Interesting to me that on the anniversary date of my total hysterectomy and oophorectomy, I had to drive by the medical center that, not only did I deliver my first baby at, but it was the center that housed the doctor that ultimately pressed for the removal of my uterus and fallopian tubes and my ovaries.
He took one look at my scans and one look at me and taking into consideration the worst period of my life that I thought was going to kill me, hence the reason I went to see a specialist, (as if a terrible car wreck, cancer, mastectomy, chemo, and radiation all the year before wasn’t enough to threaten the same) he said, “Um, this needs to come out, like, yesterday. I don’t want to waste any time with a biopsy, you might not have that time to waste…”
Come again?
A week prior, I knew it was bad when my OG OB called for a same-day ultrasound. I’d gone in for said ‘worst period of my life I thought it was gonna kill me’…. I was still in the midst of chemo…. I’d had my first go around of reconstruction (the DIEP)…. I was in excruciating uterine pain and was bleeding so much it was nothing I’d ever seen before…. I was pissed at my body for sucking at life…. I was petrified of doctors and diagnoses and pokes and prods and vulnerability and nakedness and their faces as they looked at me when they knew before I did….
Later that evening she called me and said, “I need you to see a gynecological oncologist. I am no longer able to provide the care you need. It’s urgent. Call them first thing in the morning and tell them you cannot wait.”
Come again?
Which end is up? I was lost in a wretched wonderland where “ends” no longer existed in the paradigm I once felt so secure in. “Ends” weren’t ends. Time wasn’t time. Life wasn’t life. Death wasn’t death. Where am I? What even IS this place?
“I’m concerned.” “This has to come out…like yesterday.” “Gynecological oncologist.” “I’m no longer able to provide for you.” “Urgent.” “You cannot wait.” “I had to call you even though it’s nighttime.” “I can be in the OR next Wednesday. I suggest you work your schedule around that because we don’t want to waste time.” “I’m not gonna make the same mistake I made before by telling you ‘it’s nothing.’”
Come again?
Their voices swirled in my head. Conversations collided. I struggled to distinguish who said what, when. I felt chaotic and crazy. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The relentlessness of the shitstorm was inundating. I couldn’t breathe.
Again?
A third oncologist?
More body parts taken from me?
The identity crisis continued. Everything feminine stripped from me. But good riddance because my body betrayed me. But I want it all back. But I really don’t. But what will happen when it’s gone? I’d had no idea what it was really gonna be like to go into a surgery with body parts and come out of it without them. Sure, relief. But the despair. Oh the despair. And the confusion. That recovery just about ended me. And now an eerily similar, very deja-vu-y, go-in-with-come-out-without, body-altering, life-altering, identity-altering, unfathomable.A.F. surgery??! For real?
I so wanted to believe him when he said, “Eh, it’s nothing. It’ll be the easiest surgery and recovery ever. You’ll be back to work in a couple of days, even.” But the deepest insides of me knew he was full of it. I so wanted what he said to be true. But the reality was that it was so far from the truth. It has, and continues to be (6 years later), the hardest recovery of it all. I feel the loss of that part of me every single day. It wasn’t only the ‘womb that grew my children’…it’s far more complicated than that (if that wasn’t complicated enough anyways!). It wasn’t this part of my body that was no longer needed because I was ‘done having kids.’ They weren’t these throw-away organs like they suggest they are. Just like breasts. “Those don’t define you” “They’re just mounds of fat” “You can just get implants and get back to normal” “It’s just a useless organ now since you don’t need it anymore” “Lots of women live without these things” “Look at the bright side, now you won’t have periods anymore or pregnancy scares! Imagine the sex!! No consequences! No waiting out the periods! No birth control! Just fun! That sounds awesome!”
They lied. All of them lied. Their silver linings, corroded.
Life without a uterus sucks. Without fallopian tubes and ovaries, sucks. Without estrogen, sucks.
Urgent, cancer causing, medically required, surgically invasive, overnight menopause at 38, SUCKS.
If you’ve had cancer. I see you. If you’ve had a mastectomy. I see you. If you’ve had a hysterectomy. I see you. If you’ve had an oophorectomy. I see you. If you’ve struggled with what to feel because it’s confusing to feel relief and despair at the same time. I see you. If you’ve woken up without body parts and instead, a changed, uncertain sense of self (that is stuck in a body that is hard to live in). I see you.
We can live in the duality of cancer’s wretchedness and also being transformed in amazing ways. We can acknowledge the trauma and the human spirit to rise. We can process the pain and tell the truth of it all without being forced to ‘at least’ it…and doing so doesn’t undermine our capacity for hope.
On this day, I remember. I honor the truth. I keep showing up. I cling to purpose. The cost of 9.19 is deeply significant. The price I pay to breathe is staggering. Wretched? Oh yes. Worth it? Also yes.
Thanks for reading. 🫶🏼❤️