I had quite a day today. The kind of day, that often happens to the shitty L- plater driving this human.
You see, for the past 4 months or so I have had a niggling pain (ok I told my GP 4 months but maybe it’s more like 4 years…kidding! 6 months tops!)..anyway, I have been feeling some kind of burning, piercing pain in an area I have managed to narrow down (via a whole lot of whinging to my husband and googling), to a spot known as my left ovary. I am talking niggle, niggle then POW! doubled over kinda pain – not only gnawing away on my insides but also gnawing away at the hypochondria default setting in my brain.
You see, I am convinced oh I would say a good 85% of my time, that I am in fact, dying.
This pain, in my very specific, pin pointed left ovary. It was cancer. I knew it. The jig was up.
If only there was some kind of way to look at my insides, specifically my left ovary – through my skin and blubber bits and bladder, and confirm my morbid suspicions. Lucky for me (phew) there is of course the amazingness of ultrasound.
I daydreamed, when I made my appointment that it would be just like the movies – J-Lo in the stirrups with pregnant belly and her husband smiling at the screen, squeezing cold jelly on her belly and the movie doctor says ‘this will feel a little cold’ and the girl does a cute little gasp and they all laugh and then the doctor, gently smooges the gel around, with a big nubby looking thing and they all ‘oh and ah’ over the scans of the new little life inside of her. The couple then look at each other, realising for the first time the amazingness of this moment and what they had created together. Now forever connected in time.
Sorry – I think I just had like a mini stroke…hmmm I can’t smell burning toast so I will continue.
Where was I – oh yes, IT IS NOT LIKE THE MOVIES, J-LO IS A RED DEVIL LIAR!!!!!
Ladies, for those of you who have not experienced the joys of an ultrasound appointment, it is time for this blog to get busy, turn a few tricks and earn its keep! Prepare to be schooled!
Before I get into it, I do need to also set the scene. You see, aside from the 36-year-old woman with PCOS who desperately wants a baby and is currently undergoing fertility treatment and whose body can’t get it together and ovulate and has a left ovary in burning pain…the clinic I went to also catered for the other kind of patient seeking an amazingly amazing ultrasound – the perfectly pregnant variety.
So there I sat in an empty waiting room, with 100’s ( and I literally mean 100’s) of pictures of newborns taunting me and my dodgy ovary, wall-papering the walls; ready to be told my fate praying to God just like Bart Simpson did the time he didn’t do his homework and he promised God he would be a better person if he just gave Bart a miracle. I was giving God everything – back to church on Sunday’s for me, volunteering in refuge camps, being an all round fantastic human being; never taking anything for granted ever again.
JUST LET IT SNOW AND CLOSE SCHOOL TOMORROW!!! …Err I mean DON’T LET THIS BE A TUMOUR!!!!!
As I finished my deep meditation, I began to notice the waiting room had filled up, oh fabulous, 12 majorly pregnant women surrounding me now, taunting me along with the pictures. One almost sat on me, while another managed to somehow, in a Better Homes and Garden magazine incident, have me face planting her Laura Ashley’d roundness…almost….almost. Smiles on their faces while holding their husband’s hand as their toddlers played at the feet.
I tried to look pregnant too and rubbed my belly excitedly when they looked at me . If only they knew my little bundle, was a bulbous tumour leached on to my reproductive organs…oh OK and the subway meatball foot-long I ate for lunch.
Me and my foot-long.
Finally it was my turn. I followed the sonograph-radiograph-er-erer? in. She then asked me to lay down and to lift up my top.
No swollen belly, but the gel was cool and she did warn me kindly it would be. So, I got a little J-LO happening, shame it was ruined when I looked down and realised there WAS a swollen belly down there and it was mostly subway…and I was sporting some nanna best and less knickers too..
It was all over in the blink of an eye and I was relieved it was as easy as that.
…Until, I realised she was telling me something else..she told me to go undress from the waist down to complete the second scan, an internal ultrasound.
Say what now?
After trying to think of every excuse under the sun, well, I went for it folks – I totally went for it and got the job done. But I have a few things I need to say about the whole second scan/ violation of my private parts experience.
1) While I agree it is not normal to have a fantasy of a medical appointment to get a bung ovary checked out, I had one none the less and this wasn’t it!
2) When asked the question, would I like to “drive the equipment” to ensure a “safe landing” (if you know what I mean; wink, wink, nudge, nudge) or would I like her to taxi it in – realising any which way I answer this question is bad. If I grab the mic (so to speak) and say with ease; ‘sure, I got this’, as she watches on..I suddenly realise, as I am negotiating the runway, that I am looking like I do this all the time…like this is something I am at ease doing ALL THE TIME; But if I decline and say it’s all hers as I fling open my legs and look at the ceiling – well no good can come from this answer too, because I am preferring her to do all the work as I lay there like a fat real estate agent on a Thailand weekender.
Let me tell you from experience. There is NO right answer to this question.
3) Nowhere in my fantasy did I cautiously peer down to see her moving the internal probe/ baseball bat around with her elbow at a 45 degree angle like she was churning butter or steering a large cruise liner.
We finished up and I was proud of myself for holding back through the procedure and not telling her she could have at least bought me a drink first (boom ching, thankyou I am here all night enjoy the salad); although it was hard, with my preoccupation in deciding if I wanted to seek treatment for my cancer here at home or in a capital city with better doctors and treatment options.
A long story short folks, after a long anxious wait in the waiting room again while the doctor reviewed my scans, I was summoned in and told …
I DID NOT HAVE A TERMINAL OVARY!!!! Everything was fine, nothing to worry about at all in the downstairs area.
Halle freaking lujah!!!
I haven’t looked into refugee camp volunteering yet and probs won’t and well, it’s a bit hard to go to church when I don’t think I believe in God, which does mean all of that is OK though, because I didn’t promise anything to anyone.
I did spend a good 2 hours through that whole ordeal though REALLY realising what every single person facing cancer tells you – the small stuff just does not at all matter. It simply does not.
I am one of the lucky ones, imagine all the beautiful, amazing people sitting in waiting rooms right now that do not get told the same good news, who’s worlds turn on their axis.
My cousin Jane was one of those people. Jane is no longer, but today I was very much thinking about her and what she would have gone through. I am dedicating this one to her – she had the best laugh I ever heard and she was simply awesome and kind and all sorts of lovely, so hope she is somewhere having a big laugh now at my expense.
I, like a fool did completely burst into tears when the doctor said everything was alright today, because I had been carrying the stress for months that something wasn’t OK. I was a blubbering idiot.
Hearing those words ‘id’s narda toomur’ was music to my ears – ok she didn’t say it in an Austrian Bodybuilder accent, but in my fantasy she totes did.
I am hoping, the memory of that feeling when she told me all was ok, sticks with me a good while so I keep appreciating how very lucky I am and that some people aren’t as such.
AND as for you lot – over sharing may have happened today, but lets keep it in the vault.
I did it all for you – because I hope you don’t let a little discomfort and embarrassment ever stop you investigating a bung ovary, or a sore boob – and Sharon was very gentle, I was totally in good hands. Sheesh, she must have a pair of guns on her though, in that line of work.
Love Em xoxoxo