I rescheduled an ultrasound. Twice. After an appointment, I made because I had self-diagnosed myself with a prolapsed uterus thanks to the epic birth of my regular size twins. Then the pap came back highly abnormal. Ah well. I’d had that happen a decade ago and it was nothing. But it at least made me prioritize my health, enough to carry through the simple in-office biopsy ASAP. We started that discussion with a very simple “9/10 these tests are….”
9/10 that leads to. Over and over. Over a series of months.
So, 9/10 the biopsy is clean and that it.
Does tests. Says from what he sees I may be the 1/10 that need a further procedure. It’s no big deal. 9/10 of those procedures will take care of everything.
Thank. Fucking. God. I have some crazy ability to file and process and move on because for the most part I was able to shift into making the most of my time. I didn’t fret and worry much. I used the opportunity to live my best life (like, my actual best life, and I really did guys)
Because from June-Sept I had that conversation a few more times until I ended so far on the right side of the percentile it was getting a bit ridiculous.
The last appointment with my OB before moving my care to the oncologist ended pretty much like this…..
“But that’s highly unlikely” and which point I stopped him and reminded him I’d been on the wrong side of highly unlikely a few too many times for comfort. He giggled uncomfortably and agreed.
So here we are, on the wrong side of unlikely.