I'm writing this blog largely for myself. My friends and boyfriend are undoubtedly sick of hearing about this, and I'm toying with the idea of making this blog private because I've promised to be really honest in this space, and everyone can't handle my honesty. Nor do I need anyone leaving scolding comments on the occasion that I'm being what someone could perceive as awful or selfish (I have a lot of awful, selfish moments). This is my experience, so you're either along for the ride and supportive, or not here at all. Not to be rude, but either way is fine with me.
That said, here goes . . .
My doctor is a bit of an alarmist, and I love her for it. She's always the one who would rather check things out with legitimate testing rather than assume that whatever I'm complaining about will go away. Most of the time, the ailment isn't such a big deal (because I've been known to misdiagnose on WebMD from time to time). But sometimes it is.
This was one of the "no big deal" days. I went in for a routine visit, and she asked the usual question about any complaints or pains that she should be made aware of. Actually, I remembered, there was something that I meant to ask her about. I was experiencing intermittent pain in my lower right side. It wasn't severe, but I admitted my concern that one day it would get bad and someone would realize that I had appendicitis -- after it burst and I was full of infection. She suggested an ultrasound to get to the bottom of it.
I went for the ultrasound, and the technician squirted my belly with a cold KY-like jelly before beginning to probe me with a wand. She didn't have a particularly bad reaction, but she did have an interested look on my face.
As an aside, I'm always afraid that I'll go in for some sort of a test, and accidentally find out that I'm 5 months pregnant, and it's too late for me to do anything about it. So, when the technician has a weird look on her face, I was hoping to God she wouldn't say something like "Congratulations! You're having a boy." Because that? Would make me slip directly into cardiac arrest, and the ultrasound technician isn't equipped with a defibrilator.
Anywho . . . although it was against policy for her to reveal anything official to a patient, she did mention that while my appendix was fine, it looked like I had sizable fibroid tumors, but that my doctor would fill me in on the details.
At that point I knew nothing about fibroids, so I was a little concerned that anything called a tumor automatically meant cancer. I must have had an alarmed look on my face because, as she wiped the KY from my belly, the tech assured me that they were common and that millions of women live very happily with the presence of fibroids.
During my followup visit with my doctor, she told me that I had a few fibroids and commented that one of them was "remarkably large," but that we were coexisting nicely, since I hadn't been experiencing heavy periods or any real symptoms.
Then she mentioned the bonus benefit -- the presence of these fibroids could make conception difficult. Winna, winna, chicken dinna! I responded the way any normal woman in her childbearing prime would -- "well, by all means leave them there!"
I've never wanted to have children, so anything that assisted my birth control pills, which were unreliable, in my opinion, as they were only 99% effective. The fibroids could potentially make up for that ominous 1%.
She suggested that I do nothing about them for the time being, and I happily left the office and forgot about my fibroids for several years.
No comments:
Post a Comment