Today, I took a tumble down a slippery path and rammed my stomach into a snow bank that was really more of an ice bank. Normally something I could recover from with little more than some grumpy bitching about how I hate Canadian winters and how ice and snow can both go die in a fire, but because of the pain I’ve been experiencing since my surgery in May, this knocked me for a loop. And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, either.
So I followed my instincts, took some morphine, and made my way to the Urgent Care clinic. I figured there was nothing they could do for me. Maybe give me something stronger than morphine, probably give me a doctor’s note so that work didn’t fire me for injuring myself and missing time.
Instead, I got multiple good nurses and doctors who took my complaints seriously. They took X-rays to make sure I didn’t do myself more damage than I first thought. They checked for inflammation. They were patient when I couldn’t walk quickly.
The X-rays revealed nothing. But I did get to see the results of the CT scan I’d been sent for a few weeks ago, which was designed to see if there was a lot of scarring that was causing my pain. This is what my family doctor and I both suspected.
There is scar tissue. But more importantly, there’s a new growth.
It’s so far not as bad as the last one. Last time, it was a solid tumour in my uterus that was growing into my Fallopian tubes, grew 6-12 time quicker than that kind normally grows, and by the time it was removed, it had outstripped its own blood supply and was starting to die inside me. This time, it’s a 6 cm ovarian cyst, which grew sometime between May and now, and has probably been the thing causing me pain this whole time through that inflammation surrounding it.
The fact that this cyst is large enough for the ER doc to mention potential surgery and it comes hot on the heels of me having another growth removed from the same area are the things that worry me. This one’s not as threatening and the other growth. It’s in a slightly different place, is a growth of a different kind, and likely isn’t going to cause me to bleed so much that I need multiple blood transfusions, but it’s worrying. If it hadn’t grown so soon after the previous problems, or if I’d ever had even a small cyst there before…
Miss a shift at work, find out about another growth.
Next week, I’ll see my family doctor about this. He’s going to refer me to an OBGYN. That’s just what’s done. I don’t want to see the same one I saw last time, because I already know she doesn’t take me seriously, doesn’t do what she says she’ll do, doesn’t properly brief me on procedures or drug side effects, and generally makes me want to grind my teeth in anger. I don’t trust her. I’ll demand to see someone else.
At this point, I don’t know what will happen. It may mean I take some fun new drugs for a while. It may result in another surgery, which will result in more time off work and with no income (stupid lack of disability coverage). But honestly, I’m more than half hoping for the surgery. I want them to remove that stuff. Two problems in under 2 years, plus an almost 30% chance of the tumour coming back within 5 years anyway, and the fact that the scarring has resulted in the fact that I likely couldn’t have kids now even if I suddenly have a massive change of personality and end up wanting them… It’ll be better to remove it all and stop the risk of this all happening a third time. It’ll be an annoying recovery, and I won’t have my roommate to help me at that point (she’ll be interning in another province in a couple of months), but it’ll be better in the long run, I suspect, and I have plenty of fodder for that argument.
So that’s where it all stands. Another year, another growth.
And dammit, I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t end up in the hospital again until at least 2015…