I bet that many of us not in the profession have random medical terms floating in our heads. I can tell an adipo from an adreno and I’d prefer an oscopy over an ectomy any day. I know medical colors too, like cyano, cirrh, and xanth. I remember ovo-, ovi-, ov-. But I didn’t know about oo (egg, ovum) or ooph (ovary, egg-bearing.) Ooph. Oeuf.
Where this is going is that I had an oophorectomy last week. When I first found out I needed one, I thought it sounded kind of fun and cartoony, like I was going to have a small Dr. Suess creature removed from my abdomen. It was less fun that that, but pretty easy as surgeries go.
My friend Donna emailed me, “I could cook you dinner like I'm making for my family tonight but I wonder if you really want a tuna fish sandwich with sweet pickles?” That sounded more like a dish to offer someone who was pregnant. I declined. This recovery is distinctly in the other direction.
I’m fine; please don't bring food, unless they are Rice Krispy Treats made with real Rice Krispies and fresh marshmallows. I like them just-made, butter never margarine, and a little warm, so please plan the baking and driving carefully, especially with all this snow.
1 year ago