Paradise Lost

The other day I read a snippet that mentioned that women who lose their ovaries ("Oh, Where oh where have my ovaries gone? Oh where oh where can they be?") die at a younger age than women who (are allowed to) keep their ovaries. At first I thought -- one reason we lose our ovaries is because we were diagnosed with illnesses that might have killed us earlier anyway - diagnoses such as ovarian and uterine cancers. At first I thought this whole idea was kind of funny. I mean, I thought I'd die of cancer. Who cares if I keep my ovaries? 

One article stated that removing the ovaries eliminates the risk of ovarian cancer. So that's good, huh? And while these same women were also found to have fewer breast cancers which is great news, data show that ovary-less women are more likely to die of heart disease at an earlier age. 

Seems there's a rule of thumb that if a woman is age 45 or older, it's okay to remove everything during a hysterectomy. As useless as doctors may have thought ovaries might be once all that glop and sludge is surgically removed, the truth of the matter is that ovaries (those that remain attached, inside the woman) produce two hormones, ovarian testosterone and androstenedione. Both hormones help develop estrogen which in turn go on to protect women against heart disease, osteoporosis, dementia (of which I already show symptoms! Oh, wait, that's insanity) and Parkinson's just to name a few health disasters.

I "lost" my ovaries during radical hysterectomy surgery where the surgeon left an empty spelunking cavern replete with dripstone, stalagmites. But really, isn't losing ones ovaries a misplacement issue, possibly involving assistance from neighbors or local authorities or in an extreme case of loss, the FBI could put out an APB ASAP FYI). 

Surgically removing the ovaries is known as an oophorectomy. (surgical removal is technically not a loss). (Notice that oophorectomy starts with "oop?" See item #3.) I like how all the studies and articles say "losing" as if no one is responsible for the loss when I know that somewhere there's a huge red hospital bucket, skull and cross-bone design on the outside filled to the brim with centuries of lost ovaries. How about a Caesarian section? My sons were born by Caesarian section surgery. Does that mean I lost them? If so, someone must have substituted my lost sons for two founds ones.

No one woke me during hysterectomy surgery to ask about keeping my ovaries, not that I had enough knowledge at the time to even make a choice. I wasn't aware of these studies. Hell, I wasn't really even aware of ovaries. (Is that why Joni Mitchell wrote "Big Yellow Taxi"?) I was diagnosed with uterine, not ovarian cancer. My cancer was thought to be contained inside my uterus (so much for thoughts... the cancer already escaped). Though knowing the diagnosis was uterine, I suppose the doctor *could* have left my ovaries. Now this all seems like water under the surgical bridge. (I'll bet you didn't even know there was a surgical bridge.)

Pishaw.

Though I read this article only recently, it seems that studies have been going on for years, some as far back as 1988. I found articles from 2003, 2004, 2005 and 2007 all mentioning the benefits of keeping one's ovaries intact. I imagine my doctor must have known about ovary benefits. He certainly is a knowitall about everything else! Yet he chose to remove the entire kit and caboodle. That surgery was the last official 'wham bam thank you Mam' I'll ever have.

Laying in the hospital after surgery wondering where that mysterious part of me went, I asked the doctor, "What happens with that whole gaping hole area?" "Where does the stuff go?" I felt flummoxed. How was I to know if I'd need to carry a towel (or bucket) to sop stuff up? The doctor reassured me "it" just sort of drips and gets absorbed by the body. I envisioned diapers, plastic bags, ants and yellow jackets. Though rest assured, since surgery, there has been little, if any dripping. I guess some doctors must really know what they're doing. *shrug*

A women's reproductive system includes her uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, among other miscellaneous doodads, and then, sometimes for whatever reason, this area might have to be evacuated. My reproductive system had to be evacuated due to a uterine cancer diagnosis. So what's left in it's place? A rental hall? A cereal bowl? A Park N Ride lot? Seriously though I didn't *lose* a thing. All my missing parts were removed in a package deal during surgery including my (lost) ovaries. If my ovaries are really just lost, and someone has them, please return them in a jar for Show-N-Tell next Tuesday.

I found from reading assorted articles and study snippets that, I now have a chance of dying earlier of all sorts of miscellaneous, hideous diseases; the list having grown exponentially with the advent of knowing of the lost ovaries. And silly me, I had only contemplated a horrific death from cancer. 

Worrying is such a waste of time. I snapped out of my cancer-worrying quickly, and though I slip in and out of self-pity mode occasionally, (not since chemotherapy) I snap out of it PDQ because I don't want to spend the time I have left, wallowing. Each moment that passes is lost, like vapor you can't put in a jar to share with friends and family. And now that I've learned the list of things I *could* die from is that much larger -- I figure I don't have enough time left on the planet to worry about that many things.