my uncle wrote a very hopeful letter but I think I gleaned from the subtext that he's terrified. I hope I'm reading too much into it- my emotions are very close to the surface today on account of hormones.

Laga, health~ma to your aunt. Do they know it's a tumor? Could it just be a cyst?

My uncle says they discovered a tumor through ultrasound. I'm not sure if it might turn out to be a cyst. He says they are trying to determine if it is ovarian cancer.

I ask because I had a cyst and they weren't sure exactly what kind it was for months (this was the series of ultrasounds that I was just ranting about in Natter). They were pretty sure it wasn't cancerous, but, until I was operated on (by which time the cyst was 10 cm in diameter) they couldn't say it was benign. Anyway, the whole thing was pretty scary, but you should know there are a whole range of possibilities.

That is good to hear. Uncle might have typed "tumor" when he means "unidentified mass".

Understandable. I knew something was wrong (despite my ob/gyn thinking it was all in my mind) and I still went batshit crazy paranoid when it was confirmed, even though the prognosis was fairly optimistic.

Distractions from the past for Laga:

"I hanker for a hunk of cheese!"

Dungeons & Dragons, come to life!

Health~ma to your aunt, Laga!

Much ~ma to your aunt, Laga. Vibing hard for benign.

Matilda has had a Rough Morning. Hec and Emmett left for Emmett's baseball game at quarter to nine, and Hec said, "Oh, you two can just stay home," thinking it'd be all relaxed and easy and much nicer than getting dressed and assembling the giant diaper bag of supplies and wrestling a screaming Matilda into the car seat.

But, as it turned out, she just screamed and sobbed inconsolably for a long, long time over Emmett leaving, until she was too tired to play or be read to but too wound up to sleep; she clung and ate and clung some more; and, finally, mostly asleep, she laid her face down against my arm and bit me very hard. She reacted to my "OW! NO! No biting!" with a flood of remorseful tears (they were remorseful, really; you could hear the difference), and, after I petted her face and kissed her and told her I still loved her, I just didn't want her to bite, she cried herself to sleep, finally, finally.

It's not too early for a hot shower and a cold beer, is it?