Ultrasound Followup: Dazed and Confused

I walked into my doctor’s office on the morning of July 13, anxious to get the ultrasound over with but not expecting any results that day. The first ultrasound of my ovaries in early May showed I had two complex cysts, one on each ovary, both about 2 centimeters in diameter. My doctor at the time said I would need a followup ultrasound in 8-10 weeks’ time to make sure they weren’t getting any bigger.

I arrived for my appointment on July 13. I fully expected to be sent on my way after the ultrasound with nothing more than a “the doctor will contact you in a few days with the results.” After all, ultrasound technicians are not allowed to share their findings, right? Only the doctor can do that. I was pleasantly surprised to find a television on the wall of the exam room that displayed my ultrasound. I had no idea what I was looking at, of course, but I still found it fascinating.

I was even more surprised when the technician began explaining the images to me. Really? Would she actually tell me whether or not the cysts had grown? She sure did. She looked at my right ovary first, showed me where it was on the screen, and then pointed out the cyst, still 2 centimeters, she said. Perfect. Unchanged. Exactly what I wanted.

“Now I’m going to take a look at the left ovary,” she said. “This is the ovary.” She used the cursor to draw a line across to measure it. “And this is the other cyst they found.” She drew another line to show me where it was and to measure it. “This one is a little over 6 centimeters.”

“Say what…?”

The look of shock had to be apparent on my face, despite the mask I was wearing, because she stopped and looked at me curiously. I told her that it, too, was 2 centimeters in May.

“Seriously??”

Her eyes widened and I saw shock and fear flash in them. This wasn’t good.

Change of plans

The ultrasound now complete, I did not head home but instead was immediately shown to another room to await my doctor. She entered a short time later and cut right to the chase. The cyst had grown more than 4 centimeters in two months. It was now about the size of a baseball, she said. The entire ovary would need to be removed.

I maintained my composure quite well. I wasn’t feeling emotional or upset. I just sat quietly and tried to take in everything she said. But the truth was I was only half listening to her. My head was in a fog. Everything felt very surreal — kind of like I had been hit in the head and was trying to shake the stars away. I remember her saying the procedure would be minimally invasive, outpatient, laparoscopic — if the cyst is benign. What happens if it isn’t benign? I don’t remember what she said. I’m kicking myself for it, but I just don’t remember.

She stressed the cyst could very well be benign, but we won’t know until they open me up and test it. I remember saying something brilliant, like “OK” and saying I couldn’t think of any questions at the moment. My dazed state seemed to intensify as I was shown to the front desk, handed a piece of paper and told to go down to an office on the first floor to schedule surgery. The hard fact was beginning to solidify in my mind: Benign or not, I was going to schedule surgery to have my precious ovary removed. Everything was happening so quickly, my brain couldn’t keep up.

The urgent tone that had suddenly taken over the entire appointment scared me. I didn’t like the way everyone was looking at me — a look of pity and concern. I didn’t like the tones of voices — urgent seriousness mingled with soothing quiet. Did they suspect something but not want to tell me just in case they were wrong? The doctor’s and nurses’ reactions worried me more than their words. Do I have cancer?

I sat in a small waiting room on the first floor for about 30 minutes (which felt like an eternity) waiting for the scheduler to get off the phone. Finally she called me in. Schedule the surgery? No. (I deflated a little. Was it relief or frustration?) I was only there to schedule the appointment to schedule my surgery. Health care bureaucracy at its finest. Heavy eye roll. I was instructed to return in two weeks (July 27) to get in their books. I now had two weeks to come to terms with things and get a better grasp. To stew and wonder and fear.

Two weeks are FINALLY up

Now it’s July 24. These last two weeks have been quite emotional: from confidence to fear, and from believing I’m quite fine to thinking, “Oh my God, what if I have cancer???” and everything in between, all mingled with a very large dose of impatience. The one underlying feeling I haven’t been able to escape all summer is exhaustion. I’m surprised just how much so. I’m not talking about sleepy tired, though that’s part of it. I mean physical exhaustion. Feeling heavy and drained and being physically unable to do the workouts to the extent I did not long ago and wanting to spend every spare moment in bed. That’s just not me. I went from never being able to take an afternoon nap to craving them. I can’t wait until I’m me again.

