Brilliant news, weebirdie! Savour the relief and enjoy your holiday. The most painful part for me was post-op trapped wind!
Justuse and Trilateral - I was so calm on the surface it was unreal. Totally fingers in my ears and 'la,la,la I can't hear you'. But my body was telling a different story, with the loss of appetite and adrenalin surges on waking.
My 'cyst' weighed more than 2 kilos and was taking up most of my abdomen. No pain, no bleeding - just a pregnant profile.
I googled 'cyst', but didn't get further than '95% of ovarian cysts are harmless'. That was good enough for me. I really didn't want to know. My poor daughter spent hours online and discounted what I turned out to have because it said 'younger women' and 'not serious'!
We're v close, but we had these ridiculously chirpy conversations on the phone, both of us pretending it was just routine, NICE guidelines at my age, to have a Cat and an MRI and a biopsy - nothing to worry about, really. We were both bending over backwards not to say anything that would upset the other one.
Meanwhile, she was planning my funeral and I was making a list of 'Reasons to be Cheerful...I have ovarian cancer'. (All that money we'd save on care home fees. Never having to cook another Xmas turkey.)
I did open up a bit more to 2 old friends, daily emails. Both too far away to meet up - one works at the big cancer hospital in NYC - it was he who packed me off to the GP for anxiety meds - and lots of black humour. Could I carry off a Chrissie Hynde wig at my age? Probably not.
My GP said to me 'It's v good that you're feeling so well' and I held on to that, all through the nasty bit in the middle, when someone at my local hospital actually told me on the phone, 'No surgery, just chemo'. (I kept quiet about that.) Until finally I saw my lovely Gynae-onc at the teaching hospital. The first thing he said was, 'Well, I think it's benign and will be operating in 13 days' time.' That is truly one of the highlights of my life, right up there with childbirth. I stood on Westminster bridge, traffic thundering past, Big Ben bonging in the background and rang my daughter.
It's different for me in that I don't have a partner and my dcs are grown up and I'm used to doing things by myself. Denial is my middle name. I only cry over sad films. To sum up, I got through by living in a bubble. And the box set of Breaking Bad. Two hours guaranteed oblivion every evening. I had a binge the day before surgery and saved the last episode for the day I came home from hospital.
We're all so different. Don't know if any of this rings a bell. Fingers crossed you'll end up with as happy a result as I did. 