June 28, 2017: A date that will live in infamy

It was a Wednesday. Just like any other Wednesday. I wake up, drag myself to the end of the bed, grab my crutches, for without them I am helpless and immobile. I struggle to leash up the animals and take them outside and try not to die by getting tangled in their leashes. Although my dogs only weigh 12lbs each, they are strong as hell when they have to pee first thing in the morning. You see, just a month before this fateful day, one of my crutches did get tangled in a dog leash and I fell, hard, onto the concrete floor of the garage and fractured my fibula. Naturally, on the same leg that I'd had surgery on. Later, I'd find out that this bone fractured so easily because of the fetus who secretly was residing inside me was stealing all my calcium thus making my bones brittle.

My lovely coworker, Erin, picks me up and takes me to work because my brilliant self decided years ago to buy a Jeep Wrangler with a manual transmission that I cannot operate without use of both of my legs. On this particular Wednesday, I have my yearly Gynecologist appointment. My routine exam, PAP smear, and most importantly, (the only reason I even show up to this dreaded appointment) for a refill on my birth control. My lovely Mother/Boss ever so kindly offers me a ride downtown to my appointment. In reality, I'm sure she just didn't want me charging my Uber ride to her account. She drops me off, I crutch into my appointment, exchanged the usual pleasantries with the front desk ladies and the nurse who sets me up in my exam room. I put on the ever so flattering paper gown and wait. I'll never understand why they make you wait so damn long in a freezing cold exam room wearing an itchy, uncomfortable, ass-less paper gown for so long.

In walks the doctor, who also happens to be a Midwife. I haven't seen this woman before because there a few doctors in the practice but what did I care? I just wanted to get my prescription and get the hell out of there. Maybe I should have seen that as a red flag. She asks the usual questions, when was your last period? Are you sexually active? Changes to your medical history? Etc. After the chit chat its time for the exam. The worst part. Apologies in advance as this might get graphic. First the dreaded speculum. Definition: A medical tool for investigating body orifices. Up my vajajay that goes, she fishes around for a while, does the PAP smear and after a few minutes removes the device of torture. Thank God we are halfway done. Next, the pelvic exam. Oh goody. She inserts what feels like her entire arm up to her elbow inside me. OUCH. A look of concern and sympathy washes over her face. Much like the look your parents would give you when they have to tell the childhood version of you some terrible news like your hamster/cat/dog/bird died. She pulls her arm out of me and says the scariest thing I've ever heard in my entire life. "Oh sweetie, you have a mass in your uterus".

My mind races a mile a minute. OH F#%K. Mass=tumor=cancer. I'm dying. It's over. I'm going to lose my hair. How am I going to tell my family? What about Joel? Who is going to take care of my dogs?

Spoiler alert--- This is my "mass"

Sonogram June 30, 2017