Today was our “all quiet on the ovarian front” ultrasound. It’s the one that gives us the all clear to begin taking the follicle-stimulating- and other drugs.
I was up at 6:30 and dragged BDH up at 6:45. We didn’t have to be in until 9 am because there was no blood test at 7 am with this U/S. YAY! So we went to bed last night with the happy thought that we could sleep in and have a nice, leisurely drive in to the hospital, instead of the normal, frantic drive to make the 7:15 am-ish deadline at the lab.
We were, surprisingly, wrong in our assumption.
We did get on the road by 7 as we’d planned. And there was fairly heavy traffic until the Kitchener cutoff, as there always is for the morning rush hour. But after Kitchener, the traffic did not disperse as we had expected. It’s like everyone and their dog had to get to London, and fast. Add to this, the ever-continuing construction to widen the 401 to three lanes, and by Woodstock, we were stopped. And peevish. But it started moving again after about 20 minutes. And BDH was doing some fancy and fast driving to get us into London by 8:30. However, trendsetters that we are, heavy traffic accompanied us all the way through London to the hospital. Rush hour, you say? I did not experience a lot of rushing. Mostly a lot of people dawdling along, all in one place. But we made it, with a few minutes to spare for the obligatory pre-game pee.
Young Lady Doctor was in good form this morning when we went into the exam room, and that’s always nice. Friendly is good when you’re the one wielding the wand. And then, she spied it. What’s THIS? Oh LOOK. A 2 cm cyst. LOVELY. Damn left ovary, always causing trouble. The right one was quiet, unassuming, following the program. But Lefty, as usual, ever the diva, has THIS BIG BLACK SPACE. Like a big black hole of reproductive endocrinology, man. So it is do not pass go, do not spend $200 (plus) on drugs today. Instead, the doctor tells us that this is likely that persistent follicle from LAST time (THAT BASTARD!) and we will need to get rid of it. She explained that we will continue on the birth control pills (a.k.a. The Nausea Inducing Pills from Hell) for another two weeks, and then re-check. Hopefully, the pills will suppress the cyst down to a much smaller size — ideally, to nothingness. If it does not suppress, we’ll have to go in and drain it. *cue dramatic musical flourish*
Young Lady Doctor explained that the procedure to drain the cyst is much like what we’d do for an egg retrieval, but much quicker. They put in a speculum, freeze the top of the vaginal wall, and then they stick a needle in and drain the bugger. At this point, alarm bells were going WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! in my head. ACK! NEEDLES! SPECULUMS (specula? speculae?)! IN MY HOO-HOO! So I asked, all cool and composed, Is this painful? Because I am not so good with the pain. She said it is very much like a bee sting initially, but after that, nothing. She said that the worst part is actually when the ovary is getting pushed around. It contains no pain receptors, so you don’t feel the needle, but as they’re trying to insert the needle it’s like trying to balance a balloon on the end of a needle and it keeps floating away. So you do feel that stretching, and that is not good. She suggested putting a hand on your abdomen to push back and provide resistance and that takes away the stretching. THIS is a good thing to know.
One thing that I really take stock in is that Young Lady Doctor told us that she’d been through the procedure herself, and so her experience made me completely trust in what she was saying. Before, I was sincerely stressing about this procedure. Now, I have a realistic idea of what to expect, and this comforts me greatly. When she said this procedure is half as painful as a dental needle in the roof of your mouth, I know what that means. I know what to expect.
So, we left the hospital 15 minutes after we arrived, prescription in hand. We fought the traffic for two hours home, and crashed into bed.
When I got up, I got my follow-up call from the clinic. I had a hilarious 15-minute conversation with the case nurse. I learned that having a cyst was fairly common, much to my dismay because, of course, I pride myself on being the embodiment of Murphy’s Law in the obstetrical/gynecological realm. “Oh no, you’re NOTHING SPECIAL,” she said. So I bragged up the size — “2 CENTIMETRES!” I said proudly — but she merely said, “Oh, we’ve seen bigger. MUCH bigger.” BAH. Well then. So I asked what to expect. She said if I continue the pills I won’t get a period, but “Knowing YOU, you’ll get some breakthrough bleeding or something!” So with an admonishment of “Don’t you get a period!” I’ve been scheduled for another ultrasound in two weeks’ time, where I’ve been told, nay, THREATENED, that my cyst should make itself scarce OR ELSE.
I love when my misfortunes can at least be the source of some comedy. Kind of makes it bearable. You have to laugh. It sure beats crying.