Lady Bits

I’m having issues with some of my lady parts.

I have a large cyst on my left ovary, which, in and of itself is not really a big deal.  Cysts happen, sometimes they burst, it hurts like hell (currently still sore but manageable), and then you get on with your life.

The cyst is the reason I spent the majority of last Friday in a hospital gown, being poked and prodded by various medical instruments.  

        *As an aside, I’d like to thank MerlotMom for the TP warning, and the universe as a whole for somehow making sure I shaved my legs for the first time in 2 months, the day prior.  Seriously saved me much embarrassment.*

While they were getting a look at the cyst, they found something.  Two somethings, actually.

Thing number one: A mass.  Also answers to the name “nodule”.  Something dense, not fluid filled like the cyst.  It’s questionable in its own right, but even more so because lady-part cancers run in my family *and* because I have been an ovum donor – twice.

The emergency doctor and radiologist think I should wait 6 weeks to see if it grows.  If it does, we either biopsy it or remove the ovary all together.  It’s not like I need that ovary, anyway.  If it doesn’t grow, we wait another 6 weeks and check it again… lather, rinse, repeat.

Me?  I’m not a wait and see kind of person.  Taking shit by storm is more my style.  There is a reason they call ovarian cancer the silent killer, and I’m not about to let it slip through the cracks.  Especially when I have somehow been given the gift of early detection. 

So I’m shopping for a health practitioner with the same kind of attitude, one that can point me in the right direction.  I think I’ve found one.  I’ll know for sure on Thursday whether we’re in this together or I’m going to kick him to the curb and start over.

Thing number two: My bicornuate uterus has changed shape.  Back before I had any kids, it was fairly normal and cow-head-looking.  Normal enough, anyway, that it was missed by numerous radiologists and ultra sound technicians – even fertility experts who had a wand up my hoo-hah more times than I could count, during ovum donation. 

After I had Alison, the odd shape was very obvious.  They assumed the reason for the sudden change was because the endometrial lining was thicker.  Several ultra sounds and an extremely painful hysterosalpingogram (HSG) later, and we had a very clear picture of the heart-shape of my deformed uterus. 

Look Mom, let’s hang it on the fridge in honor of Valentine’s Day!

After I had Blythe, and hemorrhaged, my uterus was all kinds of messed up.  I can only imagine what the films from that ordeal look like, and until now, I haven’t had any desire to see them.

As of Friday, my uterus has, apparently, begun to collapse upon itself.  It is now square-ish and squashed looking, with the top of the “heart” – the septum – now touching the bottom like a power yoga move gone horribly awry. 

I can’t even find a diagram of that kind of uterus. 

The tech drew me a picture, one I wish I’d had the foresight to tuck into my pocket before she put it in my chart.  Oh, wait, it’s not like I had any pants on at the time… where exactly was I thinking I’d hide it?

Right now, the collapsing uterus isn’t causing me any problems.  It’s secondary to the other, more urgent issue of the mass on my ovary.  But it does need to be taken care of – probably when my ovary is being poked and/or removed. 

Because, really?  Nobody wants to be walking along one day and have their uterus fall out of their fagina.  It would probably ruin whatever shoes I was wearing at the time.

In the meantime, I’m looking into research hospitals – surely someone must want to document this kind of madness for the sake of medical science.  It seems a shame for such an oddity to wind up in the haz-mat dumpster behind the local small-town hospital.