I HAD FREAKIN’ SURGERY. ON MY PARTS. There was no joyous candy retrieval or dispersal, only a saline drip. That was my “treat.” Here’s the succinct version – after postponing every possible wellness check-up I possibly could, some for many years, I finally went for an exam. When the doctor pressed on my stomach I made a sad gurgling noise (because it hurt) and she said, “Yeah, you’re not supposed to do that. I’m writing a prescription for an ultrasound.” A week later I went for my ultrasound and after being pressed and probed for what I consider an excessive amount of time (about twenty minutes) the fancy radiologist came in to give her opinion. All those screengrabs the technician took look like Loch Ness monster pics to me, all blurry and grainy and cryptic. Is that my kidney? Or Sasquatch? Who knows? The radiologist got all serious which I was not prepared for (did they find Jimmy Hoffa in my colon?) and said that there was an 8cm cyst sitting on top of my uterus. Because I’m a damn AMURICAN I have no idea how big that was so I was pleasantly chill about it. Then I got home and got out a ruler. Uhhhhh, guys, that’s a little over three inches. The radiologist said it wasn’t solid, it was filled with fluid. I responded by saying, “So you mean I made a crappy snowglobe?” and the radiologist said, “…Yes, actually, that’s exactly what you made.” The cyst and its contents weren’t of great concern but because it was so large the MDs were concerned it would twist, the blood flow to it would stop, it would become necrotic, rip open, fill me with septic goodness and then I would die. You know, bad things. And that’s how I got scheduled for surgery on Halloween. I couldn’t stop thinking about my cyst like a water globule on the head of a salticid jumping spider, the spider playing the role of my uterus.
This made it difficult to take the situation seriously. But I went in at 10:00am, I was asked a barrage of questions about my life and my parent’s lives and my siblings’ lives and everyone I’ve ever met’s lives, had a needle stuck in my hand with the aforementioned saline drip (trick or treat!) and then eventually passed out where things happened laproscopically to me. I woke up sore and with cling film covering my bellybutton and what appeared to be hot glue on either side of my hips. I now know how one of my art projects feels. They left everything that was supposed to be there in there (no hysterectomy for me! I can still get authentic hysterics) (Authentic Hysterics is a great band name). I went to work today three days after and can I say modern medicine is kind of amazing? I had SURGERY, guys. One my abdomen, where many important things reside. And I walked out of the hospital that night and into a car, like a person. I didn’t take any fun drugs, only Tylenol. AMAZING. The only thing that bums me out is I wanted my cyst in its entirety given to me for further study, but I couldn’t have it because they drained it and then removed the sac so I got no parting gift. I was sad about that. I, and this is true, brought a freshly washed Ragu jar to the surgery to take my friend home in. I went home with my empty, unfulfilled jar. But, you know, not getting torsion and biting it whilst writhing in pain is nice too. Happy Halloween.
