Tomorrow morning when most of you are still sleeping, I will be at the hospital getting ready to go to sleep. You see I am undergoing an oophorectomy, a procedural name which makes me smile when I want to vomit. Whoever named it must have known exactly how women like me feel when the doctor suggests that you should consider letting him remove one of your ovaries so that there are no “bad surprises” down the road. I don’t even like good surprises.

So instead of going to Turks and Caicos this summer, I will be traveling to the island of Sutures and Percocet.


The good news: I should be fine. The doc doesn’t think the bigger-than-a-golf-ball size mass on my ovary is going to be anything scary and getting the whole thing outta there will give me tremendous peace of mind.

The bad news: I have mass on my ovary that is BIGGER THAN A FREAKING GOLF BALL and they are going to knock me out, cut me open, remove one of my favorite organs of all time, and send it to a pathologist who will systematically return a result that will send my life back down its current, happy path or off on some horrible trajectory.

Or to summarize, this sucks, but it could get be worse.

But again, I am going to be fine.

I already have lots of funny things to share about this surgery. In fact, I made a list which I was planning to share today. But somehow on the day before I’m going to kiss my boys goodbye and put my life in the hands of someone who knows very little about me as a person, wife and mother (no matter how many women have gone before me), I don’t feel very funny. At all.

So please wait for me. By my next post, the Percocet will have kicked in and I’ll be all about funny. Promise. Be back soon.


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