Tomorrow it will be four weeks since my partial hysterectomy, a surgery I did everything to avoid, but it ended up being one of the greatest acts of self-love I've ever shown myself.
For years I had long, heavy, excruciating periods that I thought were normal. Because I didn't have a mom to talk to about such things, and discussing it with friends felt like complaining, I chalked my monthly misery up to the inevitable burden of being a woman.
But when one of my periods lasted more than three weeks, and I lost so much blood that I became severely anemic, I knew I needed to figure out what was happening.
As someone who is more than a little reluctant when it comes to the western medical establishment, I hadn't seen my family doctor in years. The first thing I needed to do was find an ob-gyn and get a diagnosis, so I took a referral from my PCP to get the ball rolling.
My new doctor was a soft-spoken woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a slight German accent. At that first appointment, she asked me about my symptoms, told me to lie back, and poked her fingers into my abdomen.
I winced.
"That's uncomfortable, yes? Have you felt this hard mass here above your belly button?" she asked, pushing harder. Her tone was gentle, but it felt like she was shaming me.
The short answer is, yes, I had felt it. Of course, I had, but I'd been so disconnected from my body for so long that it never registered. I figured it was the abdominal muscle separation they say happens due to pregnancy.
And the fact that in recent years I'd started to look like I swallowed a Little Tikes basketball no matter how much I dieted and exercised? That's what happens in your 40s, right?
And also, I probably ignored all the signs that something wasn't quite right until I couldn't anymore because my traumatized brain already had a lot on its plate.
A couple of months later, an ultrasound revealed several uterine fibroids ranging in size from 4 centimeters to 12 centimeters. My uterus was the size it would be if I were six months pregnant.
Fun Fact: According to the National Institutes of Health, women who were physically and/or sexually abused as children are at higher risk for developing gynecologic disorders like fibroids, ovarian cysts, and endometriosis.
"You'll want to seriously consider having a hysterectomy," Dr. Pokes-and-Prods said at my follow-up appointment. "And you'll require an abdominal incision because the 12-centimeter fibroid is too big to remove laparoscopically."
When I asked about a myomectomy (an alternative procedure to remove the fibroids and leave the uterus intact), she told me I wouldn't qualify for a myomectomy because I was close to turning 50. That surgery was intended for women "of childbearing age."
Record scratch moment.
Excuse me…what? If I'm bleeding to death every month, aren't I STILL of childbearing age?!
The fact that I would rather stick a toothpick under every single one of my fingernails than give birth again was beside the point.
Being told I wasn't allowed to preserve one of my organs because I no longer wanted to procreate infuriated me. So, I said, "No, thank you," and found another doctor.
I'm fortunate enough to live within 100 miles or so of two world-class teaching hospitals, so I was able to find a female surgeon (which I preferred) who specializes in minimally invasive gynecologic surgery.
At my first consult, my new doctor told me she had no problem performing a myomectomy (despite my age), and there was a good chance it would take care of the fibroids for good. But she wanted me to know that because I was still menstruating, there was a 25% chance the fibroids could grow back after the procedure, and my uterus would never shrink back to its original size.
She also mentioned that if I decided to have a hysterectomy, it could, in fact, be performed laparoscopically.
It was a difficult decision, but I opted for a partial hysterectomy (meaning I kept my ovaries and cervix.) I didn't want to go through an equally complicated alternative procedure with the same level of recovery if there was any chance I'd have to do it again in a few years.
During one of my MDMA therapy sessions after I made my decision, I had the sense that throughout the years, my body was trying to help me by gathering all the pain I'd experienced at the hands of my abusers and containing it in a place that kept it from infiltrating the rest of me. The fact that I could get rid of it was a gift.
It turns out it was the right call…
At my post-op appointment earlier this week, my doctor told me that the pathology report revealed they also found adenomyosis (a condition where endometrial tissue grows into the muscular wall of the uterus) and a small amount of endometriosis (a disorder in which the tissue that usually lines the uterus grows outside of it) on one of the uterine ligaments.
Learning to advocate for myself with my first doctor and finding one that made me feel heard and understood was empowering. It gave me the courage to look at all the options and make the best choice for me - even if it wasn't the easiest.
Going through that process was a practice in self-compassion, self-care, and self-love. And I've carried that practice with me over the last four weeks of recovery.
My recovery from the surgery has been so much easier than I expected. I think it's mostly because I've been reestablishing a connection to my body over the last couple of years as part of my recovery from Complex PTSD.
Instead of being dissociated from how things like food, movement, downtime, stress, hydration, and sleep affect me, I'm learning to pay attention.
Giving myself exactly what I need requires patience and practice because it's new.
In the past, I saw exercise as a punishment for eating or something I had to do to try and make my body conform. There was no joy in it.
Now I move my body every day because I want it to feel good. But I don't force it; I do what I like. Right now, that's a few different things.
I started with 5 minutes of walking every hour or so when I first came home from the hospital, and now I'm walking 40-60 minutes a day, riding my Peloton for 15 minutes most days, and doing some super light strength training a few times a week (I still have lifting restrictions.) Seeing my progress and focusing on what I can do is exciting.
I'm learning to trust my body's hunger signals too. I eat when I'm hungry, stop when I'm not, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to eat the food I want instead of vacillating between depriving myself, restricting certain foods, and not giving a shit.
I'm also learning to honor the fact that I some days, I need a lot of rest. I used to feel so guilty about that because, in my mind, needing rest meant I was lazy.
But now I feel differently...and I know how important it is (especially after surgery.) So I've been resting as much as I need. Sometimes that means plopping myself on the couch to read for an hour or so before I start dinner; other times, it means taking a nap after lunch.
I don't have the self-love game in the bag (it still feels weird to imagine thinking I love myself and genuinely believing it.) But I'm kinder and gentler with myself, and I’m getting better at making decisions that honor that.
thank you for sharing this. advocating for yourself and what you need to feel cared for and safe with your decisions has such an incredible benefit. you are doing brave work and finding so many ways to love. you are a beautiful human, it is wonderful to see you discovering that. MWUH!
i thought i had caught up but i still have some reading to do! i'm so glad you advocated for yourself and listened to your body. it's sometimes hard to describe what you want/need, and then to advocate for it! love love love.