OK, I’m about to get TMI on your asses cuz it’s Friday and… Who am I kidding? I’d TMI you any day of the week. You’ve been warned.
Here’s a glimpse into my morning which started with an 8 a.m. ultrasound on the old (literally) ovaries. Remember the whole menopause thing? No? Then read my blog: https://lareinadavia.wordpress.com/
I’m on the table like a slab of beef and the radiologist is maneuvering the probe like she’s threading a needle. Yes, I got probed. And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet!
She finds my left ovary and snaps a few pics. Now for the right one… probing, probing… more probing… and then I hear the radiologist whisper “Hmmm…” under her breath.
“Must’ve run away,” I say, jokingly (Haha), only she’s not laughing. Then in all seriousness, she tells me, “Yes, they do run away after they’ve shriveled up a bit.” Shriveled… Up… Did she really have to go there?
Awesome! (Not.) Now, if I didn’t feel old before… THIS makes me feel fucking fantastic!
Still, she had no luck finding my right ovary. Then she says, “Let’s try something else.”
Something else? Where else could she possibly stick that thing? I didn’t like where this was going…
“Let’s try an abdominal ultrasound.”
With the cool gel applied to my belly, the radiologist continued the search for my right ovary. As she maneuvered the wand over my right side — up, down, in tiny circles — I started thinking about my missing ovary.
What if they can’t find it? Do we send in a search party? Does it end up on a milk carton?
“Have you seen this reproductive organ?”
A few tries from the radiologist and then… Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
As she finally gives up, she tells me that my doctor will review the ultrasound and get back to me. I may now get dressed and take the walk of shame, bypassing a waiting room full of women, as I make my exit. “I bet they have both their ovaries,” I think to myself. I suddenly have a case of OE — Ovary Envy.
I start my car and shoot my husband a quick text that I’m on my way home.
He quickly asks, “What did they say?” Awww, my love, mi corazon, he cares…
I tell him that I don’t know much, that the doctor will tell me more but that the radiologist couldn’t find my right ovary.
And he responds with this…
“You ate your ovary?”
Actually, it was a text message so it looked like this: “U ate ur ovary?!?!”
After banging my head on the steering wheel a few times, I respond: “Yes, babe, I ate it. That time you didn’t bring home chocolate.”
And that pretty much sums up my day! (So far.) How’s your day?