(no subject)
Slashy McSlash
I had my appointment today.
The surgery takes place March 13. I will be in the hospital for two days.
Unfortunately, they have to make a large incision. All the way up my abdomen. This is so they can get all of it, intact. The last thing I/they want is for it to rupture, causing cells to fly all over the place and start growing.
And last, but not least, they have to take my ovary. And the accompanying tube. I knew that, but it was still a shock to hear. The ovary tissue is so fragile, that to cut the tumor off would cause even more damage. And since the cyst has been there for SO long, there is no doubt tissue damage. So bye-bye ovary and tube, hello clamp. Fantastic. However (and I HAVE to keep telling myself this), I am still fertile. The right ovary will now pick up the slack and, if you know anything about ovulation, is now the dominant ovary. But you can ask me about that if you really want to know how the pipes work.
I accept that now.
Now for the interesting, freakish news.
The tumor weighs an estimated 10 pounds. Yeah, 10 pounds. How incredibly freaky! So, the doctor jokingly (or not) said that I'd be a different person ("Instant weight loss!" he said). The tumor, which I've lived with approximately half my life, will be gone and I will be able to eat normally and so on. The doctor took out a tape and showed me how long the tumor is. Gross. I can't believe I have that inside of me. Six-month pregnancy indeed. How many six-month fetuses have you heard weigh 10 pounds?
The doctor stepped out of the room to take a look at the CT Scan results, leaving the door ajar. He just wanted to be sure that it is benign, and that there weren't any nodes. Fortunately (with about 1,000 exclamation marks after that), all looks well. Anyway, as he was examining the scan, I suddenly hear:
GOSH THAT'S HUGE!
Um, I CAN HEAR YOU! (I didn't say this, but almost did.)
I will need to be out of work for two weeks. Two weeks. I don't know how I will function. I have lifting restrictions for six weeks. Lifting restrictions? What does that even mean? Thirty pounds? Forty? I need a number here. He says, "Oh, I can write a note for you for six weeks, if you want." Um, no. It'll be hard enough sitting out for two. What are you trying to do? (In case you haven't yet figured it out, I'm a workaholic.)
He removes my staples March 20. Staples?!? Jesus.
The doctor couldn't stop marveling how big the cyst is. I guess I didn't realize how big it was until I heard it's weight. I thought maybe a few pounds. No.
THAT REALLY FREAKS ME OUT.
Hello, Ripley's?
I had my appointment today.
The surgery takes place March 13. I will be in the hospital for two days.
Unfortunately, they have to make a large incision. All the way up my abdomen. This is so they can get all of it, intact. The last thing I/they want is for it to rupture, causing cells to fly all over the place and start growing.
And last, but not least, they have to take my ovary. And the accompanying tube. I knew that, but it was still a shock to hear. The ovary tissue is so fragile, that to cut the tumor off would cause even more damage. And since the cyst has been there for SO long, there is no doubt tissue damage. So bye-bye ovary and tube, hello clamp. Fantastic. However (and I HAVE to keep telling myself this), I am still fertile. The right ovary will now pick up the slack and, if you know anything about ovulation, is now the dominant ovary. But you can ask me about that if you really want to know how the pipes work.
I accept that now.
Now for the interesting, freakish news.
The tumor weighs an estimated 10 pounds. Yeah, 10 pounds. How incredibly freaky! So, the doctor jokingly (or not) said that I'd be a different person ("Instant weight loss!" he said). The tumor, which I've lived with approximately half my life, will be gone and I will be able to eat normally and so on. The doctor took out a tape and showed me how long the tumor is. Gross. I can't believe I have that inside of me. Six-month pregnancy indeed. How many six-month fetuses have you heard weigh 10 pounds?
The doctor stepped out of the room to take a look at the CT Scan results, leaving the door ajar. He just wanted to be sure that it is benign, and that there weren't any nodes. Fortunately (with about 1,000 exclamation marks after that), all looks well. Anyway, as he was examining the scan, I suddenly hear:
GOSH THAT'S HUGE!
Um, I CAN HEAR YOU! (I didn't say this, but almost did.)
I will need to be out of work for two weeks. Two weeks. I don't know how I will function. I have lifting restrictions for six weeks. Lifting restrictions? What does that even mean? Thirty pounds? Forty? I need a number here. He says, "Oh, I can write a note for you for six weeks, if you want." Um, no. It'll be hard enough sitting out for two. What are you trying to do? (In case you haven't yet figured it out, I'm a workaholic.)
He removes my staples March 20. Staples?!? Jesus.
The doctor couldn't stop marveling how big the cyst is. I guess I didn't realize how big it was until I heard it's weight. I thought maybe a few pounds. No.
THAT REALLY FREAKS ME OUT.
Hello, Ripley's?