I have death in me. It runs through my veins, vicious in my blood, mocking me. A time bomb. Tick. Tick. Tick. I guess we all do, in our way. The difference is that I know. I know what it is that will kill me. My body is committing suicide. BRCA2 is some scary shit. It wakes me up in the middle of the night. Lately, every pain, every discomfort, every weird feeling leads to one single, solitary thought: Cancer. Particularly, ovarian cancer. I have a 25% lifetime risk of getting it. So, yeah, I'm fucking scared.
This afternoon I will take my yearly journey to the hospital for a trans-vaginal ultrasound. I will lay on a gynecological table and have a technician stick a dildo looking thing in my vagina. My husband, horny, kinky man that he is, says, "Does it feel good?"
The short answer? No.
The long answer? Fucking No.
I mean I guess it could technically. It's a dildo, after all. But there's something about the clinical atmosphere, coupled with, I don't know, the search for CANCER that makes it decidedly the least sexy experience a person could ever have.
I was talking with my doctor about ovarian cancer the other day. I said, "Well, what are the symptoms?" You know what she said? Do you really want to know? "Anything could be a symptom of ovarian cancer. Anything." And then she proceeded to tell me the bleakest, most disheartening information. "It's really, really hard to even find ovarian cancer. By the time it shows up on tests, it's usually quite advanced." So basically I'm fucked. In the bad way.
I need to get my egg makers out. It's like suddenly I'm completely grossed out by them. I feel dirty. My own body just violates me over and over and over again. I've always hated it. I knew before I knew that it was the enemy. It was a precognition, if you can believe in that sort of thing.
Right now I feel trapped. I'm a caged animal. Here is my dilemma. If by the grace of God, or chance, or whatever, I don't have ovarian cancer right now, should I just go ahead and get these fucking ovaries out? Or should I keep them and have one more baby? Is it worth the risk of waiting? I don't even know that I'm particularly ready to have another baby right now. But I'm scared that if I make a hasty decision out of fear and horrible anxiety that I'll regret not having just one more.
I'm on the edge of tears right now. What's sad is that this fear is killing me, too. It's sapping my creative energies, destroying my will to feel and experience. I feel like I'm dead already.
7 hours ago