I haven’t really talked about this, and maybe it’s time I did.
I’m really freaked, so rather than deal with that, I’ve been ignoring the sensation, and hoping it goes away. It might, yet.
The thing is, I wasn’t freaked. I had the scan, they found a cyst, it was probably just hair and bone growing in the wrong place, it wasn’t cancerous, they just wanted the obstetrician to look at it. No biggie. At some point, they might want to remove it, but who’d do such a mad thing when I was pregnant? No-one, surely.
Two weeks later, I had an appointment with the obstetrician, and that’s where it turned out that she was, in fact, mad. It’s quite a big cyst, apparently, and there is a risk that it could pop (sounds unlikely, but if it happened it would be nasty, and painful, and dangerous, with reference to peritonitis), or cause the overy it’s attached to to twist, which would certainly be very painful, if not so dangerous. But maybe so dangerous, how should I know? So they want to take it out – pretty much now. She reckoned that the danger was too imminent to risk leaving it until after the baby’s born, that it would be much riskier to deal with the problem in an emergency situation than in a planned way, and that if I did last until after the delivery, there was every chance that the big empty abdomen that would suddenly become available at that point would pretty much guarantee a twist-situation.
And the thing is, I was upset, but I was prepared to take her word for it. The surgery itself doesn’t pose any particular risk to the baby, they say, but the associated general anasthaetic brings an increased risk of miscarriage. A “very slight” increase.
So, the obstetrician said she would put me in for another scan “Just in case it’s shrinking. It’s not likely, but we’ll look.” And she would refer me to a gynae surgeon, for the operation. The scan would happen within the week, the appointment would be shortly afterwards, and the operation would probably come very quickly after that.
Last Monday, we had the second scan – most importantly, baby has developed a more vertibrated-looking spine, and was lying the other way up. Heartbeats and growth rates are all normal, s/he seems really well. Of course, ultrasonographers aren’t qualified to have opinions, they’re only qualified to look. In looking, she discovered that the cyst has, indeed, shrunk. She didn’t seem to think that the difference was significant, but I make it a 25% reduction in size in all three directions that they measure it in. My geometry isn’t up to working out how that affects the actual volume, but in three weeks, I think it’s worth just watching to see if it carries on.
I haven’t yet had the appointment to see the surgeon, though, so I’ve had no-one to say that to.
The more time elapses, the more real my baby gets, and the less inclined I am to let them do it. It has been pointed out to me that they can’t do the surgery without my consent – I have to choose to put my baby at this risk, because otherwise, how can I blame myself forever if it miscarries as a result?!
It’s only in the last four or five days that I’ve managed to tell the tale to the nice people in church – I needed someone to ask, and no-one did. Now I’ve told Tess, though, and she’s told Carol, and Carol talked to me about it in front of Irene, and I’ve told Lynn, and word is starting to get out. I’m glad. I need these people on my side. I need them praying for me, and looking out for me, and they are, now. I just needed them to find out without my having to tell them. The telling part is traumatic.
I was supposed to ring and chase the surgeon appointment, today, but I’ve not brought the information into work with me, so it’ll have to wait till tomorrow.
Please, God, make it shrink away. I don’t want to have to do this. I don’t want to have to make the choice.