You might have to take my what?

So the chances of the doctor needing to remove my uterus when he goes in to remove the blood-filled ovarian cysts (oh, were you eating? sorry) are very small. Very very very small. However I still need to sign consent forms saying it’s okay if they take my ovaries (chances of me waking up minus one of those are a little less remote since one of them is the size of a hobo’s knapsack and one is the size of a proper London flat) (okay I made that up, one is enlarged and one is more enlarged and the more enlarged one might have to be removed if all the “good ovary” has been “used up”–those are the Dr.’s words–which is delightful) (where was I? the problem with all these parentheticals is I lose my train of thought). So anyway I must sign consent forms saying I’m okay with waking up in a bathtub full of ice with a note saying to go to the hospital because they removed my kidney. At least that’s what it feels like. Or I can refuse to sign the consent forms which means if they go in and find out things are fucked and they need to remove stuff (that would only be in a cancer situation which again, is not what anyone is really expecting but they have to rule it out etc) then they close me back up and give me the bad news and then open me back up again and start the looting of defunct and/or weaponized organs.

Considering how little I’m looking forward to one surgery I really don’t want to have two, so part of me says I should just consent and trust the doctors who are aware that I really want to have children and have promised to do everything they can to preserve that option.

The thing is that I’ve always known I wanted kids but I’ve never felt any immediacy about it, I’ve always felt that it’s something, like everything else, that will happen when the time is right. I just never considered complications.

And while I’m feeling sorry for myself, I have to say that, having watched a loved one go through cancer, this whole thing is reminiscent in that I’m having surgery and they don’t quite know what they’re going to find and after the surgery they will determine a course of treatment (if it’s endometriosis which it most likely is) and it’ll be the kind of thing I’m dealing with/managing the rest of my life.

And if it is endometriosis the treatment will involve (I think) increasing doses of hormones so I will be moody and uncomfortable.

So, yeah.

I know that no one is promised health or a long life and the fact I’ve lived this long without a hospital stay or surgery is the unusual thing–more unusual than something cropping up that I now must tend to–and millions upon millions of people deal with this stuff all the time and it’s like jury duty–it’s now my turn– but I’m the kind of nerd who vaguely enjoyed jury duty and I don’t expect I will enjoy much of any of this.

Update: I should add that the surgery is happening at the end of the month as I realize it sounds like I’m writing this on the way into the O.R.

This duckling also hasn’t been blogging

It’s been too long since I posted so I wanted to say hi. Hi!

Hope you had a good Thanksgiving and black Friday and cyber Monday and fiber Tuesday which isn’t a real thing but should be since why’s it all, “Hey, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday, fuck you!” I left out Saturday since there’s small business Saturday.

Anyhoozerswhatzits, I have to have surgery coming up since I have some ovarian cysts and an elevated CA 125 blood test and a family history of ovarian cancer so you can imagine how excited I am. How excited am I? Go ahead and imagine.

The chances of it being anything dire are very very remote from everything I’m hearing however I’m kind of scared all the same as I’ve never been put under general and prefer my body to be free of needles and scopes and things that cut things and also I like it when my blood stays inside my body as opposed to ends up in vials and wads of cotton and gauze and soups and sauces and glazes and demi glazes. Look, I’m not saying it’s standard practice to use patient blood in haute cuisine but I’m also not not saying it.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I assume it would be haute cuisine and not regular non-haute cuisine? I think that’s obvious.

So, yeah, that’s what’s happening and I’m kind of not into it and maybe I’ll run away.

Hello. Just wanted you to know that I wrote a whole blog post on the plane about things like lack of airplane wi fi and why I’m wearing two band-aids and also details about the Odd Jobs weekend and then it was accidentally erased and now it’s lost forever. Notice how I’m not taking responsibility for loss of said blog post? That’s because I blame everyone else. I blame you. How could you let it just fall through the cracks? That seems very un-like you and I question your motives and also your story. Seems too convenient. I don’t mean to be cynical or suspicious or skeptical or squinty eyed or distrustful or disdainful or other words however I just have come to the tough realization that I can no longer dig what you plant and thus will no longer be picking up what you’re laying down. I’m sorry. You best collect your things.

Also did you hear the new news intro song on the podcast? It’s delightful.

Also I had a long talk with Bald Bryan’s non-bald mom about curtains and Craigslist and now I’m all about furnishing my home with Craigslist finds instead of finds that involve walking into a store and not having to deal with strangers. Wait, I may have just talked myself out of Craigslist. But lest you think all I talk about these days is curtains I also talk about furniture and tables. And I think I’m going to start talking about mattress toppers.

I have a lot to say about the weekend and how nice everyone was and how cute the kids were and how I made a salad but that will just have to wait.