I went back to the gynae ward today.
It has gotten to the point where I know many people by name and the faces of pretty much everyone. They smile and say “Hello Rose…” in sympathetic voices as I walk past.
When I spoke to them on Monday about the fetal test results they booked me in for a scan because I mentioned I was experiencing some discomfort over the weekend, especially when driving, on the side of my 6cm ovarian cyst.
They explained on the telephone that it was a haemorrhagic cyst, which is filled with blood from a small blood vessel leaking after an egg is released (I ovulated?? Was my first thought). They wanted to check up on it.
However, after a second look today the consultant said it looks less like a haemorrhagic cyst and more like a dermoid cyst, as there seems to be “tissue” in the centre.
Its diameter is half a centimetre larger than it was 5 days ago.
A dermoid cyst is one of those crazy things that grows teeth, bone, skin and hair inside it. They come from the overactive cells of an unfertilised egg.
I find it oddly compelling to look at pictures of these things on the internet. It is so amazing that they can grow body parts inside them so quickly (three weeks ago both of my ovaries were normal, with no cysts at all. Hell, four weeks ago I had a living baby growing inside me).
Anyway, that aside, here are some stats from my research:
- dermoid cysts usually require surgical removal
- 57% of surgeries result in removal of just the cyst, the rest remove the ovary, and occasionally the uterus too
- 1-3% turn malignant (ovarian cancer), the chances of which increase dramatically with age and when post-menopause
- 3-5% result in ovarian torsion (surgical emergency where the ovary becomes twisted and the blood supply is cut off)
- it is rare for them to rupture
- they are common in women of reproductive age (20-40, so I just about fit in that category) and generally benign
I’m sitting here this evening
gulping sipping a very cold glass of white wine. A rare treat for me.
This body of mine is starting to feel like a stranger.
The body I’ve relied on all my life, which I thought I knew, faults and all, now rejects babies and grows shit I don’t need.
Or maybe it is trying its absolute hardest to comply with what I want, but it just can’t do it. For reasons that I may never know.
I have wondered if I should be feeling annoyed and upset that there is no chance of trying for a baby any time soon, but strangely, that doesn’t even seem important at the moment.
I am to return in eight weeks time and they will decide whether or not I need surgery.