Hugh Grant will be slicing me open

So.. those who've been reading this blog for a while know a cyst was discovered in one of my ovaries at a regular 12 week ultrasound when I was pregnant with Roo.

Well. It is still there. I have been postponing going to the hospital, because going there means planning a surgery Yuck. I am not looking forward to it, mainly for two reasons:

1. I can't breastfed for 24 hours because of the general anesthesia. I know I can use a breast pump, and I will. I'll make sure there's enough milk in the fridge for her. But I fear it will all be screwed up. And what if I don't have to spend one night, but more? Will they let Roo be with me? Do I want her to be with me in the hospital?
2. I have an irrational fear of waking up during the surgery, but not able to move but to feel the surgery.

But I grew up and got over it, (sort of) and went and see my gyno the infamous Hugh Grant - look a like. So I went there, nicely dressed (awesome new pants, new shirt, nice hair, just one (and a half) size away from my old size, really I looked hot). Expecting just a chat about planning an ultrasound, planning a surgery. But Hugh apparently goes all the way one a first date, and within 3 minutes he let me strip down to where it was just me, my new shirt and my Miffy socks. No, not MILFy socks. Miffy. Yeah. Hot.

I'll spear you the details of what happened next.

Anyway, Hugh apparently is the expert of the hospital on removing cysts. He will try to do it next time we see each other (obviously, I'll be seeing very little) with a laparoscopic surgery. He explained what our second date will look like: he'll make a hole in my tummy to squeeze in a camera. He'll make several other little holes in my tummy to put in his instruments.

VERY romantic. No?

I left with the promise I'd call the surgery planner to pick a date.

And I will call tomorrow.

I will.

I promise.