A Dear John Letter To My Uterus

Dear My Recently Ripped Out Uterus,

I have a box of your stuff. Pads, tampons, a few random boxes of Cyclen you left here. I know it’s awkward, but it’s probably best if you’d come and pick it up so I can move on.

The month since you and your posse “the ovaries” have been gone has been a bit of a roller coaster. I want you to know I’m doing well though. Super well. I don’t even think about you (except every day all the time) and I totally don’t cry in public a lot as I attempt to level out and to fill the void you’ve left. To that end, I should probably tell you that I have someone new in my life. In fact, I’m playing the field. I’m seeing this cute little red head named Premarin-Estrogen. She’s great. Maybe a little dramatic, but nothing I can’t handle. Then there’s this silver fox named Teva-Progesterone. What a stabilizing force he’s been in my life. We hang out every morning over coffee and make sure the day is going to go as planned. Yep. I’m on top of the world here without you.
…
I mean, sure, sometimes I spiral a bit (usually when the Always commercial comes on. You know the one, white pants blue liquid?) I end up asking myself if I’m as much of a woman as I was before I evicted you. Of course I know it’s bullshit, but between your years of bad behaviour and society’s staunch biological imperatives, I’m still pretty messed up, you know? But that’s totally normal right? I do miss you, though. I hate myself for it. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if we parted ways unnecessarily. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to make things work. I mean, sure you landed me in the hospital multiple times, and frankly, I’m convinced that you were plotting my inevitable demise. And yeah you had an endometriosis problem, and became the primary supplier for your whole posse, even dragging our poor bowel down with you. And let’s be honest, those medical interventions with all the hacks that suggested we “just get pregnant” to solve all our problems were ridiculous. But what if we were meant to be together? I mean, maybe if I’d just ignored the fifteen years of excruciating daily pain you caused me, or maybe if I’d given in to your monthly tantrums gas-lighting me into thinking it was still possible to procreate, we could have made it work. Some of my friends think if we’d meditated together more, or I’d been willing to cut out gluten, dairy, sugar, and…