On Cysts & Politics, Part 2
Everything was fine until I saw the probe.
But even then it wasn't so strange, considering the things I've put in that part of my body. It looked like a souped-up dildo. Only less fun.
Much less fun.
While the technician apologeticly maneuvered the, um, device, I stared at the ceiling, amused with the situation. If she only knew.
For those of you who have never had a pelvic ultrasound, count yourself lucky. I can't say that it's the most uncomfortable procedure I've ever had (or am likely to have in the near future) but it is definitely up there on the list of things I'm not too keen to repeat in the near future.
So it was determined by a breezy young doctor at the hospital that I indeed had a cyst on my left ovary and that it had ruptured. Gross. It is what they call a hemorrhagic corpus luteum. Fun stuff. Basically, blood and fluid are squishing around my abdomen, and as blood is an irritant, it is causing me pain (much like a nasty bruise). Unfortunately, there is nothing anyone can do about it. The pain and bloating will go away on its own. So they say.
By Tuesday night (11/2) I had had enough. Though I had been taking naproxyn sodium, it was doing nothing for the pain, and I was just about beside myself. I helped JLew make baked ziti for our visit to the gaybors that evening, but I was practically doubling over in the kitchen. Thank Goddess for JAZ, because as soon as I got over there she handed me some Tylenol 3. Bless her queer heart. I staked my claim on the Lazy Lady, slapped on the heating pad and I was good to go.
Thus I spent election night stupid on pain meds. Which, all things considered, was not a bad state to be in. I found my mouth hanging wide open on more than one occasion, and it wasn't because of election results.
But even then it wasn't so strange, considering the things I've put in that part of my body. It looked like a souped-up dildo. Only less fun.
Much less fun.
While the technician apologeticly maneuvered the, um, device, I stared at the ceiling, amused with the situation. If she only knew.
For those of you who have never had a pelvic ultrasound, count yourself lucky. I can't say that it's the most uncomfortable procedure I've ever had (or am likely to have in the near future) but it is definitely up there on the list of things I'm not too keen to repeat in the near future.
So it was determined by a breezy young doctor at the hospital that I indeed had a cyst on my left ovary and that it had ruptured. Gross. It is what they call a hemorrhagic corpus luteum. Fun stuff. Basically, blood and fluid are squishing around my abdomen, and as blood is an irritant, it is causing me pain (much like a nasty bruise). Unfortunately, there is nothing anyone can do about it. The pain and bloating will go away on its own. So they say.
By Tuesday night (11/2) I had had enough. Though I had been taking naproxyn sodium, it was doing nothing for the pain, and I was just about beside myself. I helped JLew make baked ziti for our visit to the gaybors that evening, but I was practically doubling over in the kitchen. Thank Goddess for JAZ, because as soon as I got over there she handed me some Tylenol 3. Bless her queer heart. I staked my claim on the Lazy Lady, slapped on the heating pad and I was good to go.
Thus I spent election night stupid on pain meds. Which, all things considered, was not a bad state to be in. I found my mouth hanging wide open on more than one occasion, and it wasn't because of election results.
posted by jennybunny at 6:29 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home