To be continued…
I knew it.
I knew it before she walked in the door.
I knew it before I made the appointment.
I knew it on Christmas Day.
I knew it once I woke up from surgery and was coherent enough to understand what had happened.
They didn’t take the dermoid cyst off my left ovary when they went in to rid my pelvis of infection. The initial concern, the reason I had gone into urgent care and then to the gynecologist and then to the emergency room, had not been resolved. They said it was a measure to preserve my left ovary knowing that they were unable to see much right ovarian tissue, they said this because they knew I didn’t want to lapse into early menopause.
I should have said, do what you can to save the ovaries, but if it means leaving that dermoid cyst, I would rather accept the consequences of not having enough ovarian tissue to menstruate.
Because as soon as I started feeling that familiar mid-cycle pain on Christmas Day, I knew. I knew this would be a continuing issue, I knew that I’d eventually need more surgery (and that was even before I consulted Dr. Google).
I don’t know the whole story yet. There are CT scans to compare, pathology reports to request, risks to be calculated.
All I can do is cry. Cry over the missed opportunity to correct this problem, cry over the prospect of more surgery, cry over the mid-cycle pain presenting itself yet again this week.