Six Centimeters

There's a six centimeter cyst on my ovary.

Yeah. I'm going to go ahead and lead with that from now on.

"Hello, how are you?"

"Good, how are you?"

"There's a six centimeter cyst on my ovary."

And let me tell you, it is not pleasant. It has not been pleasant since Monday when I first started feeling it. It has been unpleasant every day as I have instructed a room full of first graders while wanting to curl into a ball to wait for death.

Or something slightly less dramatic.

My ovaries are covered with cysts all the time, but they are teensy tiny cysts that have never bothered me except to say, "Hey, we're going to make it really hard for you to have babies." This cyst is different. This cyst is dwarfing my ovary.

I went to urgent care on Wednesday. The doctor there pushed and shoved and poked and prodded my abdomen. He checked my urine and he had a nurse take incredible volumes of my blood. Then he told me to follow up with my regular physician yesterday. She wasn't available. So I saw someone else.

Who recommended an ultrasound which happened today.

Now I wait.

For rupture.

For absorption.

For it to grow two more centimeters so that I can have it removed.

I vote for absorption. And it is my after all. So I should get a vote. I should get the only vote.

That's the story of my cyst. The end.