I have a stomachache.
This is day 2 of Tummy Watch. It's not something that most people would freak out about. I mean, it's just a slight rumbling and queasiness that comes and goes. I do believe that I can trace its roots to my excessive coffee consumption but there's not enough proof that the coffee is the cause for me to shake the quaking fear I get whenever I have an upset stomach.
I cannot erase the memory of the stomach flu that wasn't the stomach flu which landed me in the E.R. getting cat scans which found a giant cyst of random human body parts (it's called a dermoid cyst. Look it up if you're into that kind of thing. It's kind of gross) that decided to attach itself to my ovary. I'll never forget being wheeled down to surgery and bawling hysterically. The nurses quietly patted my arms that were strapped to the gurney but didn't try to calm me down. When my doctor walked in, she lifted her eyebrows and asked what was wrong.
Wrong? WRONG? You're going to cut me open. I'm going under general anesthesia because the damn thing is so big you need to deliver it like a c-section baby. It could be benign but my family has a history of cancer and I wasn't ready to just brush off the possibility that they might find extra stuff in there (Which they did! An extra cyst on my other ovary, just for kicks. Just a little guy, about the size of a golf ball instead of the size of a canteloupe like the other one).
What's WRONG? I was positive that something was going to go amiss and I would die leaving 2 little boys in the care of their father who would certainly find someone else to marry and become their mom and I would be forgotten like last week's meatloaf.
What was WRONG?!? Snot ran down my face and into my armpits. She thoughtfully wiped my cheeks and told them to just knock me out. It worked pretty damn fast because the next thing I remember was waking up in recovery with the mother of a boy I liked in grade school as my nurse. Oh, the stories my non-lucid mind told! No wonder they don't allow family in the recovery room after surgery; It was like truth serum. Nothing was held back, I tell you. NOTHING.
(Hope I never run into her again!)
My recovery after that sucked. I got an infection in my stomach incision and caught a cold which made the staples open up and rip with every cough. It was a lovely 3 weeks of "healing" and it left me hating doctors even more than I did before.
So, when I get a stomach ache and then have a nightmare about being forced to go to the doctor, I start to get angsty and antsy and freaked out. The logical answer to the question in mind of "Do I have cysts again? Will this be another horrible experience?" would be to go to the doctor.
But I'm pretty damn sure it's just the coffee... And nobody has called me "logical" in a long time.
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