Thankfully it’s finally the weekend. Hopefully on Monday they’ll be able to schedule me in quickly. I dread the possibility of having to wait another three or four weeks until surgery. I’m hoping for the best, but I’m so afraid that will be the case; I’m trying to prepare myself for it.

July 27

The weekend was relaxing and uneventful — thankfully — and passed quickly enough. I arrived for my 9 a.m. appointment and was quickly shown in. Sue the scheduler said let’s get right to it. (I like her.) All of my doctor’s surgeries are on Thursdays. She offered me Aug. 6 or Aug. 13. The 6th, I quickly replied — exactly what I was hoping for. She then went over everything I needed to do and what to expect and had me read and sign all my consent forms. Boy, I loved signing my OK to everything that could possibly go wrong in surgery. Sure boosts a person’s confidence.

I asked Sue what would happen if they opened me up and found cancer. Would they immediately go into a more aggressive surgery to remove everything or would they close me back up and schedule a second surgery. She said she didn’t know for sure but it would likely be the latter. She said she doesn’t think they’ll know immediately if it’s cancerous but instead will have to send it out for testing. I would likely receive those results at my followup appointment a week and a half later.

I didn’t like that answer. I won’t see my doctor until the morning of my surgery, so I’ll have to give her a call. My pre-surgery blood work and my COVID-19 test will be on July 30. In the meantime I get to quarantine to make sure I don’t get COVID, which means I get to work from home again until the surgery. No complaints here! 

July 30

I was finally ushered in for my COVID-19 and blood tests after an hour wait and another 20 minutes of updating my information in the hospital’s system. The nurse said I won the award for most patient patient. Was I? I’m not sure I was being very patient. First the COVID test. Thank God it was the throat swab and not the nose/sinus one! I’ve heard nothing but horror stories about the nose/sinus swab. This was easy-peasy, done in seconds. Then a quick blood draw and I was sent on my way.

I then called my doctor’s office and asked when I would learn if the cyst is benign or not. The receptionist said I would not know officially until the followup appointment. However, the doctor will be able to give me a pretty solid answer once she sees what everything looks like. This she will tell me immediately after surgery. I suppose I can live with that. As for whether she will go directly into a more invasive surgery to remove more if she sees cancer, the receptionist said she would only do that if it were a matter of life or death. OK, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!

I feel I must make a note of how lousy I’ve felt this week. Almost no appetite. Nearly constant pain, ranging from digestive upset to lower back pain to sharp, stabbing pain in both ovaries. And even more odd still, very stiff, achy joints. I feel my best when I’m moving. I’m still able to go jogging, and interestingly enough it’s the only time I feel like myself. My doctor said I was perfectly safe to keep running up to surgery, so that gives me a wonderful break from it all.

The awful part is how I feel worse and worse as the day progresses. I wake up feeling mostly fine, maybe a dull ache or slight stomach upset, but as the day goes on, I get worse and my appetite evaporates. My appetite is strong enough for a decent lunch, but I end up having to force-feed myself a small supper, usually my green smoothie, just to get some nutrition in me. And I feel quite ill after doing so. The discomfort doesn’t start to ease until I go to bed with a heating pad on my lower back.

Thank God my surgery is next week and thank God I’m able to work from home. I would be just miserable if I had to go into the office, and I don’t know how I would fare if I had to wait any longer for the surgery. I’m nervous and scared for it, but I’m also so ready to get it over with and start healing.

July 31

I received my COVID results today — negative. Now all roads should be clear for surgery. Everything seems to be moving along smoothly. I’m ready — ready to get this over with and get my life back. You’ll hear from me again after my surgery — wish me luck!