At my 12 week scan the sonographer caught sight of a small cyst on my right ovary. No biggie, I thought, the one I had during my pregnancy with Sam disappeared by 20 weeks.
At my 20 week scan, it was still there but not significantly bigger and other than being glad I wasn't imagining the twingey pains I didn't give it much thought.
My consultant talked Euan and I through all the what ifs involved and booked a scan at 26 weeks to keep an eye on it. I was still fairly confident it would go away until the events of
Worst Pregnancy Ever. But at the 26 week scan the cyst was bigger and the baby was measuring in the 98th percentile and I was starting to feel slightly overstuffed.
The superwoman who I'm blessed to have as my consultant during this pregnancy sat me down and laid out all the facts. She explained exactly where the cyst was and why it was growing and what it would feel like if it became a problem. She also told me that if she had to take it out there were lots of precautions she would take to make sure Bump stayed put and that just in case I went into labour, Bump would receive steroids for lung maturity.
I went home duly reassured and despite feeling a few twinges and also wondering how on earth I was growing such a giant baby despite the Hyperemesis (creme eggs and scones !), I was feeling okay. I was also moving into extreme home baking mode for a certain toddler's 2nd Birthday.
Tuesday was a normal day, Sam and I did our usual things and I did a trial run with my new star shaped cake pan (which deserves a post of it's own). Euan came home in time for dinner and I bowed out for bath time to stretch out a sore back.
Fast forward to bed time and Euan was slightly alarmed when I got into bed with the announcement that I felt like I was having a contraction but only in one place and it wasn't going away. I realised it was my cyst and because I'm a giant wimp I ended up on the bedroom floor crying whilst first telling the hospital we were coming through and then asking my mum to come and look after Sam.
My no nonsense mum arrived and looked genuinely sympathetic, after a teenhood of her telling me to take to paracetamol and get to school, this was frankly alarming. On the way to the hospital (after a stop to puke in public, sorry Dunfermline!) we got stopped in roadworks despite it being midnight and at that point I would have cheerfully taken a scalpel to myself to get rid of the pain. I obviously told Euan how much I loved him and not to let Sam forget me because melodrama is my favourite analgesic.
We got to the hospital eventually and I was blessed with the first excellent midwife of my stay. She was a diamorphine first, ask questions later kinda gal so I was just about able to let the on call doctor examine me. It gets hazy after that but I was put to bed and in the morning my fairy godconsultant arrived and told me in no uncertain terms I was going to need an operation. By that point, I would have agreed to a surgical decapitation, my only wobble came when I realised that Sam wouldn't be getting a homemade cake. Fortunately, the next of the excellent midwives reminded me of the existence of supermarkets and then gave me a glamorous pair of pressure socks.
After a quick hug from Euan and a call from my mum to say she was on her way with presentable nighties (I am shamelessly scruffy in the nightwear department) and a quick final walk through with the docs, I was coming round from the anaesthetic and desperately asking anyone that passed where the baby was. Still tucked up in utero, so I moved onto a request for as many painkillers as I could have, I refer you back to my giant wimp comment.
I cannot praise the care I received highly enough before, during and after the operation. I was also blown away by the love and support and general help our family and friends rallied round with.
I'm tired and a bit sore and totally frustrated with my inability to do anything at a normal pace (I've been drafting this post for four days!) but I'm home. I got to celebrate my boy's birthday with him and marvel at just how funny and kind and clever he is. And now I get to sit back, get better and let someone else deal with my nemesis the laundry bag for a couple of weeks!
At my 20 week scan, it was still there but not significantly bigger and other than being glad I wasn't imagining the twingey pains I didn't give it much thought.
My consultant talked Euan and I through all the what ifs involved and booked a scan at 26 weeks to keep an eye on it. I was still fairly confident it would go away until the events of
Worst Pregnancy Ever. But at the 26 week scan the cyst was bigger and the baby was measuring in the 98th percentile and I was starting to feel slightly overstuffed.
The superwoman who I'm blessed to have as my consultant during this pregnancy sat me down and laid out all the facts. She explained exactly where the cyst was and why it was growing and what it would feel like if it became a problem. She also told me that if she had to take it out there were lots of precautions she would take to make sure Bump stayed put and that just in case I went into labour, Bump would receive steroids for lung maturity.
I went home duly reassured and despite feeling a few twinges and also wondering how on earth I was growing such a giant baby despite the Hyperemesis (creme eggs and scones !), I was feeling okay. I was also moving into extreme home baking mode for a certain toddler's 2nd Birthday.
Tuesday was a normal day, Sam and I did our usual things and I did a trial run with my new star shaped cake pan (which deserves a post of it's own). Euan came home in time for dinner and I bowed out for bath time to stretch out a sore back.
Fast forward to bed time and Euan was slightly alarmed when I got into bed with the announcement that I felt like I was having a contraction but only in one place and it wasn't going away. I realised it was my cyst and because I'm a giant wimp I ended up on the bedroom floor crying whilst first telling the hospital we were coming through and then asking my mum to come and look after Sam.
My no nonsense mum arrived and looked genuinely sympathetic, after a teenhood of her telling me to take to paracetamol and get to school, this was frankly alarming. On the way to the hospital (after a stop to puke in public, sorry Dunfermline!) we got stopped in roadworks despite it being midnight and at that point I would have cheerfully taken a scalpel to myself to get rid of the pain. I obviously told Euan how much I loved him and not to let Sam forget me because melodrama is my favourite analgesic.
We got to the hospital eventually and I was blessed with the first excellent midwife of my stay. She was a diamorphine first, ask questions later kinda gal so I was just about able to let the on call doctor examine me. It gets hazy after that but I was put to bed and in the morning my fairy godconsultant arrived and told me in no uncertain terms I was going to need an operation. By that point, I would have agreed to a surgical decapitation, my only wobble came when I realised that Sam wouldn't be getting a homemade cake. Fortunately, the next of the excellent midwives reminded me of the existence of supermarkets and then gave me a glamorous pair of pressure socks.
After a quick hug from Euan and a call from my mum to say she was on her way with presentable nighties (I am shamelessly scruffy in the nightwear department) and a quick final walk through with the docs, I was coming round from the anaesthetic and desperately asking anyone that passed where the baby was. Still tucked up in utero, so I moved onto a request for as many painkillers as I could have, I refer you back to my giant wimp comment.
I cannot praise the care I received highly enough before, during and after the operation. I was also blown away by the love and support and general help our family and friends rallied round with.
I'm tired and a bit sore and totally frustrated with my inability to do anything at a normal pace (I've been drafting this post for four days!) but I'm home. I got to celebrate my boy's birthday with him and marvel at just how funny and kind and clever he is. And now I get to sit back, get better and let someone else deal with my nemesis the laundry bag for a couple of weeks!
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