I have had hormonal issues and period issues since day one, back in November of 1985. Too heavy, severe cramps, terrible acne. It wasn’t until my 20s that I tried oral birth control, too many versions, doses, etc. which all made me sick. Then it was the patch and the ring and I was done with all of it.
Hypothyroidism. Fantastic. Something else to add on.
Then, fibroids (growths of various size) on my uterus…a lot of fibroids on my uterus. A major surgery (myomectomy), 4 days in the hospital and living with my parents for the 4 week recovery at the age of 32 wasn’t my first choice of things to do in 2006, especially when I had just met my future husband, Ken, and didn’t want to scare him away.
Marriage with the hope of children. My doctor, a gynecologist and endocrinologist, who I had been seeing for a couple of years (hypothyroidism diagnosis, fibroid diagnosis and surgeon), made it clear I would probably have difficulty becoming pregnant on my own. We tried for only 2 months and he began with clomid, a widely used medication to help with egg production. My lower abdomen blew up and I was in much pain. From there, we began injections and trying and injections and trying. I never became too frustrated because I knew it would work. It had to work. I was going to be mom. I wanted to be a mom more than anything.
After 12 months of too many injections, hormones everywhere, IVF was scheduled. It was planned out so logically, scientifically, but for someone with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), it was perfect and made me feel comforted by its order. The day of the embryo transfer, I was excited and ready. The embryo was transferred and then the doctor started a timer on the wall at 10 minutes and instructed me to be lying still until the timer ended and I could get up, dress and we could leave. When the 10 minutes were up, I didn’t move. Ken told me we were done and I could get dressed but I told him I wasn’t moving. I don’t remember if I only thought this in my head or if I said it, but I was not going anywhere for 14 days until the blood test. He agreed to 5 more minutes but then I’d have to get up and he reminded me that the doctor did know what he was doing.
POSITIVE…PLUS. I was not shocked as I had just thrown up. I don’t know what exactly I thought. It felt as if I had some special power that knew it would work, that the first IVF would work. And how lucky we were that after an 8 1/2 month pregnancy, not always comfortable, survived with zofran (anti-nausea medication), painful sciatica, bruised ribs – while baby found a small space to hang out in, it produced this screaming, bluish, pink, purple and red little being that made me smile and become emotionally still as my OB held her over the sheet during my c-section (which was planned after my uterus was punctured during my myomectomy, just to be on the safe side).
I don’t know if it was luck, science, God, or all of the above that allowed Ken and I this most incredible privilege to be parents. The blessing of a child is something I have never taken for granted in the 15 and a half years that my “baby” has been on this earth. The hard days, the days when the eye rolls were/are too frequent, on both of our parts, never gets in the way of knowing I was given a gift, a real miracle. My amazing child came out as non-binary at age 11 and understands the world in such an interesting way and, as a result, I learn daily from them (pronoun). I started telling them when they were little that, “daddy and I were looking and looking for you and it was taking so long, but then you found us.” That’s what it’s been like since that first time I threw up.
Our child was a true gift and as time went on, my desire for another baby, a sibling for our child, was very strong. We had 4 embryos left and over a 10 month period, we transferred one at a time, the first three not attaching and the last not even surviving its thaw.
Now what? I was 39 and Ken was 41 and I knew we were done and there would not be another baby, no sibling. What happened next framed the biggest change in my life, the life of Ken, our toddler and our family and friends. With hormones raging and incredible grief, I became depressed which quickly grew to a severe state of depression, treatment resistant depression. Four psychiatric hospitalizations, more medication trials, 55 ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) treatments, over 100 TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) treatments, 6 ketamine infusions – until an older medication was tried and worked, keeping me out of the depths of hell and much more even. The depression began, most likely after the 3rd failed attempt and came to a better place just less than 4 years later.
My life as a professional social worker, working full time, while loving my work, was over. I was different, I was changed. My threshold for too many things had diminished and I was not able to work full time and definitely not in a professional role. I was not functioning at the same level as before we tried the last 4 embryos. My body betrayed me, which led my brain to betray me and my life dramatically changed.
