When I’m 3 months pregnant the doctor decides the cyst has to come out. And did I mention its an ovarian cyst? At this point, its the size of a grapefruit and is starting to contend with the placenta for room, so it has to go.
I’ll have to go under general anesthesia for the surgery, which takes place two days before Halloween. There is a small chance of miscarriage. But its rare. But they still have to tell me about it.
Naturally, I’m freaked out. As in FREAKING. I’m petrified that we’ll lose the baby. By this time, we’ve told our parents that we’re pregnant, but EXPLICITLY told them not to tell anyone, because 1. we weren’t at 3 months yet, and 2. did I mention that I have a REALLY.BIG.CYST. that will need to be surgically removed? We also asked them to keep quiet about the surgery because well … if the worst happened, I didn’t want to have to tell the world about it.
My mom came up the night before the surgery and handed me no less than 4 cards from people. People I don’t know. People who wish me and the baby the best during the surgery and after. The hubbs and I exchange a look, but say nothing. Then she tells me that one of the sisters at a local Caltholic Church has me on the prayer list. First: Thanks Sister Charlotte, that was very sweet of you. Second: Did the Big Guy Upstairs tell you about all this? I only ask because my mother WASN’T SUPPOSED TO TELL ANYONE.
Then, at 11 p.m., one of my AUNTS calls me to wish me luck the next day. And she hopes the baby is OK. And at this point, I’m seeing red. I’m biting my tongue really, REALLY hard, and say “thank you” and hang up the phone. And I LOOK at my mother. And she looks sheepish. Because Internet? SHE TOLD EVERYONE. EVERYONE knows.
And I’m so angry I can’t see straight. So angry I’ve got tears spilling down my cheeks and when she takes a step toward me I only say: “We’ll talk about this later.” And I go to bed and the hubbs holds me while I cry.
The aftermath of all this is that:
- We named THE.REALLY.BIG.CYST. His name is Harry and he lives in our dreams. It turned out to be a dermacyst, with fatty tissue and a ton of hair inside. No cancer. Yay me!
- The Sea Monkey was awake and active throughout my surgery. Apparently, he was doing backflips. (Doctor’s words, not mine.)
- I made my doctor’s top 10 list of “All-Time Grossest Surgeries.” She’ll remember me (and Harry) forever.
- The doctor was able to save about half of my ovary.
- The Sea Monkey obviously made it through the whole thing, so all was well.
- I learned a VERY important lesson: Don’t tell your parents you’re pregnant until you’re ready for the world to know. My brother, however, can totally keep a secret.