« Is blood thicker than water? | Main | Bonding with My Son through Blogging »

April 25, 2010

What If

12-08-01 Morgan behind stars I’m sad about my ovary. I don’t really want to part with it. That little organ was partially responsible for the two best people in my life. Yet, it is a sacrificial lamb. I’m sorry to say I did not treat it well. It was pumped up with fertility drugs and forced to produce multiple eggs per cycle for several years. It is worn out; damaged by my relentless efforts to have children. Now it has a large growth on it and the doctor thinks it is suspicious. Such a funny word to describe a tumor, as if it were a delinquent, hanging out in my abdomen, corrupting my gullible ovary until it is hopelessly enmeshed. The poor ovary doesn’t stand a chance; its association with the criminal has ensured its demise. Since it can no longer be separated from its evil friend, it will be cut out of my body, sent to a lab, and then discarded. I won’t even be able to give it a proper farewell.

My body will never be the same. I will lose half of the system that produces my womanhood. I will probably slide into menopause sooner than I had been anticipating. One more step toward becoming an old woman. If I don’t have the ovary removed and it is malignant, I may never get to be an old lady. There is a genetic test that could rule out cancer without surgery, but my insurance company won’t pay for it. They sent me a letter saying that I didn’t have enough relatives with breast or ovarian cancer to qualify. How many do they need? My grandmother and aunt died of it, but my life story doesn’t match their formula, so check the “no” box and case dismissed. I can’t afford the test on my own, so that narrows my options to one, surgical removal. If it were possible I’d like to keep it; but the insurance company doesn’t care about my sentimental attachment to my ovary.

And then there is the raw fear of going under the knife. Hospitals are dangerous places, full of mistakes and deadly bacteria. I also worry about the money, our health insurance isn’t as good as it used to be and cancer treatment is expensive. What if…what if…what if. I just want to curl up and cry, but I have kids to raise, clients to see, meals to make, a house to clean. I try to put it all out of my mind. Obsessing about it isn’t productive; it won’t make it go away. I put on a happy face for my kids, I don’t want to scare them; they are too little to share this burden. I don’t say much to my husband, he is already stressed out with a new job and provider responsibilities. Most days my mind control is successful, at least until I fall asleep, then my dreams go careening into all those dark places I’ve keep shut off during the daytime. To cope, I tell myself that in two weeks it will all be over and I will be waking up from a successful surgery, going home, healing just fine. I think if I send that mantra into the universe enough times it will come true, my adult version of wishing upon a star. Oh please, please, please star light, star bright, grant this wish I wish tonight.

This is an original 50-Something Moms Blog post. Melanie also writes about her life and experiences in “Life Among The Gifted” at http://mjhayes.wordpress.com

 

Comments