Space Invaders
Reflections on a hysterectomy, one year later
According to some cultures, the womb is the source of a woman’s power; according to others, it’s why she was put on this earth — to sustain life. Having almost an entire system (THIS system) removed from your anatomy isn’t nothing. Yes, a hysterectomy is a procedure that is physically hard on a woman’s body. And also, depending on what her own life’s vision is, and where she finds herself within that vision, a hysterectomy can bring emotional and mental side effects that often need their own treatments, their own recovery plans.
This is the tale and the reflections of just one woman, just me, based on my own experience and feelings. Everybody is different. Every body is different. Every woman is different.
I went to get a well-patient, routine physical on January 22, 2019. My primary care physician is friendly and thorough, and a very committed diagnostician. She also takes care of my annual lady-exam needs. We had finished the examining, my clothes were back on, and she re-entered the room to wrap it up. “You seem really healthy. Anything else we should talk about?” And then I said the thing that would set a lot into motion.
“Now that you mention it, sometimes when I lift heavy at the gym…I feel this thing above my belly button. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I notice.”
She asked me to lie back down, did some pushing around on my stomach, and told me she thought she was feeling my uterus. (MY UTERUS??) That she thought I had a big fibroid, and that she could arrange for an ultrasound in her office to see what was going on. Okay. Seemed reasonable.
(Of important note here: I never had symptoms typical of uterine fibroids — heavy periods, never-ending periods, pain during sex, constipation, frequent need to pee, or infertility. More on that to come.)
Step 1: Ultrasound occurs in my primary care physician’s office. She calls me with the results…and she’s kind of hemming-and-hawing on the phone. (This is not like her.)
“Well…um…Judith. Everything is okay. But your uterus is measuring like you’re 5 months pregnant. I need to refer you to an OB-GYN.”
WHAT.
Step 2: I have the appointment with the OB-GYN, who’s part of a solid women’s health practice in the same building. She goes through my history, my (lack of) symptoms, and arranges for an transvaginal ultrasound. This is the same ultrasound that pregnant women get sometimes. (I assure you I was not pregnant.) The two techs and the student who were in the room were so nice. We joked. We chatted. And…when I pushed them for info…they said that, based on what they were seeing, they couldn’t believe I wasn’t in a significant amount of pain. Nope. Sure wasn’t.
Later, back in the OB-GYN’s office, she’s texting with someone. And she’s very kind, and matter-of-fact. “Judith, you’ve got a lot going on down there. I’m going to refer you to my colleague Dr. Janelle Moulder, who in all likelihood is going to remove your uterus.” Turns out she was texting with Dr. Moulder to see if she’d ever “gotten one this big before.”
WHAT??
My friends and I start calling the “big one” Felicia. As in, “BYE FELICIA.”
Step 3: I have the consultation with Dr. Moulder. She is beyond patient and kind; she draws pictures of my body parts and what’s happening inside them. She asks me what questions I have for her. She explains things in ways that make sense.
“This one that you’ve named Felicia, the one that got you in here in the first place, it’s about as big as a small Nerf football. Like a big mango. But you also have another one that’s the size of a plum. And a lot of other ones, too.”
WHAT???
Dr. Moulder goes on to explain that she believes that everyone in my position deserves a least-invasive surgical option. This is what she does. This is her specialty, her passion. She wants to try to remove Felicia + Friends laparoscopically via in-bag morcellation. And that this means I’ll have a hysterectomy.
Essentially, she’s going to take my organs out through my belly button.
She’ll fight very hard before she “converts” during a procedure. Converting means much more external cutting on me, a much more invasive procedure, and a longer (and more painful) recovery.
She tells me that for her to have her best shot at a minimally invasive procedure, I have to get on drugs for a couple months to attempt to shrink this uterine fruit salad. Put another way, for her to have her best shot…I have to get two of them.
Step 4: Hello, Lupron. For me, strictly personally, this might have been the worst part of all. Not kidding. The shots were expensive, they made me nauseous, and they simulate menopause. (Neat. Can’t wait to have REAL hot flashes.)
One of the questions I asked Dr. Moulder was how I was walking around with all this stuff happening in my body, but never had a clue. She told me that if I had presented like most women with fibroids, we would have found them sooner…but that in all likelihood, these had been growing in me since my mid-20’s. THAT IS OVER 20 YEARS.
WHAT????
