The Big H.

A week from today I will undergo a full abdominal hysterectomy. I am 35. I have no children. By the time you read this, it will have already happened. When you next see me, I will be sans uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes, which according to an astounding amount of media, means I am devoid of my ability to carry out my biological imperative by baring children. I will also (hopefully) have my life back.

If you know me, you likely also know that I’ve been suffering with stage 4 endometriosis for most of my adult life. In fact, I’ve already had three surgeries to try and manage the disease — for which there is little research, less funding, and no cure, despite the fact that 1 in 10 women suffer from it. Endometriosis is a condition where rogue cells grow outside of your uterus causing scar tissue, adhesions, and often gluing your parts together. It can cause excruciating pain, infertility, and a whole host of complications. Some women have reported these rogue cells travelling as far as their diaphragm, even causing collapsed lungs. For me, the adhesions have compromised my bowel function, both ovaries, and made sure my parts have more internal glue than a first grade art project. We currently can’t even find my left ovary. We’re fairly certain it’s fused to the top of my uterus, but that’s just an operating theory. Which would be why they are going to actually operate to sort this mess out. I like to think good old lefty…