It began with some discomfort on the left side of my abdomen. Occasionally, I would feel cramping or a dull ache, which I dismissed as a typical post-childbirth experience. After having kids, my menstrual cycles had become heavier and longer, so I didn’t think much of these symptoms.
Then one evening, I was struck by a relentless case of norovirus that led to severe vomiting. My husband rushed me to the emergency room for fluids and anti-nausea medication. While there, I mentioned a burning sensation in my abdomen, prompting the doctors to recommend an ultrasound.
The ultrasound didn’t reveal any significant issues but did unexpectedly identify a dermoid cyst on my ovary. Dermoid cysts are not overly rare; they represent around 20% of benign ovarian growths and are the most prevalent type found in women under 20. However, they are particularly common during the prime childbearing years, typically between the ages of 20 and 40.
Having heard about these cysts from my mother, who had several in her late 30s and early 40s before undergoing a hysterectomy, I immediately recognized what I was dealing with. If your mother has had them, you’d likely remember too. Dermoid cysts are definitely memorable.
The Curious Case of My Cyst
Unlike standard ovarian cysts that form to help release an egg and then dissolve, dermoid cysts—actually a type of teratoma tumor—simply continue to grow. The term “teratoma” comes from the Greek word for “monster.”
You know how some say that the uterus is like a 3D printer? Ovaries are similar little factories, filled with immature eggs and germ cells that can develop into various tissues. In some individuals, these cells can become unruly and start forming “stuff” like fat, hair, skin, and even, in rare cases, teeth or even eyeballs. Yes, eyeballs. Just to add to the strangeness.
Remember that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where Aunt Voula discusses having a twin in her neck? That’s a teratoma, which is just a dermoid located in a different area of the body. But unlike twins, these cysts are not actual people; they are merely sacks filled with bizarre human-like parts—like something out of a horror movie.
I recall my mother describing her own experience with fascination, sharing how she had asked her OB-GYN to show her the cyst after it was removed. She, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, recounted with amusement, “When I woke up, there it was, on a tray. He had opened it up, and there were lots of little teeth and a clump of red hair.” Red hair. Yikes!
Horrified at the thought, I couldn’t shake the image of my mother’s body producing spare parts without the babies. Each time I passed by the childhood dolls she kept in her bedroom, I imagined them as little evil part-babies.
Fast forward to my own diagnosis. Upon learning I had a dermoid cyst, I thought, “Of course I do.” I had always been aware of the hereditary aspect, so it seemed logical that I might inherit this peculiar trait.
Humor in the Unusual
My OB-GYN, Dr. Alice, is somewhat of a local legend—everyone loves her. With a voice reminiscent of a cheeky Mary Poppins, she’s known for her candid discussions. When we sat down to chat about my cyst, she explained that it needed to be removed before it grew too large, as that could lead to it rupturing or twisting, which sounded very unpleasant.
“So, do you know about dermoids?” she asked.
“Yes, my mother had them,” I replied.
“Then you’re aware they can contain fat, hair, and teeth?” she continued.
“Yes! But honestly, I think it’s kind of fascinating!” I admitted.
Dr. Alice agreed, excitedly revealing that she had once kept a tooth from one of the first dermoids she removed. “I have a human tooth in my desk drawer,” she proudly stated.
Due to her semi-retirement, Dr. Alice referred me to one of her colleagues for the surgery. In a moment of mischief, I expressed a desire to keep my cyst in a jar. “If the doctor removes it, do you think she will let me keep it?” I asked.
“It’s worth asking!” she encouraged.
The new surgeon seemed taken aback by my request but explained that even benign cysts must be sent to pathology for examination. “Besides,” she noted, “they’re kind of gross.” However, she promised to try and get a tooth back to me if there was one.
Freeing Olga
Though I’m typically a worrier, I find humor is often the best way to cope. In a conversation with my sister, I decided I needed to give my cyst a name. “It should be alliterative,” I decided, and so “Olga the Ovary” was born. In the weeks leading up to the surgery, I shared my story with friends and even created silly drawings of Olga. I playfully declared, “FREE OLGA!” and sent out texts with that phrase.
After the surgery, my first question upon waking was, “Did they find a tooth?”
“Look at the board,” my husband replied. On the whiteboard, he had drawn a little happy tooth.
A couple of weeks later, I returned to see the surgeon for a follow-up, and to my surprise, she handed me a biohazard bag containing a test tube. Inside was my tooth, floating in formaldehyde. She also shared that she had taken photos of my cyst, which I viewed with a mix of fascination and horror.
Had I not been diagnosed by accident, had I not received proper healthcare, Olga could have caused serious complications. While we haven’t yet testified together, she is safely tucked away in my closet, awaiting her moment. I even created a Twitter account for her, ready to troll anti-women’s health politicians. Olga, the one-toothed ovarian cyst, will share her story, no matter what.
For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on infertility. If you’re interested in further insights, consider reading about the home insemination kit or check out Cryobaby for authoritative information.
In summary, dermoid cysts, while common, can be bizarre and fascinating. They remind us of the unexpected quirks of our bodies, and even in the face of something strange, humor and awareness can help us navigate our health journeys.