Don't look for hippopotamuses

CW: Girly gynae stuff.

 A night on the couch sorted the most of this stuff out. 

My head is around it now, but it's taken a few days to come to terms with what's going on, more on a cellular level than anything else.

Every two years I head off to have a pelvic ultrasound to ensure my ovaries haven't turned against me. There's ovarian cancer in the family - it's a precaution.  Just before Easter, a text came from my doctor to call her about the test results (with a big NO CANCER in the message - which is a good thing). We had that chat last week and the scan showed up some irregularities in my uterine lining. She was referring me back to my wonderful gynaecologist to see what she was going to do. 

I saw her yesterday. 

I will say now, I love my gynaecologist. She's an awesome woman, a little older than me, sensible, very funny and straight down the line. Having the same bits, she understands what's going on downstairs. When you have somebody with instruments up your bits, it's nice to think the person handling them is treating you like they'd like to be treated. We also have a tendency to talk about gin, cats and books. A good woman. 

After talking to my doctor, and Jay, herself a GP, we were all of the opinion that I was going to go in for a good clean out (also known as a D&C) at worst. At best, the gynae would come back and say that there was nothing to worry about. 

I was a little late for the appointment. I called ahead, seeing I was having a daft day, didn't check where her rooms were, and in the last three years, she's moved from one street in East Melbourne to another. Regardless, five minutes late I got in there and walked straight in. 

"I wasn't hoping to see you for another 18 months."

"Well, you're a curious case. I'm not sure what's going on. I wanted to call up the imaging people and give them a serve, but they seem to think that your uterine lining is not doing what it's supposed to."

"And you have to show duty of care."

"Yep."

"Have you had any strange things happening."

"Occasional very minor spotting. That's it. I've told the GP about it."

"Okay."

Anyway, push comes to shove, I have to go in, get a D&C, have my Mirena coil replaced and let her have a good look around about what's going down there. It should be nothing. If it isn't, they've caught it early and I'll be staring down the joys of a hysterectomy - but as I have been saying, just because you hear hoof beats, don't expect zebras. Or elephants. Or hippopotamuses. 

Surgery is booked for the Sixth of May. It's day surgery. I'll be out later that afternoon, probably have the next day off due to having your insides poked and prodded and will be fine by Saturday. 

And we're hoping this will be the end of it. 

But yesterday's conversation has left my brain full. Full of all sorts of things I'd prefer not to be thinking about. 

My first thought. The last time I had this done (about three years ago) because I had nobody to stay with me over night and I spent the night in hospital. Which was fine. It's why you have private health insurance and when it's just for stupid observation, you're gone by 9 a.m. and in an Uber by 9.10. Same goes now, but with the addition of what to do with the cat. I'm sure he'll be fine with the neighbours feeding him overnight, but still...Or I get Barney to come over and pick me up (and the cat, maybe) stay there the night. Or find a friend to come stay over. When it comes to doctors orders I tend to comply. 

Next on the list is the what ifs. What if it is more than just some silly imaging anomaly?.On the good side of things, the Mirena is updated for another five years and things go back to normal. But what if its more? The thought of a hysterectomy, though they tend to do them via the keyhole now, doesn't thrill me. But then again, in the scheme of things, for me it's now a redundant organ, it's never going to provide the world with children, so I don't need it. But again, don't look for the hippopotamuses. 

Then there's the blood tests which I need to have done in the next couple of days. No drama here, except for the inclusion of the STD tests just to rule out everything. Again, I'm not worried about this (though if I've been given chlamydia I'll be very, very pissed) and the chances of this are next to zero, but it still plays on your mind. Having the same partner for the last ten years, it's not a call I'd want to make, especially as we're not in contact any more. 

It's times like this that I half wish I wasn't alone. Just having somebody here to pick me up from hospital without feeling like you're imposing on somebody, having somebody here in the house at night (other than the cat) without feeling pathetic that you have to ask somebody to stay with you. The not having the thought of even wondering about a positive STD test (though I really do believe this one is a non-issue, but it's good to know when I find another relationship, that you're totally in the clear). 

Still. I'm over the worst of the overthinking. 

I just have remember to listen for the hoof beats and not expect hippopotamuses. 

And get on with it.