I’m having a hysterectomy and I owe it to my cat.
Two years ago at my annual checkup I mentioned to my doctor that my periods were getting gruesome. The cramps were worse than ever. The bleeding was heavier than ever. And, occasionally, there were what I can only describe as “clumps.” The doctor smiled knowingly and said that I was likely approaching menopause and that it was all very normal.
Last year, after cleaning up cat puke, I took a nasty fall and landed squarely on my tailbone. The pain was so bad that I went to urgent care. The xrays didn’t show a break and the PA sent me home with some pain meds.
This all happened while I was under the care of a Rheumatologist who was trying to figure out if I had a sneaky form of inflammatory arthritis. After x-rays on knees and back, she needed more information so she ordered an MRI on my cervical spine.
She called the next day and said, “You have a fractured sacrum. Did you know that?” I laughed and told her about the fall at home and that I wasn’t surprised. What was surprising is that, in addition to the fracture, I had a sizable fibroid and it had at least nine other fibroid friends.
The Rheumatologist paused further diagnostic work on the arthritis front until the fracture had time to heal. In the meantime, she asked me to follow up with my primary care physician on the fibroids. My primary care doctor sent me straight to surgical gynecology and I had to wait two months for an appointment.
When I finally got to see the gynecologist she recommended that we stop my period with progesterone, hopefully eliminating my period and the terrible symptoms attached to it, and then wait for menopause.
The progesterone did all sorts of fun things to my body. My hunger went through the roof. For the first three months, it was not at all uncommon for me to wake at 3:00 am so hungry that I couldn’t fall back to sleep. So, there were lots of 3:30 am snacks. There were also nights when I couldn’t sleep at all. I gained a quick 10 pounds and was exhausted.
After some back and forth with the doctor she suggested that I cut my progesterone dose in half. The hunger subsided a bit and I slept better but I still had light periods. I also had cramps about three weeks out of the month and when I wasn’t having cramps, I was so bloated that I supported my abdomen when I walked, like I was pregnant. I spent most evenings with a heating pad on my belly and even considered purchasing a USB-powered heating pad for our recent trip to the UK.
I recently reached out to my doctor and asked what she could recommend for relief. She had some temporary options that were similar to an in-office surgery without anesthesia. She also recommended a hysterectomy.
After a few days of thought and research, I opted for the hysterectomy. At 50 (and three quarters) I didn’t want to bother with temporary solutions that may or may not work or that would need to be repeated in the future.
A few days later, the doctor messaged and said that she could do the surgery on September 17. When I turned 50, I (sort of) jokingly told everyone that all I wanted was cake and menopause. I only got the cake. It occurred to me that I would get my birthday wish, just one year late.
At my pre-op appointment, my doctor asked if I wanted to have my ovaries removed, forcing me into menopause. I said yes.
All of this feels a bit surreal. I was pregnant once and had an early miscarriage. My child is adopted. And, yet, at this very moment, I have an orange-sized (headed for grapefruit) fibroid sitting on my uterus that causes my uterus to measure the size of a 12-week pregnancy. I also have frequent bouts of nausea, gas, and bloating that mimic pregnancy symptoms.
On my way out of my child-bearing years, my body seems to be serving up a top-ten list of “look what you missed.”
Do I have regrets about anything? Not one. Adoption brought me the greatest gift I’ve ever received. Had it not been for that miscarriage, I don’t think I would have even considered adoption.
It never bothered me that I didn’t experience a full pregnancy. I understand why women want it but it was never a huge thing for me. I would trade nothing for the 9-month old dynamo that I held for the first time in November 2005.
Do I mourn the impending loss of my reproductive system? Not a bit! Would you mourn the loss of an inflamed appendix or a defective gall bladder? Of course not! When the parts go haywire, it’s time to yeet them.
While I can’t blame/attribute this all to the cat, I do believe that it was the MRI that sped up the process. It would have probably been another year’s worth of painful and hemorrhage-like periods before my primary care doctor referred me to a specialist based on what I’ve learned from other women.
So, thank you Tara for putting me on the fast track to yeeting my uterus. Sorry though kitten, my belly is going to be off limits for biscuit making for a few weeks.
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