A sharp twinge tortures my left ovary—a quick stab and twist of a knife. I press in on that side and breathe, dropping my mask slightly. One. Two. It doesn’t go away, but I have a life to live, so I can only devote two seconds of my sanity to caring. There’s always a pain. Just some are more manageable than others. I’ve had to learn to cope and surrender my energy reserves to ignoring them, since living life in the fetal position isn’t an option long-term.
