I had this little procedure done back in April where they removed my uterus and ovaries. Ya know, a complete hysterectomy. I’ve put off talking about it or sharing any of the intimate details because I wanted to allow my body time to process and heal and absorb its new reality. It’s time. I’ve healed, I’ve processed and I want all you ladies to hear a few key morsels of advice from the other side. Note, this is advice from MY experience and it’s not going to be true for the rest of the female race.
Not having my reproductive organs means…..
- NO PERIODS friends. Zero bleeding, zero cramps, zero bloating, zero gas build up (as it relates to the flow), zero rage against your life mood swings, zero cravings. Did I mention zero bleeding? It’s all gonzo. Fo-eva.
- NO PERIODS friends. It needs to be stated again for effect.
- My risk of ovarian or uteran cancer? Zero percent. Take THAT cancer jerk.
- No tampons and light days taking up real estate in my purse. No 14 year light day wrappers in the depths of the pockets either.
- No more influx of ibuprofen (3 every 3 hours) entering my body, causing crazy constipation. Sorry, these are facts ladies.
- No more wondering if I might some day, some how, by the grace of God, perhaps, let’s keep hoping, miracles happen, everyone says as soon as you stop trying it’ll happen, get pregnant. 15 years of all THAT nonsense is no longer a thing in my mind or my heart. No more reproductive organs equals closure. It really does, which has been a gift wrapped in the prettiest bow from God above.
- Less money spent on all the period products equals more money for wine. That’s how I like to think of it. It helps with all the wine purchases.
- More available days for sex with the hubs. Who am I kidding, that’s not on my pro’s list, but it’s a big bold check mark in the male column.
I might need to re-visit #6 right quick. Because it’s a big thing, the whole “infertility” bullet point. When I sat across from Dr. Johnny (the raddest OB in town), I was very firm on wanting it all out. Done. Over with. Good riddance. Tim maybe not so exuberant on the matter, but supportive none-the-less. In my gut, I feared how I would feel about the decision when it was said and done. I feared the grief that might flood me over the loss of a lifetime of dreams and expectations coming to a surgical end. I feared the hormonal roller coaster that might define my moods following surgery. As did Tim, BY the way. Dr. Johnny explained that the emotional turmoil my body went through since I started my cycle in the southern suburbs of Chicago in 1992 was far worse than anything I would experience following the hysterectomy. He told us that all the years of doctors putting me on birth control and menopause inducing drugs WRECKED my body’s ability to regulate and know which way was up. It was poor medicine and he was the first one to recognize it as such. I had a body that didn’t know what to do with estrogen. It fought estrogen with fierce internal kickboxing skills. Turns out my fighting abilities were spot on, but wreaked havoc in my world. On so many levels.
We knew, other than a Mary Mother of Jesus miracle taking place, we couldn’t get pregnant. It was confirmed over and over and over. We were spent from it all and I was spent fighting my body’s desire to beat to its own drum. There’s a place for beating to your own drum, but my uterus no longer deserved that right. She and I were never friends really. Maybe frienemies. I’d consider that title since she did allow me the gift of my children. So we scheduled the surgery and lined up two weeks of mother-may-I-ask-you-to-cook,-clean-and-take-care-of -my-children-while-I-lie-in-bed-and-sleep-and-not-answer-to-anyone-time. Dr. Johnny performed his robotic magic, I went home that night (against my better judgement) and spent the next month physically recovering. Other than a ill-timed UTI, the recovery was seamless and actually quite lovely. I did nothing, cooked nothing, drove nowhere, read all the things, binged Jane the Virgin, ignored my children because the expectation for being ignored was made very clear from the beginning, drank coffee, gazed at ALL the flowers my people delivered, and ate delicious meals prepared by an amazing community of people who loved on us. I barely needed pain meds friends. God blessed the whole removal of my uterus in remarkable ways. The emotional recovery turned out to be not even a real thing. I feel better emotionally than I have since, well 1992. The natural supplements Dr. J has me on fill me with bee pollen and God grown additives that sound very fancy and natural. They keep the hot flashes to a minimum and my mood stable. Sleeping was a struggle for the first few months, but even that has evened out. And did I mention I don’t get my period anymore? I don’t. Ever. Again.
All of this to say, ladies and their gents, I’m on Camp Hysterectomy (if it makes sense for your world of course). I’m willing to pronounce my allegiance publicly and so here I am. If you live in Colorado and you’re considering the removal of your uterus, call me. Dr. Johnny is your man. Happy weekend. If you would like to stitch (sew, knit, I don’t know what it all means) me the little gem featured, you go RIGHT ahead. I will hang it in my closet.