It all began with some discomfort on the left side of my abdomen. Occasionally, I felt cramping or an ache, which I assumed was part and parcel of the changes that followed childbirth—my periods had become heavier and more prolonged, so I didn’t think much of it. However, when I contracted a relentless bout of norovirus and couldn’t stop vomiting, my husband rushed me to the ER for fluids and anti-nausea medication. Along with my other complaints, I mentioned a burning sensation in my abdomen, prompting the doctors to recommend an ultrasound.
The ultrasound didn’t reveal any alarming issues but did inadvertently identify a dermoid cyst on my ovary. Dermoid cysts are not extremely rare; they account for about 20% of all benign ovarian growths and are the most prevalent type found in women under 20. However, they commonly appear between the ages of 20 and 40, during peak childbearing years.
I instinctively recognized what it was because my aunt had dealt with them in her late 30s and early 40s before undergoing a hysterectomy. If you’ve had a family member with them, you probably remember the stories. Dermoid cysts are somewhat unforgettable.
The Odd Little Tumor
Unlike typical ovarian cysts that form during ovulation and disappear on their own, dermoid cysts—actually a type of teratoma tumor—simply grow. The term “teratoma” is derived from the Greek word for “monster.”
Much like some people refer to wombs as the original 3D printers, ovaries are remarkable organs filled with immature eggs and germ cells, the fundamental components of human tissue. In certain individuals, these building blocks can misbehave, leading to the formation of “stuff”—fat, hair, skin, even tiny teeth, and in rare instances, eyeballs. Yes, you read that right. (As if the hair and teeth weren’t already unsettling.)
Think of it as a peculiar little factory. You may remember a scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding where a character mentions having a twin in her neck; that’s a teratoma, which is essentially a dermoid located elsewhere in the body. But unlike twins, these aren’t human; they are simply sacks filled with bizarre human-like components—think of it like a horror movie prop that somehow grew in your ovary.
I recall my aunt’s fascination with her cysts; she even asked her OB-GYN to show her the removed ones. With a mix of humor and horror, she recounted waking up to see her cyst displayed on a tablet, complete with tiny teeth and a tuft of red hair. Red hair! The idea of her body producing spare baby parts was absolutely chilling.
Fast forward to my own diagnosis: when I learned I had a dermoid cyst, I instantly thought of my family history. I had always known they could be hereditary, and the possibility of becoming a factory for oddities like teeth and hair didn’t escape me.
Finding Humor in the Absurd
My OB-GYN, Dr. Parker, is a well-respected figure in our city. Many patients rave about her, and her vibrant personality, which resembles a cheekier version of Mary Poppins, certainly helps. During our consultation about my unusual ovarian situation, she explained that it would be necessary to remove the cyst before it grew too large. If dermoid cysts reach a considerable size, they risk rupturing or twisting, which could lead to serious complications.
“So, are you familiar with dermoids?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “My aunt had them.”
“So you’re aware they can contain fat, hair, and teeth?” she continued.
“Yes! I remember my aunt’s stories and found them horrifying, but I also think it’s kind of fascinating!”
Her enthusiasm mirrored mine. “They really are! In fact, I saved a tooth from one of the first ones I removed. I keep it in my desk drawer.”
Since Dr. Parker was semi-retired and not performing surgeries anymore, she referred me to a colleague for the operation. Suddenly, a whimsical idea struck me: I wanted to keep my cyst in a jar! Hear me out—I’m tired of male politicians dictating what women can or cannot do with their bodies. With my state legislature working to defund essential services, like Planned Parenthood, the notion of having a dermoid cyst and not access to treatment infuriates me. What if I could take Olga, my cyst, to legislative hearings? Wouldn’t that make a powerful statement?
“Do you think the doctor would let me keep it?” I asked.
“It’s worth a try,” she chuckled.
The other doctor was taken aback by my request but explained that while dermoid cysts are typically benign, they must be sent to pathology for testing. “They can be a bit gross,” she added, “but if there’s a tooth, I’ll do my best to get it back to you.”
Liberate Olga!
Though I’m a natural worrier, I believe humor can lighten almost any situation. While chatting with my sister, I decided my cyst needed a name—something alliterative. Thus, Olga the Ovary was born. As I shared my story with friends, I conjured up a vivid image of Olga, the misunderstood cyst. I even created a Snapchat story featuring her and sent out texts proclaiming “FREE OLGA!” I found some images online (but be warned: only look if you have a strong stomach) and imagined Olga giving her testimony. Sometimes, heroes show up in the most unexpected forms.
When I awoke after the surgery, my first question was, “Did they find a tooth?”
“Look at the board,” my husband said.
On the whiteboard in my room was a cheerful “Welcome, Emily,” alongside a hand-drawn tooth. I was overjoyed.
A couple of weeks later, during a follow-up visit with the surgeon, she presented me with a small biohazard bag containing a test tube filled with formaldehyde. Inside floated my tooth.
She also revealed that she had taken photos of my cyst, which I excitedly viewed—there it was, my little fatty cyst with a nest of blonde hair and my tooth resting snugly inside.
Had I not stumbled upon this diagnosis and received proper medical care, Olga could have ruptured or twisted, leading to far more severe complications. For now, Olga remains safely tucked away in her bag at the back of my closet, awaiting her moment to shine. In the meantime, I’ve even set up a Twitter account for her to occasionally troll politicians who undermine women’s health. Olga, the blonde-haired, one-toothed ovarian cyst, will undoubtedly have a story to tell.
In summary, dermoid cysts, while common, are indeed strange and can lead to fascinating—if not unsettling—stories. With the right healthcare and support, they can be managed effectively. For more information on related topics, check out this excellent resource from the Mayo Clinic on intrauterine insemination and explore our post on at-home fertility options like intracervical insemination.