So, I am scheduled for a surgery on January 10, and I’m not a happy camper. Apparently the ovarian cyst that I had drained in 2011, grew back and literally doubled in size. The cyst cannot be removed laparoscopically and has to be removed surgically. I’m going to be the proud owner of a gnarly scar on my abdomen.

Welp, there goes my swimsuit modeling career.

I knew I had this cyst, and I even mentioned that I probably had a cyst to my now-ex a year ago. I could feel it now and then. I could feel pressure in my right side, and sometimes I would have weird cramping feeling in my back. I knew something was there. I put it aside because I didn’t want to interrupt my marathon training but I didn’t think it would grow to this size.

When I saw my oncologist a couple of months ago, I mentioned it to him, and he ordered a test right away. He didn’t doubt me or question me. He heard me express concern about something I was feeling and sent me off for testing without any hassle at all. I am eternally grateful to have a doctor who trusts me and my intuition about my body. Not everyone has this luxury.

I had a CT scan and then later, a MRI scan.

Boy, the MRI scan was a big pile of poo. The technician, who was prepping me and putting the IV in me, didn’t listen to my warning that my veins were shot to hell from chemo. I warned him that since I didn’t have a port (one of the biggest regrets of my life, no lie), that I have a lot of scarring. The tech inserted the needle and it didn’t take, so what does the asshole do? He left it and tried to dig around.

I fainted in my seat, and I woke up to four or five nurses in my face telling me with great passion that I need to wake up. The one closest to me had smelling salts under my nose, and then she started thumping my clavicle pain, all while shouting, “Wake up, Lara.”

I kept moaning that I was awake to get her to stop thumping me, but I guess I wasn’t coming to as fast and perky as they wanted so the thumping continued. It hurts like the dickens to get your clavicle bone repeatedly thumped, I’ll tell you that. It made me want to punch the nurse if I was physically able to return the favor.

A CT, MRI and ultrasound later, everyone came to the conclusion that this 10-cm interloper on my ovarian cyst had gots to go. It’s not cancer, at least.  All the tests, plus the multiple physical exams I have had, indicate this cyst is benign and not a mass.

I am so freaking tired of my body’s proclivity toward forming cysts. I really really really wish it would stop doing this because I’m tired of feeling like the human pin cushion. I’m covered in scars, and the more scars I receive, the more I want to get tattoos. I have no say in these scars, but I have every bit of say on what I put on my body. I have about three tattoo ideas, and they are going to happen.

There definitely has to be some weird genetic condition that would explain why I keep having these cysts. Hmm, I should probably look into this.

I’ll be out for six weeks, and I’ll basically have to start over as a runner, which is okay. I already ran a marathon, so it’s not like it cannot be done. Hell, I did it. I cannot afford to sign up for a thousand and one races like I have in the past anyway. It’ll keep me grounded and I love a challenge.

I am pretty sure the removal of this cyst and any other casualty body parts will contribute to a better quality of life. I have no doubt. Something this big isn’t supposed to be there, and I hope it means I’m new and definitely improved, even though my lady parts are supa dupa evil. Cancer or not, some things never change.