A few weeks ago, Mr. Ostrich went in for his test. There was a lot of buildup to this– Though he wanted to pretend it was all just fiiiine, I knew he was worried. There was lots of planning, anxiety, running around my local pharmacy to ask them for a sterile cup for an …er… analysis. (I’m not one to stand on decorum, but how do you scream that out in the middle of a store to a pharmacy assistant. “Yes, I’m looking for the perfect sterile receptacle for my husband’s spunk.” I kept it classy with an “…er… analysis.”)
Any way, the results are… Excellent. His bits are in working order. My bits are in working order. Just as I suspected, everything is… gooood?
Medically speaking, this is a trend for me. I have big scary health problems, which usually turn out to be a whole lot of nothing. The short list includes:
When I was 21, I found a lump in my left breast. It was about the size of a penny. I remember lying in bed before my senior year at college, thinking “Yeah, I should probably see someone about that.” After tests, a few sets of doctors, and a biopsy, it turns out I had a fibroadenoma. Within about a year, that little sucker went away on its own.
At 29, I got the shits. No, seriously. An uncontrollable extravaganza of crap. I’d eat something, and it would race right through me. This lasted months. My doctors thought I could have Crohn’s disease. Tests came back negative. Maybe lactose intolerance? Nope. Good ol’ Irritable Bowel Syndrome for me. I prefer to call it “spastic colon”– It is more accurately descriptive. With a better diet and a lot less stress, I’m a mostly functioning person now. Mostly.
And then there was that time when I was 33 and found another lump. This time in my back, and much bigger than is appropriate for my run-of-the-mill bodily oddities. Not cancer- whew! It’s just a sack of fat that is hanging out on my back. My doctor assures me that this can just happen. It’s not harmful, it’s just weird. I’ve lived quite nicely with my little lump of back fat ever since.
There are others, like the cancerous mole that turn out to be a serious case of dry skin. Or the years of migraines that just up and went away. My body isn’t a wonderland, it is more like a traveling freak show. Here one day, only to move on to the next town tomorrow.
I’ve just compared my body to a band of carnies.
When my doctor delivered the results of Mr. Ostrich’s test, he suggested we try some Clomid. Which I haven’t fully thought about yet– we’re still weeks away from the first round. Do I have reason for optimism? What if this drug makes me crazy? What if I grew a second head? What if my hypothetical child grows a second head?
What if it doesn’t work? That is, of course, the biggest question.