Taking the eggs out of the basket...

So it's decided. I'm yanking these babies out. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you read this first. Literally, yanking out babies. Or possible babies. I am signing up for permanent menopause at 31. All my friends' moms - let's chat about hot flashes together. Or that post menopausal ring around the middle.

Only, I'm doing it by choice. Put me in coach, I'm ready to play. Never one to do things halfway, you know.

Is it also wrong that I'm so looking forward to that little IV of heaven they'll give me before surgery? Delicious. I haven't had a good hospital procedure in a while. I miss my opportunities to get legally high.

I'm going to meet a surgeon at Northwestern in March. Probably having the procedure the end of that month. While college kids around the country will be spring breaking, I will be hanging out on my parent's couch, vaguely reminiscent of my first surgery in this drama two years ago.

Only this time, I'm doing it on my terms. I like that. I'm in charge. I'm being proactive. I'm taking the bull by the fallopian tubes. (okay, I know a BULL doesn't have fallopian tubes, excuse the mixed metaphor.)

Some people may say it's extreme, some won't understand. I will bet you if you talk to any young woman who's faced breast cancer, it doesn't seem that crazy. And I don't know a woman yet who's regretted it.

You ever see that "Friends" episode where Phoebe is convinced some old dead woman is in her body and needs to see everything? Think first season. Well, I think perhaps I'll spend the next month or so showing my ovaries everything. We'll toss out that box of tampons sitting under my bathroom sink. We'll use up the last of any birth control we'll ever use. (well, it won't me "just" me and my ovaries) We will take that "Taking charge of your fertility" book and burn it in some weird ceremony that might involve interpretive dance. We'll look up to the gods of fertility and hormones and wish them the best of luck in the future.

I'll tell my ovaries stories of this tumor named Maria. And how Maria wasn't really doing me any favors either. So I had to kick her to the curb. And my ovaries, we'll call them Natasha and Svetlana (for some reason, I'm thinking my ovaries are Eastern Block) - my ovaries will one day visit Maria in the great pathology lab in the sky.

If anyone has ideas on what else my ovaries should see before I let them go, let me know.