I’m in the bathroom trying to come up with a sample for my doctor to analyze, and thinking about the ovarian cyst they found yesterday. Hmmm…. sounds like this is going to be one of those Too Much Information posts. For the squeamish, don’t worry, it doesn’t get much worse than this.
Back to the potty, I’m thinking “What if I have to have the ovary removed?” I’m not planning on having any more kids, and have a spare ovary. Is it really such a bad thing to lose one? What if they both have to go? I really, really don’t want to have to take estrogen pills every flipping day for who knows how long.
And what about the other cyst, the one right where my appendix used to be? Shouldn’t we be thinking about removing it as well? No one seems the least concerned, so maybe I can ignore it. But if they tell me the guts have to go, then what?
I know a man who had to have a LOT removed. He now lives with a colostomy bag. Ok, so I lied to the squeamish. My apologies. But the point is I don’t want to live like that!
I won’t do it! I draw the line at colostomy bags.
Unless… Lord, this could be a lot worse, couldn’t it. This could kill me.
Suddenly the line I drew doesn’t mean the same to me as it did a few seconds ago.
I don’t particularly want to die. Somehow, realizing how very bad things can get when it comes to malfunctions of the body, I see it all a little differently. Suddenly daily pill popping and external appliances don’t seem quite so bad.
Pfft. Why worry about it? I’ll probably turn out to have some sort of bacterial infection, have a minor operation on the ovary, and ignore the thing where my appendix used to be. Scary as this thing has been, it’s probably nothing.
Meanwhile it’s back to the bathroom. Now where did my book go? I wonder if things would move faster if I ate a cookie.