My ovaries are greedy little bitches.
When I had my ultrasound to check exactly how poly cystic they were, my doctor let me know that my uterus was fine. Good, right? It will be a nice healthy home for a little baby, if I can ever get a baby in there. I never really thought my uterus was the problem anyway, I’ve known for quite a while that my ovaries are holding out on me. The doc’s observation did remind me of a little picture I made to illustrate my condition for a couple of my co-workers on “one of those days,” when I just felt like the thin strand of patience I had left was going to snap.
This was months and months ago… before I had confirmation that my uterus had things under control.
Well, good job Ol’ Utes, I knew you could do it! Wait, did I just give my uterus the grossest nickname ever? Ol’ Utes? That sounds like a grizzly, cantankerous failed miner using my fallopian tubes to prospect for eggs, only to come up empty handed because my dastardly cysts are holding them hostage in them-thar ovaries.
How about Lil Utey? Like a fresh, fun, friendly little lady that is waiting patiently for her friends to show up at the cafe for brunch. Checking tweets on her iPhone “@LilUtey sorry babes traffic jam, cysts everywhere! Hope 2 B there soon #eggproblems”
…now even the Zooey Deschanel version is seeming creepy. No more uterus nicknames, that was a bad idea.