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by Emily Carter
Updated: May 26, 2017
Originally Published: May 26, 2017
It all began with some discomfort on the left side of my abdomen. Occasionally, I experienced cramps or aches, which I considered to be typical after having children, especially since my menstrual cycles had become heavier and more prolonged. So, I dismissed these changes as normal.
Then one night, I was struck by a relentless bout of norovirus that resulted in non-stop vomiting. My husband rushed me to the ER for some fluids and medication to curb the nausea. Along with my abdominal discomfort, the doctors decided an ultrasound was warranted due to the burning sensation I reported.
While the ultrasound didn’t provide any definitive answers, it did reveal an incidental dermoid cyst on my ovary. Surprisingly, dermoid cysts are fairly common, accounting for about 20% of benign ovarian growths, particularly in women under 20. They are most frequently seen in women during their prime childbearing years, typically between 20 and 40.
Having known my mother went through a similar experience in her late 30s and early 40s, I immediately recognized what this meant. If your mom had them, you likely remember — dermoid cysts are nothing if not memorable.
My Little Unusual Tumor
Unlike standard ovarian cysts, which form and dissolve naturally, dermoids (a type of teratoma tumor) simply grow. The term “teratoma” is derived from the Greek word for “monster.”
You might have heard uteruses being referred to as the original 3D printers; well, ovaries are like little factories filled with immature eggs and germ cells, which can sometimes develop into all sorts of unexpected things: fat, hair, skin, even teeth or, in rare cases, eyeballs. Yes, eyeballs. Just in case hair and teeth weren’t shocking enough.
Think of it as a tiny parts factory. Remember that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where Aunt Voula discusses her twin in her neck? That was a teratoma, which is essentially a dermoid located elsewhere in the body. Unlike twins, these growths aren’t human; they’re just bizarre sacks filled with human-like parts — akin to a horror movie, but nestled in your ovary.
My mom was fascinated by her own dermoid cysts and even requested to see them after removal. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she recounted how she woke up to find her cyst displayed on a tray, complete with little teeth and a nest of red hair. Red hair! I found the entire concept utterly horrifying. My mother’s body was producing spare parts — without any babies! The old dolls she saved from her childhood took on a sinister vibe.
Fast forward to my own diagnosis. When informed I had one, it felt inevitable. I had always known the hereditary nature of these cysts and feared I was destined to become a factory for teeth and tiny wigs.
A Dash of Humor Makes It Bearable
My OB-GYN, a well-respected figure in our city, is loved by many for her charming personality and candidness. During our consultation about my cyst, she advised that it would need removal before it grew too large, as larger cysts run the risk of rupturing or twisting, which sounded quite alarming.
“Are you familiar with dermoids?” she inquired.
“Yes,” I replied, recalling my mom’s tales.
“Then you know they can contain fat, hair, and teeth?”
“Absolutely! But honestly, while it sounds creepy, I find it kind of fascinating!”
She agreed, animatedly sharing that she had saved a tooth from one of her earlier removals, keeping it in her desk drawer as a curious memento.
Since my doctor was no longer performing surgeries, she referred me to a colleague. I had an eccentric idea: I wanted to keep my cyst in a jar. This may sound strange, but I was fed up with the narratives surrounding women’s bodies, especially from male politicians. My state legislature had recently made headlines for defunding Planned Parenthood, a vital source of health services. The thought of having a cyst without access to treatment infuriated me. What if I could take my cyst to one of those all-male hearings to make a statement?
“Do you think I could keep it if the doctor removes it?” I asked.
“It’s worth asking!” she replied.
The other surgeon was mildly taken aback by my request but mentioned that while dermoid cysts are typically benign, they must send it to pathology for examination. “They’re a bit gross,” she added, but she’d do her best to return any teeth to me after the tests.
Free Olga
Despite my tendency to worry, I believe there’s almost nothing in life that shouldn’t be met with humor. I decided to name my unusual growth, opting for something alliterative. Thus, Olga the Ovary was born. As I shared my story with friends, I envisioned poor Olga, who never quite fit in. I took to Snapchat to draw her, sending texts proclaiming “FREE OLGA!” and even Googling images (not recommended unless you’re prepared for some unsettling sights).
After the surgery, my first question was, “Did they find a tooth?”
“Check the board,” my husband said, revealing a cheerful drawing of a tooth next to “Welcome, Emily.” I was ecstatic.
Weeks later, during a follow-up visit, the surgeon handed me a small biohazard bag containing a test tube with my tooth preserved in formaldehyde. She even took photos of my cyst, which I marveled at: a small fatty mass adorned with blonde hair and my precious tooth nestled inside.
If I hadn’t accidentally discovered my cyst or had access to quality healthcare, Olga could have ruptured or become infected, leading to far greater complications. While Olga and I haven’t yet made our statement, we’re prepared. For now, she remains in her bag, tucked away in my closet, but I did create a Twitter account for her to occasionally troll anti-women’s health politicians. Olga, the blonde-haired, one-toothed, no-eyed ovarian cyst, will undoubtedly have her story to tell.
Summary
In this engaging narrative, the author recounts her experience with a dermoid cyst, a common yet bizarre type of ovarian growth. Through humor and personal reflection, she shares the peculiarities of these cysts, their hereditary nature, and her desire to keep her own cyst as a statement against anti-women’s health politics. The story combines personal anecdotes with insights into women’s health, making it both informative and entertaining.