The Lump on My Ovary: A Sad Tale

If pregnancy was a communicable disease, I want to be infected with it right away.

I was sitting in a waiting room among seven proud, beautiful and very pregnant women, last night. Stealing glances at their proud tummies, my mind started to wander in a naughty way – imagining the act that has resulted to the big ball of lump on their front while blushing with envy, wonder and admiration of the mystery of procreation and the deed that has resulted to the bump.

And yet last night was different, because if the women were carrying a six pound weight inside them, I was also carrying a weightless invisible pain so excruciating and debilitating that I was more desperate rather than envious.

The doctor arrived an hour and a half late but the women stayed on. They have waited far longer than I did. I wished they left so I can take their slots but theirs must be some happy urgency. I was not happy, but like them my business was urgent, in fact very urgent.

I entered the ultrasound room as called and removed my clothes from the waist down as instructed. I was a little bit confused why I would have to lie over a pillow naked covered with only a small blanket in a dark room but I complied as ordered.

When the doctor entered the room, she spread my legs farther while I struggled to keep it together. Irate she forced my legs apart and asked me questions. I answered, “No I’m not pregnant nor trying to be pregnant. I am in acute pain, due to dysmenorrhea.” Immediately she removed a thing from the machine.

Mother of God! I instantly knew what’s going to happen.

“Sexually active.”

“Yes.”

Insertion.

“Ummggh.”  I screamed.

“Are you sure you are?”

Am I going to lie? I pondered.

“Yes, a long time ago.” Half-truth, half lie.

“Okay I’ll put more gel.”

More pressure.

“Ahhggh”.

“You have to decide. This or rectal.”

“This doc.” Besides, I am not gay, I thought to myself. Gays do the anal thing for pleasure. I am not gay to put the record straight to myself.

Full insertion.

“There it goes.” I sighed relieved.

“Goodness! You have cyst. Open your mouth and lay your hands palms up and breathe. This is really going to hurt. I can’t do anything about it.”

I lay there in surprise or maybe in pain but I cannot remember the extent of the pain anymore.

“How big is it doc?”

“I am measuring it yet.” In other words shut up.

I got out of the room embarrassed. I am sure they heard me screaming. I just wished the conversation I had with the doctor was blurred by the television. I sat pretending I didn’t care at all.

When I entered the consultation room the doctor was there comfortably sitting. In fact she was smiling. I wonder how she got there so quick and fast.  She talked in a no-nonsense quick litany of medical terms “endometrium, reflux, de provera, infertility” while my brain was scanning old files of Dr House and my anatomy class.

The doctor’s lecture is summarized as “Miss, you’re in trouble and the only way to stop the growth is to stop your menstruation and the only way to stop your menstruation is through birth control.”

I left the clinic thankful and yet heartbroken. Thankful because the doctor did not prescribe me medicines – I don’t like taking medicines at all. I took the street in a dark and empty night like my heart, a street urchin carrying a dirty rucksack begged me money for dinner as I hailed a taxi. I could not help the girl, I could not help yet anyone at that point because at that moment I want to help only myself.

I cried inside the cab out of self pity – the possibility of infertility, the birth control medicines that I refuse to take as an option leaving me in a cloud of confusion, the thought of pain in the next three weeks to come and passing out in the process and most especially the possibility that I may never enjoy a sexual contact anymore.

The latter is a concern that may have a long–term implication on my future relationship. As much as possible I want to enjoy sex not only for me but for my lovers and my husband. Because what is life but to enjoy the pleasures of it? But the pain that comes every month is also next to nothing. I panic at the thought of it. If I can freeze time, I would. I have three weeks to prepare for another ordeal and I don’t know how much pain I will have to go through again.

Written on 18 November 2010

Cure for Dysmenorrhea: Bangcal and Duguan Decoction

If you were wondering how the bangcal and duguan decoction which i described in my previous post as a cure to dysmenorrhea looks like. This is it. Sparkling isn’t it? Like wine! The decoction can taste bitter to none. In my case I have no problem with the taste because I am used to drinking milk and tea without sugar.

Where to find the herbal wood?
Wherever you may be in the Philippines you will surely find these herbal trees sold amongst the vendors selling herbs in the sidewalk. In Baguio City the vendors would describe the wood as “pamparegla”. It is chopped into bits and pieces unlike the strips we find in Iligan. So that the easy way to find it is to ask the vendors of a “kahoy na pamparegla”. Its cheaper, safer, more effective and you are assured of a no negative side effect that we get from over the counter pain relievers.

How to prepare the decoction?
As described in my earlier posts, you can use two of the bangcal and duguan strips with a cup or two cups of water. In the case of the chopped preparation, you can put the right amount of wood with a desired amount of water. To be more economical, I set aside the wooden strips, add water and boil it for my next drink until the decoction has exhausted.

This new discovery was a gift by my mom which she also learned from my cousin who’s daughter suffers from an extremely painful dysmenorrhea. My cousin’s daughter is now ok. I am also now ok and I am drinking the decoction like I do with tea.