Tomorrow I’m having an ultrasound of my abdomen – “everything” – on the orders of two doctors: My own, and the ER doctor. About a month ago I had the worst pain I’ve ever had in my life* (I include labour in that) and went into (mild, but visible) shock and ended up in the ER, but by the time they really got to me beyond treating for shock and sticking a blood pressure monitor on me (6 hrs; this is unusual even here in socialized medicine-land but my small ER had been overwhelmed by a three-vehicle accident) the pain had gone away.
Completely.
Said ER doctor said to follow up with mine, but mine was in Egypt until last week. Unfortunately just as I was about to call her to make an appointment I had another round of pain. I think it’s in my girly bits, and not on the gall bladder/appendix side, but pain can be referred and so on. So I was in last week and got the requisition for the ultrasound, and being me I scheduled it around work so tomorrow it is.
However, it’s a bit scary ’cause remember last year I had a big thyroid cancer scare and my lymph nodes were all swollen up? Well, they’ve never entirely gone down. So of course, I’m a little worried that we just didn’t look low down enough and there’s like, massive cancer in there.
This also just highlights the love-hate relationship I have with my girly bits. They have delivered two children, but sadly strangled one of them. Also, miscarriages. Also, I’m almost 39 and haven’t gotten pregnant for the last year, not that we seem to manage to have sex at the right time. (See above re: work times: two adults plus: preternaturally aware preschooler who manages to sleep soundly any night his parents are not on another floor rolling in the hay. Ahem. Do you have enough information yet?)
Even though my bits have been subjected to imaging many many times while pregnant, I still sort of wait for the day that someone looks at them and goes OH MY GOD. THESE ARE AWFUL.
I just have this deep survivor shame and certainty that written in them somewhere in scar tissue are the runes for INCEST or perhaps BORN FOR WEIRDNESS. This is, in fact, sort of one of the reasons I’ve never really pursued fertility treatment in any serious way: I just don’t want that much scrutiny.** And having Noah at this point, I sort of honestly feel like my GOD the LARGESS is so huge that really another child — a third! a second breathing, but still — would be beyond the bounty of the universe to provide.
So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m a bit worried (ovarian cancer! uterine cancer! cervical cancer! My god, you could even have bladder cancer did you know? Google says so!), a bit nervous, and pretty much halfway convinced that there will be some kind of emergency hysterectomy as a result of my scarlet letter.***
* Were Carl here he would immediately jump in to explain how bad it was, because he has every other time I’ve mentioned it to anyone. It freaked him out. And he was there for the labours!
** After losing Emily the ob offered me, at the 6-wk post-partum grief-fest and checkup, Clomid, like it was so much candy, because “the only risk is twins, ha ha.” While I realize this was already demonstrably not the best ob clinic in town, since this ob had my entire history on being able to GET pregnant and not being able to STAY pregnant, this really put me off further intervention at the one time in my life I have desperately felt that if I could not have a baby within a reasonable timeframe I would actually just lie down and die. Which is not really that relevant to the why not? question but I had to rant anyway.
*** Actually we’re guessing garden variety cysts. But I was expressing my FEELINGS. :)
{{{Shandra}}}}
Hoping for something boring and easily treated. And no more pain.