Pop. Through fascia. Pop. Through peritoneum. Air hissing out through the trochar in the belly button. Gratifying glide of steel as the laparoscope slides into the abdomen.
Then the cathedral lays out before you, the roof an intricate pattern of vessels. Miles of tender pink bowel, adorned with glistening golden yellow pillows of fat blobs. With a twirl of the camera the smooth moist liver edge slides into view reflecting the light, taut gall bladder cozy within its shapely lobes.
Then the pelvis, the pulpit of the cathedral. The bowel is pushed and pulled out of the way. Pesky sigmoid eternally and annoyingly unattachably in the way. Uterus gleaming into full view as it is tenderly excavated from below the bowel. On the right a spectacular contorted cyst. Triple twisting around its pedicle is the right ovary, dusky in colour and the size of the uterus itself.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Oops, wrong way. Flop. Flop. Flop. My ovary flipping skills in the cathedral are neither smooth nor nimble. And the twisted mass is eventually revived of some milky pinkness under the ever patient eyes of my attending.
Tiny scissors snip snip snip through the overlying stroma exposing the oozing speckled blood on the cyst. We decide to drain the cyst before fully freeing it from its encasement in the ovary.
Snip. Ooooooooooooooooooze. Slrurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp.
Creamy thick yellow custard pouring forth, forming puddles of floating fat on the mini-pools of watery blood around the peritoneum of the cathedral floor. It looks deliciously like someone is squirting out the insides of a dough nut. I insert the suction into the source of the pastry filling and pull out globs of black hair. Deliciousness immediately turns to visceral disgust to giggling. Cutting the cyst open for drainage reveals a perfectly formed incisor tooth.
Chewy hairball pudding.
The human body is spectacularly uniquely viscerally beautifully disgustingly amazing. Not gonna lie, dermoid cysts are kinda gross. The divine and the gritty sleep together.
