Three hours of laparoscopic examination this week revealed a constellation of renegade cells within me. Not renegade in a cancerous sense, more in a wayward schoolchild way. I look on my surgeon as a truant officer, really. Some of these rebellious endometrial cells had apparently decided they didn't appreciate the confines of my womb, and had instead decided to explore more exotic territory, loafing around on organs that I currently have far greater use for. Some had even gone so far as to create a beautifully termed chocolate cyst on my ovary, and I suspect Cadbury's will never look the same to me again.
Sore and tired, the two weeks off work which were earmarked for catching up with Masters coursework, are rapidly being consumed by sleep, and surfing youtube for amateur transplant humour.
That'll do, pig.
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