Ovarian Whatnow??I'm

A little while back, my mom had a battery of fairly routine tests. We heard just about a week ago that they had found two fairly large cysts (baseball sized, I'm assured) on her ovaries. The doctor opined that it was not something to be too worried about, but sent her information on to the gynecologist to decide the best way of removing them. The initial plan was to have an appointment to discuss that some time this month. Because I live in a family of medical professionals, by Saturday we had a flurry of research, discussion and analysis leading to second-third-fourth opinions based on her medical data, multiple risk factors and any number of complicated words that I'm not sure I could pronounce (despite my prolonged exposure to legalese). By Monday, my mom was on the phone with a detailed letter and her doctor agreed to write her a referral for a gyno-oncologist. Last Tuesday she had an appointment in Seattle. By Thursday, she was undergoing a complete hysterectomy. The cysts were malignant, so they took some lymph too and we're waiting on the pathology report It's been a bit of a surreal experience, mostly due to the speed of it all. And of course, the weird places the brain wanders when contemplating the illness of a loved one/particularly a parent. A few thoughts:

1.My immediate reaction to this whole scenario was to go into temporary law student exam mode - was there a breach of care? Who breached it? Considering the streams of consultations that occurred between various professionals in the past week, who established a doctor-patient relationship that may require said duty of care in the first place? Had she not gotten the surgery and the month made a diff... yeah. My second reaction is to start screaming and banging my head against the nearest padded wall - DAMN YOU LAW SCHOOL!

2. Further reactions of course involve a cognitive dissonance between the words "mom" and "cancer" which continue in various forms for a while and thus have inspired some creative descriptions in my head that are comfortably obfuscated by hypothetical past tenses and technical terms that I still can't pronounce. Then there was kind of the highly unexpected "must have a child" impulse. I guess it's a little more primal (albeit) attenuated a response than, say, "hey maybe when I'm a bit older, I should be more proactive about screening for reproductive cancers." Cooler sense has of course prevailed (hey birth control apparently lowers the risk of ovarian cancer, albeit probably by killing you off with some other side effect first), but it's always odd to hear your biological clock going off at 2am in the morning with the buzzer instead of the soothing new age rainfall setting you thought it was on.

3.  Catheters are kind of gross, but I could see them also being kind of convenient in certain circumstances. Yeah, I know, there's the whole infection thing and the "tube up your urethra thing" but I'm just saying, in some circumstances where regular urinating is maybe less convenient, it may be a good consideration. My mom's actually looks a bit like an odd little purse. Which of course has inspired my new line of hospital inspired fashion. And, yes, you know it would fit on some of the runways going on today.Catheter purses (I think the line can just clasp onto your underwear though if this is just a fashion-line). Assless silken, fringed "hospital gowns" with neon gucci-hospital socks. Lipliner scars.  Prescription bottle earrings. Faux iv bracelets.

4. My mom is a popular lady. Seems like there's an entire entourage vying to bring her grapes, keep her company, and otherwise seriously vex her slightly surly nurse. I wonder how much we're helping and how much we're just demanding something to do from her so we can feel like we're helper - seems like there's a subtle difference between being there for somebody and making them invent things to keep your mind at ease. Are we really hovering around for her sake or because it soothes our minds to be present and therefore constantly assured that she is still fine - and does that in turn put pressure on her to broadcast that she's fine? How many people do you need staring at you every time you sigh, or discussing your urine volumes?

5. For the first few days, all that my mom could stomach were grapes. As such, her house is better stocked than your average vineyard. At this point, she, of course has moved on past the grape phase. I'm considering whether we should try stomping some wine in the bathtub or classifying them as a science-experiment in the making. I'm a little concerned that they will  band together and revolt if we leave them long enough.