* * *
My doctor tells me I still cannot have a D&C. She tells me it doesn't matter that I had cancer and now have something unidentifiable growing in my uterus. That the psychological harm caused by forcing me to endure something growing inside me while they try to identify it isn't reason enough for intervention. That I need to have a follow up ultrasound in a week (for those of you keeping count, that's three up-the-brewster ultrasounds in three weeks) and blood work done every two days until they figure out what's going on with my body.
* * *
My ultrasound tech is not young, nor particularly tiny, nor stunningly beautiful. I do not like what it says about me that I find this a relief.
She furrows her brow and turns the screen away from my view as she completes the ultrasound. After conferring with the doctor, she tells me I need to see an OB/GYN as soon as possible. She will submit her report tonight and I need to call my doctor in the morning.
* * *
It is Friday the 13th. My doctor is out of the office at a conference all day. My OB/GYN's office is closed on Fridays because of course it is.
My doctor calls from the conference. She's seen the ultrasound report and has sent an urgent referral through to the OB/GYN's office. The soonest I'll hear anything is Monday. I am to wait and relax and take deep breaths and... head straight to the hospital if I start to bleed because the thing growing inside me has grown since the previous week and still has active blood flow. If I start to bleed, I will likely hemorrhage. It puts a bit of a damper on our Valentine's Day plans.
* * *
It's Monday morning. We spent an uneasy weekend at home waiting for the ticking time bomb inside of me to detonate. It didn't.
My doctor's office calls. The OB/GYN doesn't need to see me for a consult; they've gone ahead and booked my surgery for the following morning.
Finally, after three weeks, it feels like I can breathe again.