I’ve never tried to get pregnant. If I’d been trying, I would have had trouble doing so, would have been referred to a specialist and we would have found them.
I’ve had multiple friends (these are people I know well) who have been at a party, or in the office, and started bleeding down their leg and think they’re dying. They went to the doctor or to the ER, and found out they had fibroids. If that had happened to me, we would have found them.
If I was having trouble pooping, or trouble because I was always peeing, or having horrible pelvic or stomach pain, I would have gone to a doctor and ultimately we would have found them.
But none of those things ever happened to me. I did think I was picking up a little weight in my belly. I thought it was middle age, and that I needed to watch the ice cream, but I was working out and feeling okay and the scale wasn’t going up that much…so…we never found them.
What got this whole thing in motion was me mentioning what’s called a “bulk symptom.” Quite literally, the bulk of Felicia + Friends was starting to make itself known, and I physically felt it above my belly button.
Step 5: On June 20, 2019, Dr. Janelle Moulder removed Felicia + Friends, my uterus, cervix, fallopian tubes and uterine lining…laparoscopically. I have pictures. I won’t make you look at them. I kept my ovaries, so hopefully the real hot flashes have been delayed at least for several more years.
The surgery was on a Thursday. I was given the option of spending the night at the hospital, but I didn’t want to. Within 12 hours, I was admitted, had surgery, and was back at home recovering on my couch.
I walked my dog (very slowly) on Saturday. I started checking work email from home a few days later, and went back to my office within two weeks (I do NOT have a physical job). I couldn’t do anything more physical than walking, or lift anything over 10 pounds for 6 weeks. Lying down and standing were fine. Sitting was pretty uncomfortable in the beginning. I was a compliant patient, and fortunate enough to have family and friends who helped with the actual heavy lifting (like groceries) that I couldn’t do.
I was cleared to return to “normal activity, just be careful at first” on August 8.
My takeaways, a year after surgery.
- I do not miss my uterus or other body parts. At all. I love kids, and I love being Aunt Judith to several, but I never felt the pull to bear my own. I do not feel like my body was supposed to “do” something that it didn’t get to do. I do not feel less womanly, or like parts of me are gone. (I know they are. I’m not delusional.)
- I remain in awe of Dr. Moulder, her approach, her tenacity, her bedside manner, what she did for me and what she does for other women. She told me that I wasn’t the most complicated surgery that she’d ever done…but that I was “up there.” She promised me she’d fight for the least-invasive option, with the best possible outcome. She kept her promise. I will always be a card-carrying founder, life member, and self-appointed president-in-perpetuity of the Dr. Janelle Moulder Fan Club.
- I’m lucky. Lucky that I didn’t have the horrible symptoms and experiences that many women do when dealing with uterine fibroids. Lucky that I had a physical when I did, lucky I have a doctor I like and trust, and that I got referred to other ones who were also amazing at their specialties.
- What was not luck: I was a healthy patient. I’ve been a regular gym-goer or active on some level for 10 years. I am not a 100% clean eater 100% of the time, but I try to eat more vegetables than cookies most days. Dr. Moulder told me it helps her do her job if her patient is healthy, and to keep going to the gym until the day I walked into the hospital for surgery. So eat your damn greens. Get up and walk around outside. Quit smoking. Invest in some self-care. It really does pay off. (And also, pay attention to your body. I thought I was hitting middle age and just picking up some weight…)
- A year later, I’m in the best cardiovascular shape of my life. I had no idea how much Felicia + Friends were compromising my breathing during workouts. There are aspects of my previous fitness that will likely never return to pre-Felicia levels (back squat, I’m looking at you). And I don’t care. I’m better at other things now, and if that’s the trade-off, I’m cool with it.
I’m a year out from the Felicia Eviction Project, and mostly, I’m grateful. This might sound trite and cliché. It is also accurate. I’m hyper-aware that this life chapter could have ended much differently, much less happily. I’m so conscious that I did get a good outcome, and thinking so much about the people who don’t get their own. I don’t mean death. I mean people who don’t have health insurance, who don’t get to work with amazing doctors, who don’t get all their questions answered, who don’t have access to the things that help you know what questions to ask, who take risk that doesn’t bring reward, who don’t get to bounce right back, who don’t get to get better.
I’m just me, just one woman. For me, now, it’s onward — keeping myself healthy, staying strong, growing and going.
Bye, Felicia.
