Unexpected Laughter

You may or may not have noticed that Friday’s Fun Fact was missing last week. I can’t bear to think that I let you down by not posting such a beloved and much awaited topic, so here’s what happened:

Last week I made a doctor’s appointment. I wasn’t in pain, but a little uncomfortable. I felt bloated and moody. (Par for the course.)

Something wasn’t right so I just wanted to get myself checked out.

The day before my appointment I almost cancelled. I was feeling a little better and thought maybe I was overreacting. But, I have a history of “Lady Problems”. Just to be sure, I kept the appointment.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, an ultrasound found a cyst on my left ovary. No big deal, I was told. They are fairly common and usually go away on their own without causing any issues. I didn’t even know it was there.

After I’d had her and moved back to Atlanta, I went to see Dr. Michael Randell for a follow up. He recommended taking the cyst out because it wasn’t shrinking. He said he was able to perform the procedure via one incision through my belly button.

Sounds cool. I’ll take it.

The procedure was fairly easy to heal from and soon enough there was very little evidence that anything ever happened. Needless to say, I deemed him to be the bestest doc ever.

Last Tuesday he didn’t even need to give me a full exam. He immediately ordered an ultrasound and found a mass that was 3 inches by 2 inches on the same biatch ovary as last time.

{I tried to get him to help me name it but he wasn’t playing along.}

He said, “I recommend surgery. How’s your schedule this Friday?”

Um… Guess that 5k I was planning on running this weekend is out.

Slight tangent alert: don’t ever ask a doc what the recovery is like from a procedure that the doc him or herself has never had. You’ll be greatly disappointed. It’s like asking Lorena Bobbit what her ex-husband went through when she cut off his penis or asking a man what it’s like to birth a baby. “um, I think it hurt…”

“Oh, and do you want more kids or are you finished?”

100% finished.

“You sure?  Because I offer patients a tubal ligation while I’m there if it’s something you’re ready for…”

Ugh.  Unfortunately, as much as I love tiny, sweet little babies, Roman was a very difficult pregnancy. He weighted a 10th of my bodyweight. And delivering him was reminiscent of the scene from Alien. We have 2 healthy, beautiful babies. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.

“Ok, so if your calendar can be cleared for Friday, I’d like to set you up tomorrow (Wednesday) for your blood work, registration, etc. Thursday you’ll need to drink 10 oz of Magnesium Citriate.”

Um… Guess I’ll be working from home that day.

“Your surgery will be Friday at 10:30 but you’ll need to arrive 3 hrs early.”

It took a little werq but we made arrangements for the kids to get to school/pre-k, and my mom was going to keep them kiddies busy until I got home and settled.

{Ok, kids, it’s get-spoiled-by-Nonna time!  “NO!!!”  Said no child of mine EVER.}

For those of you who don’t yet have kiddies, making those arrangements is tricky. At times I still don’t realize everything that has to be considered.

As an example, Roman can be dropped off at Pre-k at 6:30. No biggie, we could drop him off on the way. However, Bella can’t be dropped off at school until 7:10. Since I had to be at the hospital at 7:30, I needed another option. Thankfully, I’m lucky enough to have non-homicidal neighbors that I whole-heartedly trust with my baby. Check that off.

My mom was picking Bella up from school and Roman from pre-k. So I had to write Bella a note for school saying it was ok for my mom to get her and call the daycare center to tell them Bella wouldn’t be on their bus and that Roman would be picked up by my mom. Let’s just say I was terrified that I would be under general anesthesia while my mom was trying to pick up Bella with the school holding Bella hostage because I forgot to date the note.

Luckily, everything went as planned.

Through one incision in my belly button, Dr. Randell removed my left ovary, a fairly sizable mass, and tied my tubes.

{I’m pretty sure my belly button has PTSD and needs therapy now.}

I woke up in recovery just a little sore, no big deal.  My hubs got me home and comfortable.

My mom brought Roman home Friday evening and she and Bella had a girls’ weekend that was planned prior to my unexpected slicing.

Bella gave me hugs and kisses before leaving for the weekend. She understood what had happened and was concerned but once she saw that I was “ok”, she was fine.

Roman, being 3, had less of a grasp on what was happening.

At one point, he came into the bedroom and jumped up on the side of the bed to see me. When he did, he overshot and accidentally fell onto my belly. O-U-C-H!

From then on over the weekend, the following conversation was frequent:

Me: “Roman, can Mommy have a kiss?”

Roman: “No. Your belly hurts me.”

Yeah, it hurts me, too.

Ever had to blow your nose after having an ovary pulled through your belly button?


It even hurts to look at it. Not attractive at all.   If you need a visual, my belly button looks like Farrah Abraham’s botched lip job.

Hurts to sneeze. Hurts to cough. Hurts the most to laugh.

I managed to make it through the weekend without laughing much. That’s a HUGE deal for me. However, that all went to shat yesterday.

I was sitting on the couch with Bella on one side of me, and my hubs on the other side. Georgia, our black lab, was lying on the floor. One thing about Georgia is that she has become quite flatulent. I mean, it smells like a skunk died a slow death in the hot sun when G rips one.

All of a sudden, the skunk smell wafted through the air. Bella looks up at me with this look on her face like she has been severely offended and without missing a beat she says, “Mom. Smell yourself.”


First of all, why does she automatically assume that it’s ME? Am I the only one in the room? NO! She was genuinely convinced that the horawful, fugly smell exuded from my body and she was not happy about it. I couldn’t stop laughing. My hubs couldn’t stop laughing.

Then, I started hurting so badly that I was doubled over in pain, crying. I was simultaneously laughing and crying.

As soon as I contained myself, I popped an 800 mg Motrin and prayed that God would make the pain go away.

He opted not to answer that prayer. That’s ok. He has His reasons.

Now I’m just trying to heal. Seriously. Without any laughter. And make it through the week without any further unexpected surgical events.


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