I'm the chick in the pain reliever commercial...

You know the one -- where she grabs her throbbing, glowing red forehead. Or, better yet, grabs her back as she bends over to do her light gardening. That's me. Every day.

I'm just going to have to face the music. I'm getting older. And getting older means living with pain.

For the past few days, I've felt like my entire body is just falling apart. Not only is that pesky cyst giving me grief, but it seems that my left eye is suffering another attack of episcleritis, AND there's some strange lump on my left heel that hurts whenever I put any weight on it.

So, my entire left side -- quite literally from head to toe -- is one big ache. Adding insult to injury, I had my routine dental cleaning the other day. Let's just say that my chatty, Irish hygienist is none too gentle with the floss. My head throbbed the rest of the day.

So this is it? This is life after 30? Will I start grunting and moaning with every move like Jane does? I shudder to think.

Years ago, in my youth (ha), I was content to seek out alternative therapies. What did the medical establishment know? I bought expensive herbal remedies and was convinced that they worked. And if they didn't work, well, at least I wasn't giving into "the man." I didn't like taking anything for pain or congestion -- I thought that I should let the illness run its course naturally. And this approach worked because I didn't have too many problems and had very few real responsibilities. I imagined that when the time came for childbirth, I would choose the natural, at-home approach because hospitals and doctors are inherently evil. What can I say? My body was young and stupid.

Now I say: bring on the pharmaceuticals! Give me the epidural! Because as that corny jingle says, I haven't got time for the pain. I have a life, a job, a family.

Its Those Damn Ovaries Again

Yet another delightful pelvic ultrasound -- only waaaaay more painful. The technician really wanted to get a good shot of the offending ovary, and my body raged against the intrusion. Such pain that it made the toes on my left foot spasm in an amusing fashion.

But I called upon my long-dormant meditation skills (it's a good thing that I started hatha yoga a few weeks ago) and got through it. Lucky me, I've got a cyst on each ovary -- which I knew about after the last ultrasound but because it's quiet most of the time, I hadn't given it much thought.

I was dreading going into work because I knew I would be emotional. So I talked to my former supervisor, who I knew would be understanding, and I allowed myself to have a few tears in front of her so I wouldn't let it out in front of my boss. My male boss...with whom I am very uncomfortable sharing my gynecological drama. He's British. Deb reminded me that my British male boss is a very good guy who has a wife and will most likely understand. I wiped away my tears, thanked her profusely, and went about my day.

I struck up a conversation with Marilyn (a seemingly permanent temp) who has been very concerned about me. As we were talking, one of the big bosses -- a woman -- walked by and caught some of the conversation. She shared with me her own experiences and I felt a great weight lift off my shoulders. I knew in that moment that I was ready to talk to my boss and everything would be alright.

So I did. And it was.

The larger issue that I'm facing is, what does this mean for my future plans? Anyone can tell me that this is nothing to worry about and it won't affect my fertility, etc. But I'm still terrified. And I won't have results for another week. Maybe I'll need surgery. Maybe they'll just tell me to take Advil. Maybe -- ugh -- they'll put me on the pill -- which would piss me off to no end.