leaves, I need the restroom during the night. The nurse comes immediately after I press the call button. I insist I only want her to stand there in case I need assistance, but want to get up by myself. Every time I get up I go for a walk, I make small talk with the nurses when I walk past the nurses' station. They are kind and polite, always asking how I'm doing and if I need assistance.

Another night passes.

​Wednesday comes and the meds continue. The IV bag is empty, but there's backflow and the pipe is filled with blood. A nurse comes to remove it and realizes there's a small blood clot. She has to clean it out, more burning, more pain. She seems nervous and drops the needle, then drops the file, then bumps into my bed. She seems all over the place. Andrew raises his eyebrows. She removes the pipe and opens the cannula only to have blood go everywhere. She's not wearing gloves and gets blood all over her. I remind her that she probably needs to clean up first. But first she hastily attaches the pipe, then goes to wash her hands. I see bubble after bubble flow down the pipe. I've seen movies - this is bad right? I mention it to her, she assures me she'll be right back. In the meantime, the bubbles increase in size and flow rapidly through my cannula. I look at Andrew, then say, "Well I'm not dead yet." She comes back and removes the bubbles and promptly leaves, never to return again.

A nurse arrives to take me for my X-ray and offers to take me in a wheelchair, but I insist I can walk. Once I come out of the X-ray room, I fall into her arms - maybe I needed a wheelchair after all. She tells me to sit and wait and she'll return with the wheelchair. 

​Once in the room, a male nurse or technician enters with one of the female nurses. They start to hook me up with an old school EKG machine. He covers me up with a sheet and then asks me to disrobe my chest - I look at Andrew. I'm rather modest. I don't care that he's in the medical field. I feel uncomfortable, but he's obviously very professional. I try not to make eye-contact. They place little suction cups all over my chest and under my breast. They have what looks like jumper cables attached to my ankles and wrists - I ask if there's any electricity involved (again, I've seen movies). They ensure this is painless and it is.

​The doctor returns later in the day to read my tests - all is normal. It's just the gas build up that's causing the pain. In the meantime I asked Andrew to buy 2 bunches of flowers, thank you cards, and a huge box of cookies. I write out thank you cards to all the hospital staff - nurses, aides, cleaning staff, food prep people, etc. There is one each for the surgeon and the anesthesiologist. I give the cookies to the hospital staff and the flowers to the doctors. They can't believe it. Multiple hospital staff members enter our room through the day to thank us personally. The head nurse stops by, thanks us for our generosity, and tells us what a thankless job they have. "Many people come here in high stress situations, often we are yelled at, called names, blamed for situations, etc. Most people don't thank us or appreciate what we do." Her words were sincere, deliberate, and grateful to have someone hear her. Andrew and I nod, expressing our gratitude to all involved and expressing the excellent level of care we had received, and telling them God bless you with every chance we got. Many asked if we were Christians, then smiled. Maybe just as Jesus worked through all those who served us and cared for us, He also worked through us to show His love to them. Thank you Jesus!

​The doctor had the biggest smile upon receiving her flowers. "I looove flowers," she gushes, "I've never had a patient respond so beautifully."

​She insists we stay in Harare until Saturday, before heading back to Chinhoyi. The 20 minute drive to our accommodation for the next two nights is torturous. I sleep most of the time due to meds. We finally head home on Saturday.

​A week passes and we have a follow-up appointment with the doctor. I'm healing well. She insists I'm overdoing it and need to rest more (we met half day with the ladies, I started the blog post, I've continued to make evening dinners - needless to say, Andrew has done EVERYTHING else). She has official test results back from the cyst and tumor inside of it - it's benign. However, we never doubted that diagnosis - thank you Jesus.

​We do find out that the type of cyst I had only results in 2% of cases. I most likely will never again have a cyst like it - at least not this type.

​I also receive a possible diagnosis. We are not ready to share that information, but please keep us in your prayers as there is no cure. We have some tough decisions to make over the next few weeks and months. We have a follow up in four weeks.

​I know this is long. I know this is wordy. I know this is more details than many of you need or want. Thank you for making it this far. God has been so incredibly gracious throughout this experience. We have also found out that our insurance will cover EVERYTHING - the hospital fees, the surgery, the doctors, the physical therapist, the meds, the follow up exams - everything. We do not need to pay a single penny of the $4,800+
- thank you Jesus!!!