Yesterday afternoon, I had my date with the dildocam. The GYN nurse practitioner filling in for mine called last evening to let me know that I have a complex cyst on my right ovary. She said they think it's likely an endometrioma or a hemorrhagic cyst. Of course, those are the exact words used by my RE when she first discovered the cyst on my left ovary, which turned out to be neither of those possibilities. I went to surgery thinking I was going to get rid of some endo and woke up without an ovary. This time I feel like my most likely, and best case, scenario is a mucinous cystadenoma. Pessimist that I am (beating the infertility odds on the negative side every time tends to squeeze the optimism out of you), I've been googling the worst case scenario, too. Apparently, there's about a 6% chance that a complex cyst is cancerous.
The next step is to talk to my regular nurse practitioner when she gets back on Tuesday. I was told she'll probably want to schedule an MRI. Personally, I feel like telling her to screw the MRI; just schedule the f&%#ing surgery. They're going to need to operate anyway for a complex cyst and I want it out, O-U-T, OUT. I'm not thrilled at the thought of surgical menopause, but the idea that it could be even worse than a mucinous cystadenoma, that it could the the big C, is way more frightening than hot flashes.
How messed up is it that right next to dying, my biggest worry about all of this is that it will keep us from adopting?