I just woke up from a three-hour nap, finally sleeping after an exhausting, frightening, and painful few days.
On Tuesday night, after a wonderful celebration for Father-in-Law's 91st birthday, my lower stomach began aching in a most dreadful way, becoming progressively worse on Wednesday. Prompted to return from work early, Yukon found an acceptable ER to visit, and we spent a few quality hours there together before the diagnosis of an ovarian cyst was made. Today I am embraced by a Vicodin-induced euphoria, hanging out at the in-law's condo while Bear is at the Zoo visiting a baby elephant with his auntie and grandma.
I am in debt for life to the incredible nursing and physician staff at Providence Milwaukee, Ore. Besides listening to and empathizing with my rising sense of panic as such tests as blood draws and CAT scans were ordered, they also congregated in my little room with Yukon and I to discuss Alaskan politics. Yukon and I were of course happy to do our part for the election effort.
For those inclined to worry; don't. I am fine, or will be as soon as the thing goes away. At least I get to read books all day with no interruptions.