When I woke to a steady snow this morning my first thought was, “Great. I bet they cancel my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” I didn’t used to be so negative, but the last couple years have instilled the “expect the worst” program in me.
Thankfully I was wrong. Bessie (my van) hydroplanes when it hits sweat from the road crew so there was no way I was going to drive. Todd took the day off so he could play chauffer. Niiiice.
We met with the doctor, gave her my history and we talked about my options. Remove just the ovaries or the whole shebang. I’ve been taking Tamoxifen for a little over a year and have four more to go. One of the very slight risks is uterine cancer so my thought was just yank the entire package. However, after examining me (PLECH!) she determined that removing my uterus would require invasive abdominal surgery. While the thought of a morphine pump makes me nigh giddy, I’m not anxious to have my tummy cut more. So I told her I’m good with just the oophorectomy (that’s doctor talk for removing the ovaries).
Then she asks me, “Did you have a uterine biopsy after these bleeding episodes?” **sigh** I know they were both regular periods because I felt the pinch of ovulation a couple weeks before each time. Also, my hot flashes and night sweats had stopped so I knew I was producing estrogen. But that wasn’t enough confirmation for the lady with the medical degree so she did a uterine biopsy. I wish to never have one of those again. I’m truly not worried that it will come back positive for anything suspicious. Even still, there’s that tiny part in the back of my mind that is just the teensiest bit scared. I think it’s linked to that “expect the worst” chip, but I do pretty good to ignore it.
Next step is to get an ovarian ultrasound. When the doctor has my biopsy and ultrasound results and has talked to my oncologist we’ll decide for sure what procedure I’ll have. I’m really hoping it will be a simple laparoscopic oophorectomy.
When we left I told Todd my girly parts were unhappy so I needed a White Chocolate Mocha. Since there was no place to park in the lot I jumped out of the truck (figuratively speaking) and ran inside (again, figuratively speaking) to get my steaming cup of liquid happiness. I know this is going to sound silly (a first, I’m sure), but something about walking through the falling snow whilst holding a venti White Chocolate Mocha is so joyous a thing that I don’t have words to describe the depth of my emotions.
I was going to also tell you about these itchy blisters I have on my abdomen and how my GP wasn’t able to figure out what they were and that the steroid dose pack he prescribed did absolutely nothing and today the gynecologist said she had no idea what they were so now I’m seeing a dermatologist on Thursday, but it seems like all I do is complain about one ailment or another. And if I continue to tell you all of my physical ailments you’ll begin to worry every time you come to my blog, not knowing what I’m going to describe and praying I’ve not resorted to relating details about my bowels. I promise never to do that. Cross my heart and all that.
This post has gone on long enough, but I’m going to leave you with this little story from this afternoon:
Taylor asked if Sam could hang out here tomorrow if school was cancelled and I told him sure, but if the roads were bad enough to cancel school then there was no way I’d drive the van to get her. So he says…
“Tell Dad to stay home from work so he can go get Sam in the truck. Use your feminine wiles on him. You’ve got all that new equipment, you might as well put it to good use.”