So what is the equivalent of having one ovary anyway? #TiWiWf
Is it one testicle for a man? One kidney for anyone? One leg? One eye? For some, maybe. For me? Well … read on.
While waiting in the Duke University Medical Center last Thursday, Feb 2nd, I had plenty of time to think about my pending surgery. The only definitive answer I had was whether or not BOTH my ovaries would be removed.
The right one already had its death sentence because of what was attached to it.
All docs said ‘let’s get it out.’
So, it was taken.
Luckily, the other one DID stay. There only reason it would have gone is if the grapefruit-sized cyst on my right one were cancerous and all signs pointed to no! So the left one stayed.
And of course, that got me thinking.
What is the equivalent to someone having only half their reproductive system? For some women, I’m sure this situation would come with an enormous amount of stress. Can I have more kids? (Yes, because I have another ovary). To those who are desperate for children, I imagine this would, in fact, feel like losing some key part of their body — like an arm. Because what happens if the other one has to go? That’s it. The end.
That was not a concern for me because I vowed to have all my kids by the time I hit 30. And I did. In super-fashion by spending 3 years ‘trying’, giving up at 29 and at 30, being pregnant and delivering twins without a bit of fertility-drug assistance.
So, for me, does it do anything at all? Do I really wonder what this does to me? Actually … I do!
I’m now lopsided (technically). I feel like I am lopsided. 🙂 I’m not though. I can look at my stomach and wonder what they took out, but I can’t see it. There is no difference in the right side of my body from my left. None … I even have laparoscopic incisions healing on both sides.
So, am I different?
I am.
I have one ovary. I had a part of my body cut out to ensure I have more time to live my human life, to spend with my kids and live with my family. For the last eight days, I’ve been healing, I’ve moved at the pace of a snail (which really means I now move at the pace of the rest of my family) and I’ve thought about the fact that I have only one-half of one major part of a female body.
One ovary is plenty to produce kids (not that I want any more to add to my three-peat, team.)
And … yeah … one testicle is enough to make that happen. 😉
But I’d guess, if I asked a man if they were ‘the same’, he’d disagree wholeheartedly. Don’t you think? 🙂
And now for my PSA (Public Service Announcement):
Ladies (and men for that matter). Listen to your bodies. I’m a hugely lucky statistic with a cyst that is so far being recorded as nothing but a cyst (non-cancerous). It took 6 months from the latest ‘issue’ I had with my water-bubble-on-my-girly-parts to the time I had it removed, with LOADS of tests, watching, waiting, second opinions and the decision to do surgery. I took control of my health and asked LOADS and LOADS of questions. I researched and found out all sorts of stuff about my family history. I have learned my grandmother died of pancreatic cancer 30 years ago. I have refound family I haven’t talked to in ages, through Facebook and I have asked for more prayers and gotten then from friends and family in a way I haven’t ‘felt’ in ages, but should have known everyone would be there. And Duke Medical Center in Durham, NC and my doctor totally rock. I can’t thank them enough. So please … if you feel ‘weirdness’ … listen to what your body is telling you and get it checked out. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Is it wrong that I giggled at your lopsided comment?
Before anyone strolls along and wonders who this heartless cow is, fear not: I did all my stressing over the bird whilst she was in surgery. Now I’m on the relief end of the deal where I can smile about it all.
That out of the way, I couldn’t agree more. Far too many leave their health issues untended, either because they think they’re overreacting, or they’re worried what the doctor might say, or they don’t think they have time. Listen up: the doctor won’t think you’re overreacting; what’s more worrying than worrying over what it *might* be–get it checked because most the time the worries are eliminated; make time, dammit.
Glad you’re okay, Aimee. Not sure if I’ve said that enough yet. 🙂
Trust me, I laughed too when I thought about it. But I am … lopsided that is. Aren’t we all really? 😉
Aimee, I’m lopsided just like you 🙂 Have been for 5 years. I lovely 15 inch diameter cyst decided to grow on my ovary, strangle it to death, then explode all over my insides! And all that a week after I’d given birth to my daughter. (No wonder I had trouble pushing her out) Needless to say, it was terrible timing. Anyway, thanks to a wonderful surgeon and 8 hours of surgery, I’m all clean and shiny on the inside. And don’t worry, the balance problems get better after a few days, tehe.
So pleased your surgery went well and that you’re on the mend.
Yikes! 15″! Dude. Mine was about 1/2 that. Wow. SO glad you had great surgeons. and 8 HOURS? My oh my. Mine was in and out in 45 minutes apparently. I’m guessing since they cleaned me all up BEFORE it exploded, that was cake walk in comparison. 🙂
Wow, Aimee, I’m so glad you are okay! I had no idea this was going on. I’m glad the cyst turned out to be nothing more than a nuisance.
The mother of one of my dearest friends passed away two years ago to cervical cancer. She hadn’t been to a GYN in years. Ladies, please…get your yearly PAPS and if anything, I mean ANYTHING, seems weird to you, get it checked out. Most cervical, ovarian and breast cancers can be cured if caught in time. Like Aimee said, listen to your body.
My heart goes out to you, Aimee. You must have been so scared and nervous. I would have been flipping out.
