September 2019 was a strange month for me. I had been experiencing severe uterine cramps for over a year and a half, along with severe menorrhagia, which hospitalized me for two days in 2018. This happened after 6 1/2 years of trying to get pregnant.
It wasn’t easy being in hospital when I was experiencing the blood loss, because part of me felt as if it were a miscarriage. It wasn’t until after a few days that I came home I found out my sister was pregnant. I was angry and bitter at the situation, because I wasn’t able to conceive.
I could go months without having a monthly cycle.
I would think that it would be this time, go to take a pregnancy test, only for it to be negative. Then it’s like the floodgates opened and I couldn’t sit, stand, walk, or lie down. It was when I was getting angry with the consistent pain that my husband insisted I go to see my gynecologist and have a Pap smear.
About two weeks after that routine gynecological exam, I was called and told that I needed to make an appointment to come in and speak to the doctor.
My heart was racing as I made the appointment. My husband came along and sat with me in the exam room. I was told there were abnormal cells and that I would be getting a call to schedule a dilation and curettage. The next day, I got a call from one of the surgeons to schedule the procedure. I was also told that I was to have a cone biopsy to check for any cancer cells.
The following week, I received a devastating call. During the biopsy, they found precancerous cells. It was one of the scariest things that I had ever been told. I sat in silence as they referred me out to a gynecologic oncologist. I remember sinking down, hot tears streaming down my face. I looked at my husband and you could see the worry in his face.
In December 2019, I met with my gyno, Dr. Burton. She talked to me about the findings, noting that she understood that I was thinking about preserving my fertility.
But we also talked about the chance of having to get a hysterectomy. She said during the initial consultation, that if she were perform the surgery right there, that there’d be a 40% chance she’d find cancerous cells. I remained silent the whole ride home.
The weight of the decisions I had to make was unbearable. I had always wanted to be a mother. To feel life grow inside of me. Ultimately, I came to the decision that having a hysterectomy was in my best interest. In February 2020, I went back in with my decision made. My husband went with me for emotional support. My doctor assured me that I was making the best decision for myself.
Flash forward to April 2020, and the big day.
My surgery was scheduled before we were told the US was struck with the COVID-19 pandemic. Even though my husband drove me to the hospital, he was not allowed into pre-surgical room. I was scared, anxious, and felt alone. I wasn’t scared about being pregnant, as I had always welcomed the idea. The idea that my husband and I loved each other enough to bring a little soul onto the planet.
The thing that did scare me the most was that he might not want to be with me anymore. That because I wasn’t able to bear children would push him away. But there he was, and still is.
Above all else, I just wanted him to be there to hold my hand, promising me I was going to be OK. I had to take the obligatory pregnancy test before surgery. It was like a knife in my heart, knowing that any chance that I might have had, will be gone.
The following week, I received a call from the oncologist. She told me they removed all the abnormal cells. I let out a huge sigh of relief and thanked her. I turned to my husband and told him the fantastic news. We immediately called our families to let them know I was in the all clear.
People have asked me if I was happy to have my hysterectomy, and the truth is, the answer is complicated.
On one hand, absolutely, because I don’t have the pain or heavy bleeding. On the other, no, because it feels like I threw away the chance to bring someone into this world. One of things I struggled with was a sense of loss. I felt like I was losing a piece of me that made me a "woman." I did not allow myself to grieve this loss. And the loss was much more than my uterus. The grief was because I would no longer have the chance to bear children.
To help understand this feeling, I routinely see a therapist. We have discussed the feeling of loss at great lengths. She is a safe space for me to talk about what really haunts me. I cannot thank her enough for being with me and allowing me to feel my true feelings.
When I see the lines from where I was operated on, I thank them for allowing me to stay in this world.
Those scars, for me, are a reminder that I love myself enough to let a part of me go.
If there is anything I want birthing people struggling with infertility to gain from my story, is that you’re not alone. When you feel pain, seek medical help, even if you don’t think you need to. If you feel that you need help with mental health, find someone to talk to. Remember, make yourself a priority once in a while. It’s not selfish. It’s necessary.
