Have I ever mentioned how much I hate doctors?  Probably not. 

It all started with an overnight drive from Providence to Pennsylvania in June.  My friend decided that driving all through the night was a good idea, then proceeded to sleep during the entire journey, forcing me to either drive or listen to her snore.  I decided to drive. 

Sometime during the drive, a sharp stabbing pain in my stomach area caused me to buckle over in pain.  I pulled off at the next rest stop, panicking as I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.  I tried to wake up the sleeping giant but it wasn't happened so I decided that if I was going to die from some random stomach issue (yes, it -was- that bad), I'd rather be closer to home (and, by definition, my mom). 

So I kept driving, all the while holding onto my side, which seemed to help, and cursing my friend for sleeping through my agony.  When I got home and saw my mom, I promptly burst into tears, which I'm sure rather freaked her out.  Two days later, I went to see my doctor and I said, "I think there's something wrong with my ovary" as, for some reason, I had decided that was the problem.  Not only did my doctor not agree with me, she practically laughed me out of her office.  Yes, really. 

I was way pissed and hella upset, but I thought "She's the doctor here" so I decided to take her suggestion and wait it out.  After three days of heavy painkillers, the pain went away, but it's been back intermittently ever since.  Some days are worse than others:  some days I don't get out of bed, and I've even called off work because of it, and others are a minor annoyance.  It started as an occasional thing, then started happening more and more often until now, when it's a constant thing. 

Since my doctor wasn't helpful, I decided to figure out the problem myself.  At first I thought it might be an ulcer, since the symptoms seemed to match.  So I quit drink coffee for a whole freaking month, and let me tell you, that was hell. Quitting smoking cigarettes was a walk in the park compared to ditching the daily cup of Joe.  I figured 30 days would be enough to see if it helped (I also laid off spaghetti sauce and salsa, my two primary food groups). 

When it didn't help, I finally caved and made another appointment with a different doctor.  This doctor suggested heartburn and gave me a prescription to Zantac.  I thought this was ridiculous, but, again, putting my trust in the medical profession, I gave it two weeks before I called and insisted on an appointment with a "real" doctor.  (I'd seen a Nurse Practioner first). 

Since then, I've had 10 vials of blood drawn out of me for a series of tests, pissed in a cup, pissed in a jug for 24 hours, endured a colposcopy, had a chest x-ray and a CAT scan over the last four months  -- the result?  Turns out I have a cyst on my ovary and I'm scheduled tomorrow morning for a lovely procedure called a Trans-Vaginal Ultrasound.  Yeah, you read that right.  I'll leave the details to your vivid imagination. 

Awesome, right?  I'm so pissed since I'd mentioned several times that I thought it was related to my ovaries, but no one wanted to believe that I, the patient, might have an idea what the problem was.  So I endured all these tests, not to mention four months of pain, just so the doctors could reach the same conclusion.  Whatever!