‘Um…’ I pause. ‘No. Thank you, but no. You should go. Home. I’ve already wasted so much of your time. I’ll get a cab home,’ I say, and turn quickly, before I regret saying it or he sees how scared I am.

13

13

I have a ruptured ovarian cyst.

A cyst has been growing on my ovaries and it must have burst during the run, and that’s what the pain was. They examined my ovaries on ultrasound, saw the fluid from the ruptured cyst in my pelvis, and now they’re giving me painkillers. They’ll observe me a bit longer before sending me home.

‘Ruptured cysts are fairly common, you’ll be fine, the pain might take a few days to go away. We’ll give you a referral for a follow-up ultrasound appointment to check it’s healed in a few weeks and you should see your GP,’ a tired and harried-looking doctor says.

‘Okay’, I say, nodding, processing. I was imagining it would be like Grey’s Anatomy, which I binge-watched all last year late at night when I couldn’t sleep from exam stress, and watching people with bigger problems than mine felt soothing. And now I’m waiting for a bunch of attractive young interns to come and crowd around my bed, and maybe we will flirt, or at least, they would flirt among themselves and then loop me in on all the interpersonal drama.

Instead, my doctor leaves, and it takes me a full minute to realise, that’s it. She’s not coming back. I have so many questions, I didn’t know my window for questions was so small. Can I still have kids? Is this a sign of anything else? Will there be more? What does it mean in a bigger-picture sense? Can I still go running? Will it affect my period? Why did it happen? What do I do if I feel that pain again? Could it have been caused by the time I accidentally left a tampon in for twenty-four hours and then remembered and spent all night googling toxic-shocksyndrome symptoms?

I call Mum.

‘Mum?’

‘Honey, how are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I say automatically.

‘I’m having such a lovely time and Tricia and I went to the cutest shop today—’

‘Mum, wait. I’m not good.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m at the hospital. But I’m fine! I mean, not the best I’ve ever been. But it’s not an emergency. Well, technically I did go to the emergency room. But it wasn’t an emergency in the traditional sense. I didn’t have a heart attack. Or a baby.’

‘What!!’

‘I had bad pain and they did an ultrasound and it’s a ruptured ovarian cyst.’

‘Oh my god. Why didn’t you call me earlier?’

‘I’m okay! I feel good now. A little groggy. They’ve given me meds for the pain.’

‘Who’s with you? Is anyone with you?’