Oh hey, remember me? I’m the lady who was once really good at blogging.
It’s been hard to know what to say the past few weeks. I’m not typically into spilling a lot of my real emotional or physical business here – at least not since the early 2000s. BUT, I don’t really have anything else to talk about, so here goes.
I’m having surgery. Oh, how I wish it were a boob-lift or something optional and fun, but no – it’s just regular ol’ exploratory laparoscopy to see what some shadowy “something” is behind my left ovary. Could be a cyst, could be a blocked tube? Could be a Mad Ball or an alien or remnants of my congenital twin? All I know at this point is that it’s probably gross and definitely rude.
After two trans-vaginal ultrasounds (oh, those old, sexy things?) my doctor, who is painfully brilliant and adorable gave me two courses of action: I could do this weird test where they shoot dye through my fallopian tubes to check for any blockages OR she could jab a camera into my bellybutton and find out for sure what was what and just “take care of it.” The dye option sounded better, but if it didn’t show a blockage, she would still need to do a surgery to figure out what was what. Ultimately it just seemed less annoying to let her Jiffy Lube me and get it over with.
Oh yes… I also have a few very small polyps. One in my uterus and one at the top of my cervix, (What? You wanted to know) so she’s also going to shove a camera into my cervix and cut those out while she’s at it.
I’m hoping the aesthetician shoves an apple into my mouth just to complete the whole pig on a spit visual I have going in my head.
All of this will be taking place a week from Monday. I’m so lucky.
Here is what I’m obsessing over:
The fact that I won’t be able to wear nail polish on the day of surgery. I realize this seems stupid, but I rely pretty heavily on the color/ sparkle therapy that nail polish provides.
Not being able to wear it the day of the surgery is kind of okay, but knowing that I won’t be able to sit up comfortably enough to paint my nails for at least a few days after, thus having to look at sad, naked nails for three or four days fills me with dread. Crazy.
Being anesthetized. What if I never wake up? What if I fart? I’m a control freak, people – how can I let things happen to my body, while I’m not there? It gives me the wigs.
The internet horror stories of women who went in for a simple procedure like this and their doctors found cancer all over their junk and they wake up to learn they’ve had a hysterectomy. Yes, I’ve already banned myself from reading the google, but guys – I read a story about this 8 years ago and I never forgot.
What if it really is my congenital twin and they remove her and I wake up nicer? How horrible.