Earth Quakes and Belly Aches

So, I'm watching the news yesterday, and they are showing lovely seismographs to scare the pee out of you in regards to our resident volcanoe here in the Northwest. Apparently, Miss Helen gets irritable once daily, but that's about par for the course, and they always stay below 1.0 on the Richter. Weeellll, our newscasters dropped the lovely news that over 850 fucking shakers hit below the crater yesterday. I'd say that's pretty goggamn significant. Then they parade out some dweeby seismologist who tells eeryone to stay calm and blathers on about heavy rains and expanding water beneath the surface. Hmmm...hey smartass, since we live in SEATTLE, which getrs a shitload of rain every year, why isn't this an annual occurance? Hmm? Didn't think you'd answer that one, four eyes, I'm going to go update my renters insurance and make sure I know where all my proper exits are (and quite possibly go find a large object to hide under until someone tells me otherwise).
NEWSFLASH FOR TODAY...okay, we weren't telling you the whole truth, Mr. Scientist says. Kinda figured that, pinhead, so what's up? Oh, we should expect an eruption or "Other major event"...MMmmm-hmmmm. God, I hate people with pocket protectors. *sigh* I have a feeling we'll get a nice little steam explosion to watch, possible ash outfall, and perhaps another earthquake. I will observe my cats and report my findings of any erratic behavior....wait, my cats are always erratic...shit.

In more personal news...who wants to hear about my reproductive organs? Well, then sit down kiddies, it's time for Momma Hood to do a little sharing. For those not in the know, way back in 1999 I got to have my first surgery, necessitated by a very large ovarian cyst on my right side. Dom actually met me two days before the slicing date, when I was hopped up on Vicadin due to the nausea inducing pain those little fuckers cause when they grow. Medical lesson: Your average female ovary is the size of a medium kalamata olive. When a cyst, like the ones I tend to cultivate, forms on the side, that olive can have a nice little siamese twin attached to it. My first present from hell was the size of a golfball when removed. Since I was so young at the time, a precious 20, I was told it was a freak occurance, rest assured they wouldn't return. Fast forward 5 years, and the collective lying sacks of shit we like to call doctors have had to remove two more, while missing two that ruptured in the most excruciating pair of experiences I've ever lived through. yes, children, it was worse than childbirth to have those puppies go pop down under. I've also had the lovely experience of adding to my health complications with a garden variety dysfunction called Cervical Dysplasia, which is nicey doc talk for precancerous cells. Back on the table I went, and all was once again "right" in my reproductive system (yeah, right, then we add childbirth to that fucked up mix).
The last rupture was in April, and it was a harrowing experience to say the least. I was home alone with Anthony, and suddenly flat on the floor gripping my side in blinding pain as I rationalized not calling 911 because no one would watch Anthony. I blathered about it much earlier in my blog, I think back in July.
So, why am I giving you this descriptive personal medical history lesson? Because I've had a slow building pain on my left side since yesterday. I've been through this enough times to rattle off the impending symptoms of an ovarian cyst like a medical referrence book. Fast blinding pain = cyst in the process of rupturing. Call 911, get shots of demoral and a bottle of percocet, they run lots of tests to make sure I didn't hemmorage. Slow building pain = Mega-cyst forming, get to the doc pronto, sit through painful prodding and ultrasounds, get slapped back on the operating table and no walking for a week, lots more pretty pills that make me see colours and drool in a corner.
Am I scared? Yes, but I've been through this before. Am I upset? Fuck yes, this shit gets old real fast, living in my own personal goddamn nightmare. I play beat the clock with the mind-numbing pain and possible internal damage of a rupture, only to get the joy of surgery, and walking like a shuffling little old lady for a week because they slice right through the muscle wall in your abdomen. Do they have an answer after all these years for why God chose me to be his personal voodoo doll of reproductive fun? Nope. Fucking doctors.