I get by with a little help from my friends

Thank you to everyone for their prayers and well-wishes. I am home and resting comfortably. The only sources of irritation during my ordeal have been that Goldie was reluctant to give up the sunny spot on the patio chaise lounge, and there was some minor drama surrounding the pain medications I was given. My career as a habitual narcotic drug user was cut short, and I will be forced to live the rest of my life as a plain ole grande non-fat vanilla latte addict.  C'est la vie!

Cuts like a knife...and it don't feel right

I have a mass on my left ovary. I'm having surgery tomorrow to find out what it is. Ironically, according to the ultrasound report my right ovary is completely normal. But nothing feels normal anymore. I have never felt so alone in my life.

It all started back in September when I started having a searing pain in my pelvis. It was like there was a red hot jawbreaker trapped in the crook of my thigh. A trip to the urgent care provided medicine for a yeast infection. A trip to the ob/gyn provided medicine for a bladder infection. My pain subsided -- but then came back with a fury after I had worked an eighteen hour shift on Election Day. I felt like I had a gunshot wound and spent two days in bed. I went back to urgent care. The nice doctor told me he thought it was a cyst and ordered an ultrasound. He told me to follow up with my ob/gyn. That's when I learned about the mass.

"It's just a cyst," I said positively.

"It's solid. Cysts are fluid-filled. It's not normal," said Dr. Kittur (which sounds like couture.) "It has to come out."

"But I feel much better now," I pleaded. "Can I just keep it?"

"Sure. We can wait. Do another ultrasound...and then we'll do the surgery in two months."

Getting out of the surgery was not an option...nor was getting out of spending the night in the hospital. I begged, cried and pleaded.

"I've never been in the hospital!"

"Yes, you have," Dr. Kittur responded. "Unless you were born at home, you just don't remember it."

Just my luck, I've managed to find the only doctor in the Santa Clarita Valley with a wicked, dry sense of humor. Just the kind of sense of humor that I usually find irresistible in men. Yessiree, I've met my match in Dr. Kittur, who, by the sound of it should look like Project Runway's Tim Gunn, but instead actually looks like combination of Statler and Waldorf -- the two muppets who used to argue in the balcony during The Muppet Show.


My age and health history make me a high risk candidate for ovarian cancer. In case you didn't know, ovarian cancer patients rarely have a good prognosis. I pointed this out to Dr. Kittur.

"Well, you're at high risk for uterine cancer too," he responded.

Ah yes! Wicked, wicked dry.

My closest friends and family seem overwhelmed with the news. They don't know what to do for me. The handsomest man alive has shouldered the burden of having to spend time with me in the days before the surgery. I've had my moments. He's been as solid as a rock. What else would you expect from the handsomest man alive?

I've also been given a big assist from the Xanax that was given to me by Dr. Kittur. It has helped. A lot. As I was leaving the office with the golden prescription in my hand that day, I heard him dictating his notes in his office.

"Patient has an anxious personality..." he said. I know I should've been insulted, instead all I could think was how that was THE understatement of the year.

I debated about whether or not to blog about my left ovary. It isn't what this blog was supposed to be about -- I was hoping to celebrate middle age. But life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. And so as much as I can, with as much bravery as I can muster -- I will try to continue to share here.

Here's what you can do. I really need to know that there are people reading this blog. I need comments and well-wishes to feel less alone. Of course, I need your prayers, but I'd also love it if someone could call me on the phone and discuss last night's episode of The Big Bang Theory. And please keep telling me that it's going to be okay, even if it's not going to be okay, because my definition of okay may never be the same again.

Daily Hot Flash

Photographic proof that Santa got my Christmas wish list. I wonder if George is on the nice list or the naughty list? Yeah. That's what I'm thinkin'. I've just gotta few articles of interest today. It's Monday, so I'm not quite up to speed.

• "Only one thing in the world could've dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window."

• This is Betty's favorite television viewing night of the year. Mark your calendars. This year's Kennedy Center Honors is broadcast on Dec. 30. Oh, and here's everyone looking all glammed up at the event this past weekend.

• Nina Foch was my acting teaching when I was at USC Film School. I was intimidated by her because I remembered her so distinctly in "An American in Paris." She never took a shine to me mostly I think because I didn't have any self-confidence -- something that she oozed from every pore. She was great at breaking down a scene, and making it make sense for an actor. A true actor's actor. The other thing she taught me was that if you want to seem sexy to a man then you should act as if you have secret. It will make you seem irresistible. I have attempted to use that technique on numerous occasions, but with little success. Nina was a bright light, and the world will be a little dimmer without her.

• Here's the top 20 trends in fashion in 2008...I doubt I hit one of them. And you?

• And they call it puppy love...home sweet home.