As my wonderfully supportive tweet friends now know I have a fairly big ovarian cyst that requries removal. It was discovered by accident when I went to the doctor for something else (a bladder infection) and she did a routine exam of my abdomen. This was a week or so ago.

At first she frightened me by asking if there was any chance I could be 16-18 weeks pregnant. Answer: No. Phew. (She checked for a heartbeat anyway). So I bit the bullet and took her advice to go for an ultrasound. Yep, apparently there it is weighing up to two kilos and measuring approximately 14x10x16 centimetres. So now I have a pleasant letter of referral for a gynacologist, a slip for a blood test and the relief of knowing I just paid my MBF.

That’s not what is weird.

Looking back over the past year or so I have put on some weight. Last year, two students asked me if I was pregnant. While most offended (surely I didn’t look that fat!). I was still fitting into my size 12-14 clothes. I ignored the essence of the question. My grandmother came to watch a choir concert and kindly told my mother that I needed to go on a diet. Clearly, my waistline was embarrassing her and preventing her from boasting to her friends at the retirement village about her granddaughter who was playing the piano. Anyway, this year I have actually lost 6 kilos since May through exercise and healthy eating. I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself at getting back under 70 kilos. Then I took up the offer of one of my students who reads colours and tarot cards. The reading was lots of fun except for the fact that she said my female reproductive organs had popped up (as it were) three times so I should go and get checked out. Not putting too much store in such things, I blithely ignored this advice until forced to go the doctor last week for the aforementioned infection.

Ignore the cards at your peril people. Ignore the cards at your peril.