O IS FOR OVARY

           

::chuckle:: How's that for a journal entry title?! I did not intend to have ovaries be the subject matter for this entry. I was uncertain what I would write about, but I felt quite sure it would not be about anything to do with the female reproductive system! It is only because of what I learned on Thursday that I felt it was fitting. After all, I do use this journal as a diary of sorts.

There are a few of you online folks who know I have been having some difficulties (and to whom I extend my heartfelt thank yous for your prayers and caring). I was growing very scared and concerned about what was happening to me. Aside from the mental aspect of the unknown and how one's mind tends to run wild with the possibilities when something outside of the norm occurs, there was the physical aspect of my problem, too, which was causing me a great amount of discomfort.

After a couple months of thinking, "Oh, this will go away by tomorrow," I made an appointment with my gynecologist. I honestly thought at first that it was only menopause wreaking havoc on my body. The decision to finally go see him was the nagging thought that I had a tumor.

 

Appointment day arrived, and after the exchange of smiles and pleasantries with my doctor, I proclaimed, "I have a tumor." He laughed. I told him I was serious. Unfortunately, I joke around so much that not everyone realizes when I am kidding and when I am serious. Thank goodness he is such a sweet man. I have been seeing him since I was 18, except during the six years I lived away from this city.

 

And you know what? There was a tumor. He found it. I will never forget the look on his face when he discovered it. It was a combination of "oh my, she has a tumor" and "oh my, I can't believe she knew she had one." He asked if I thought I could handle having a biopsy right then. I said sure. I was warned that it might be very uncomfortable for me. Eh, I did not care. I simply wanted to know whether or not I had cancer. He took a sample of my lining (a hefty amount, I might add, because I peeked inside the container holding it to see!), and it was sent off to be examined for cancerous cells.

 

The next step was to have an internal ultrasound, regardless of what the biopsy results might be. I scheduled the appointment. Two weeks later and prior to the ultrasound, I received word that the biopsy was negative for cancer. Ah, I was elated. I still felt cruddy, but I had the knowledge that cancer was no longer in the picture.

 

Ultrasound appointment day came, but I will not go into the details of how I overslept and missed it.Suffice it to say that I was horrified I had done that. Luckily, I was rescheduled for two days later. And that long-winded prelude brings me to the O is for Ovary.

 

Thursday I had the ultrasound. Kudos to those who developed such a fascinating and sophisticated piece of equipment that is able to detect and depict on a screen every darn thing there is to see. When my doctor was preparing to begin, he asked if I wanted to see the screen. Of course I did. Such things always amaze me. He chuckled and said he knew I would want to view it with him.

 

My tumor was spotted right away. It is a fibroid tumor and only about an inch long. No big deal. There are some other things that are slightly irregular, but overall everything looks good. He even showed me my ovaries! He finished up, and I was instructed to get dressed and meet him in his office.

 

I plunked down on the chair in front of his desk. He dictated into a hand-held recorder the particulars of the ultrasound results. Then, he spoke to me. He simply cannot predict what will happen next. He does not believe I am in menopause. I told him that surprised me, because I was sure I was diving right into it. He said I was not, BECAUSE the ultrasound showed that one of my ovaries was in the process of releasing an egg. WHAAAAAT? He laughed and repeated it. Now, I am willing to bet that egg was using a wheelchair to get where it hoped to get, but the fact I am still fertile blew me away. I blurted out, "I sure hope hubby's vasectomy holds up!"

 

The plan of action is to wait and see if I begin to experience again the wearisome and worrisome problems I had for two consecutive months. If so, I am to call, and he will perform a procedure. I am good with that. I feel a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

 

I called my hubby, mother, and one of my sisters to give them the good news. Each one laughed about my fertility. But, you know? Knowing I am still able to conceive a child has been on my mind since the appointment. There is that tiny part of me that would love to again go through being pregnant and then holding a brand new little human in my arms. There is nothing in the world like cradling a newborn. It is a true slice of heaven.

 

Problem is, hubby would have to go through a vasectomy reversal. By the time he would do that, I would probably be full-fledged menopausal with dead eggs. Ha! Besides, I am enjoying my seemingly selfish existence where more and more of my time is my own to do with as I please. It has been oodles of years for that to be the case, and I want to revel in it.

 

At some point, grandchildren will fulfill my need to inhale the sweet scent of newborns. And that suits me just fine.

 

"I wonder if most people ever ask themselves why love is connected with reproduction. And if they do ask themselves about this, I wonder what answer they give." ~Mortimer J. Adler