That's right - I have a little something inside me...A little bundle of... well, not joy - fluid? Taffy? What's inside an ovarian cyst, anyway? Whatever it is, I don't think it will have my eyes and David's hair. David's mom wanted a granbaby, but she's getting a grancyst. It's the best I can do.
I wonder how long it's been in there, growing to the size of a "large orange," as my gyno described it. When does a "large orange" become a pomelo? How much longer could I keep growing this thing to make something really impressive?
Will it have its own teeth and hair? Will it have teeny tiny hands so it can drag itself around the house? I'm not gonna keep carrying it around everywhere. It's gonna have to become self-sufficient at some point.
I want a photo of it when they take it out - they can do that, right? I asked for a copy of an ultrasound photo, but they wouldn't give me one. You can get one of your fetus, but not when you grow something all by yourself? Isn't that discrimination?
Will I miss it when it's gone? Will I regret having it sucked out of me by a tiny Dyson? Maybe I should keep it and give it up for adoption. You know there's someone out there who loves collecting odd growths. eBay.
If I don't make it through the extraction, you know, in case they get my liver instead of this citrusy cyst, David will auction off my worldly possessions to the highest bidders and use the money to adopt more cats.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Gestating
Labels:
aging,
cyst,
cysty,
getting older is a real treat,
hormones,
lady parts,
ovarian cyst,
ovaries,
ovary,
pre-menopause
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