I laughed at your lopsided comment, too. It’s good to see you didn’t lose your sense of humor.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I never feared this. I had a quiet calm about it throughout the ordeal, right up until the time I lowered the sheet from my chest in the hospital to see if they’d sliced me up (which would have meant there was more to it). And at that point, I was smiling (drugged, but smiling). 🙂 That’s the beauty of leaving a situation like this 100% in the hands of God. 🙂 Thanks, Jenny! 🙂
Aimee,
I had some trouble getting pregnant 26 years ago. I had endometriosis and I’d had ovarian cysts. After my second daughter was born, I started having trouble again. I had a laporoscopy where they drained fluid off my fallopian tubes and a cyst off my left ovary. The doctor said I’d need more surgery. A year later, I had a total hysterectomy. They took both tubes, both ovaries, and my cervix. Yippee. No more monthly cycles. No more pain. I loved it. I refused to take the hormones because it increased the risk of Alzheimers and breast cancer. And I didn’t really have much of a problem with hot flashes. Of course, nature’s little irony was that I got breast cancer anyway. Oh well. At least I didn’t have to wonder if the hormones caused it.
Flash forward to Thursday, Feb. On the same day you were having surgery, my daughter underwent a similar surgery in Germany. I flew out to be with her because going in, she didn’t know what they were going to take, what they were going to leave, or if she’d be able to have children afterwards. My daughter will be 26 in August. She and her husband have been trying unsuccessfully to conceive for 2 years. She was diagnosed with an endometrioma–a large cyst on her left ovary. By the time she got approval from her husband’s army insurance, the cyst had grown to 9×5 centimeters! Thankfully, the doctors were able to do the surgery laproscopically. The surgeons cut away some adhesion and removed the cyst as well as 3/4 of her left ovary. They don’t know if the ovary is functional or not but she still has the right ovary and the remaining endomitriosis isn’t bad enough to require additional surgery. The doctors told her to keep it from coming back, she needed to get on the pill or hurry up and get pregnant. She’s not getting on the pill and she will hopefully get pregnant soon.
My daughter and I were both relieved she didn’t have that big incision that would have meant they’d had to take more than planned. As it turned out, they took less than anticipated. So, I kind of know exactly the kind of relief you felt. So glad you’re on the mend and still have most of your working parts. 🙂
That’s so awesome you were able to be with your daughter. 🙂 My mom wanted to be with me, but she was on a cruise in the Caribbean. 😉 I told her not to worry about me, I had my hubby and I had God and we’d be good. And God was good. And so was my hubby. 🙂 And my mom and dad had an awesome, uneventful, no crashing, no tipping over cruise. 😉
So ALL is good! So glad your daughters was the ‘best possible’ solution. 🙂
Oh, Aimee. I’m so glad you’re doing better and I’m so thankful the tests came back negative for cancer. My husband had cancer, twice, underwent a stem cell transplant and is currently living in a constant state of checking his body for signs of return (which is not a really fun way to spend your days). The treatments he received voided our ability to have children, so I’m so glad that you still have that option available. 🙂
I’m happy you’re at the point when you can joke around, hehehe! Sometimes it takes awhile to get there, sometimes not, but I think it’s nice to feel that sense of relief after living through all the stress/worries/doubt/surgeries etc. I can definitely relate. 🙂
I think you’re totally right, men are more “sensitive” to being lopsided. Maybe because their “balls” are on the outside, on display for everyone to see, hehehe! 😉
I’m thankful you’re doing better and I send well wishes for your good health. 😀
Yikes, Kelly! I’m so sorry for your hubby, and I hope it never, ever, ever returns. Ever. I would happily give you my ability to have kids if I could. Or you can feel free to borrow my kids … like any day they are bad, cranky or irritating. I will share. 😉 Ha! 🙂
So glad you’re okay! I’ve never had any major surgery, so I can’t imagine the stress of being on the “before” side of it.
Now, I really have to know, because I am … you know … me. Why did you specify “human” life in your post? Something you’re not telling us? 😉 Hehe I kid, I kid. 🙂
Hehehehee. I wondered if someone would ask. It could mean there’s more to me than meets the eye. Or it could just be a reference to the eternal afterlife with God that’s part of my Christian faith. One of the two. 😉
Aimee, your service message is fantastic. Thanks for it! I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this, but I’m glad you’re healing well and spreading the word. Women spend far too much time ignoring pain and discomfort, taking care of others while they don’t see to themselves. I learned so well during my stint as a spokesperson for Avon’s KISS & Teal campaign — when women wrote to me telling their stories about how Ovarian Cancer snuck up on them, or loved ones — that we can never allow ourselves not to be vigilant, and that we are our own advocates in the doctor’s office. Yay to you for taking control of your health. And yay that it was benign!!!!! I’m so glad you’re well.
Hugs!
it’s so weird how ‘the signs’ are barely there. I had no regular pain. No regular anything. Just this ‘thing’ that happened every once in a while. What once I thought to be appendicitis turned into a cyst and … on and on the process went. I’m QUITE happy to present my PSA even though mine was benign because for someone … it won’t be. 🙂