Unfortunately, my pelvic pain, small fibroids and heavy periods simply continued in a consistent manner. In 2021, my left ovary needed to be removed as it wasn’t showing much movement and I asked about a complete hysterectomy since I was 46 and had had enough problems, but my doctor convinced me that the one ovary left would still provide estrogen to help with heart and bone health and a full hysterectomy wasn’t exactly warranted. I was okay with that, hoping the removal of the ovary would help the other issues.
Not much actually changed. More small fibroids on my uterus, cysts, more pelvic pain and weird periods. I also had had 2 psychiatrists tell me that menopause could really help my mood (bipolar disorder), whenever that would be, which gave me real hope.
I was well into perimenopause and was done with the heavy periods and cramping. Tests were done and fibroids had grown and there’s no magic test to give a date of when menopause will come. My surgeon who took out my ovary was too booked but she referred me to an OB-GYN whom she trained and thought highly of. I met her, instantly liked her, she listened, took her time and understood the medical reasons but also the psychological reasons for wanting a hysterectomy.
Only weeks later, I was having my wish come true. I decided not to keep my right ovary, which is what is suggested due to the issues of heart and bone health, but I figured with my luck, there would be a problem in 2 years that would require surgery. I didn’t want to deal with it, especially having surgery to remove the left ovary in 2021 and a back fusion surgery in 2023. Apparently, the right ovary was in tough shape anyway.
After 2 weeks, I started a very low dose of estrogen, via a patch, but after 2 days developed terrible headaches and dizziness, so my doctor said I could cut the patch in half, but take a few days off first before deciding if I wanted to continue with the estrogen. Knowing the health benefits after putting my body in immediate menopause, I took a few days, cut a patch in half and put it on. It’s only been 48 hours and no headaches, just a bit of dizziness… and I’m bleeding. My doctor explained that it is most likely bleeding from the stitches put in after taking everything out, internally, which is part of its healing. I am still a bit anxious. Will this all ever stop?
I feel different…I went into the hospital on Monday, October 6th, in the morning, with parts intact and I left that night with parts gone. I don’t feel less of a woman without them. They put me through hell, yet, at the same time, they gave me the greatest gift, my love, the one who taught me how loving someone so much can feel exhilarating in mind, spirit and body. How do I reconcile that? I feel different. Two weeks ago I wondered if people I walked by looked at me and immediately thought, “she looks ‘different,’” as if they would simply know. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but I didn’t have the words to describe this feeling “different” and the truth is, I still don’t. Hopefully, words will come.
My mood hasn’t been great with the ups and downs of the estrogen, but other things are going on at the same time, just normal life stuff that can feel stressful. I didn’t realize until last week, how great my hope is that at some point, the hysterectomy will truly help calm my moods and ease my daily fight with bipolar disorder. I’m now feeling more hopeless, that my doctors were wrong and even if I end up needing to stop the estrogen, which has never been my friend, that nothing will change. I am scared. There’s so much in life I can control, but double or quadruple that for all of the things I can’t, this being one of them. I want a more moderate mood to feel better, to be in the moment better, to continue my work in therapy better. My hopes are now worries.
My experience is still in process. My reasons for having a hysterectomy are real and I am glad I had it done because it was necessary. My history, everything that led up to having the surgery is mine. Not everyone knows or understands how a woman’s hormones can be destructive, that these parts of our bodies can wreak havoc that is not merely physical, but psychological. I suffered too much but I want others to understand how positively powerful our bodies are, women’s bodies. We have the power in us to do so many things, which is miraculous, yet, at the same time, it can bring us to our knees, begging for less physical pain, less blood, less irritability, less sadness. My life was unimaginably changed because of my hormones, uterus and ovaries and I will learn a new life without them.
I took control when I finally could. The recovery continues, in more ways than one. Day by day. Today, exactly four weeks to the day. My hysterectomy. My mind. My body. My experience. My life.
Risa's Reality 