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by Sara Thompson
Updated: May 26, 2023
Originally Published: May 26, 2023
It all began with discomfort on the left side of my abdomen. Occasionally, I would experience cramping or dull aches, which I assumed were normal after having kids. My menstrual cycles had become heavier and more prolonged, so I didn’t think much of these changes.
Then one evening, I was hit hard by a lingering bout of norovirus, making me unable to keep anything down. My husband rushed me to the ER for hydration and anti-nausea medications. While there, I mentioned a burning sensation in my abdomen, prompting the doctors to suggest an ultrasound.
The ultrasound didn’t reveal anything definitive, but it did uncover a dermoid cyst on my ovary. Although they might sound alarming, these cysts are relatively common, making up about 20% of all benign ovarian growths and being particularly prevalent among women under 20. However, they most often present during prime childbearing years, specifically between ages 20 and 40.
I was familiar with them; my aunt had similar experiences in her late thirties and early forties before undergoing a hysterectomy. If your family has had them, you’ll likely remember too, given how bizarre dermoid cysts truly are.
The Unusual Growths
Unlike standard ovarian cysts that form and dissolve with the menstrual cycle, dermoid cysts — classified as teratomas — simply continue to grow. The term “teratoma” originates from the Greek word for “monster.”
Ovaries function like mini factories filled with immature eggs and germ cells, which can sometimes lead to these building blocks going awry and developing into unexpected materials—fat, hair, skin, and even teeth. Yes, you read that right: teeth. (Just in case the hair and fat weren’t peculiar enough.)
In a way, it’s like a bizarre assembly line right in your body. It reminds me of a scene from a movie where a character discusses having an unexpected twin in a strange place. In this case, dermoids aren’t twins at all; they’re just odd sacs filled with real human parts—a bit like a horror film but happening internally.
My aunt once shared her experience with a dermoid cyst. She was both horrified and fascinated after her doctor showed it to her post-removal. “When I woke up, there it was, on a tray. He had opened it up, and there were little teeth and a tuft of hair,” she recounted. I found the thought utterly repulsive — my family’s bodies were producing spare parts without the babies to go along with them!
Fast forward to my own diagnosis. When I learned I had a dermoid cyst, it felt almost inevitable. Knowing they could be hereditary made the possibility of becoming a human factory of oddities rather real.
Finding Humor in the Situation
My OB-GYN is quite well-known in our community; she’s beloved and has a warm, lively demeanor. When I met with her about my situation, she explained the need to remove the cyst before it grew too large, as that could cause complications such as rupture or torsion.
She asked, “Are you aware of what dermoids can contain?”
“Yes,” I replied, “my aunt had them.”
“Then you know they can have hair, fat, and even teeth?”
“Yes! It’s horrifying, yet strangely fascinating!”
She nodded with enthusiasm. “I once saved a tooth from a dermoid I removed. I have a human memento in my desk.”
Since she was semi-retired, she referred me to a colleague for the surgery. At that moment, I had a quirky idea: I wanted to keep my cyst in a jar!
Hear me out; I’m not usually one for gruesome things, but I was tired of politicians regulating women’s healthcare decisions. The thought of taking my cyst to a legislative hearing felt like a powerful statement.
“Do you think the doctor would let me keep it?” I asked.
“It’s worth asking,” she said with a grin.
The other doctor was caught off guard by my request but said they needed to send the cyst to pathology for safety. “Besides,” she added, “they can be pretty gross.” However, if there was a tooth, she would do her best to return it to me after the procedure.
A Name for the Cyst
Despite my worries, I believed that humor could make anything more bearable. I decided to name my cyst. “It needs an alliterative name,” I mused. Thus, Olga the Ovary was born. As I shared my story with friends, I could picture Olga, the odd little growth with her unique attributes. I even created Snapchat drawings of her and sent out texts proclaiming, “FREE OLGA!”
After the surgery, my first question was, “Did they find a tooth?”
“Look at the board,” my husband replied.
On the whiteboard, he had drawn a cheerful tooth beside “Welcome, Sara!” I was ecstatic.
A couple of weeks later, when I returned for a follow-up, the surgeon handed me a small biohazard bag containing a test tube. Inside floated my tooth, preserved in formaldehyde. She even took photos of my cyst, which I marveled at— my little fatty cyst lined with a tuft of hair, cradling the tooth like a hidden treasure.
Without my accidental diagnosis and access to quality healthcare, Olga could have led to serious complications. Although Olga and I haven’t yet made our legislative appearance, I have plans. For now, Olga is tucked safely in a bag in my closet, and I’ve even created a Twitter account for her to engage with anti-women’s health politicians. Olga, the uniquely charming cyst, will have her story told, no matter what.
This article was originally published on May 26, 2023.
Summary
Dermoid cysts, while relatively common, can be quite peculiar, containing unexpected materials like hair and teeth. Sara Thompson shares her personal experience, highlighting the uniqueness of these growths and the importance of healthcare access. With a humorous touch, she anthropomorphizes her cyst as “Olga” and advocates for women’s healthcare rights, reminding us that even bizarre medical experiences can inspire empowerment and laughter.