“Perhaps it’s time for me to consider a hysterectomy,” I suggested to my doctor, looking her straight in the eye. She listened quietly, waiting for me to elaborate. “I’m not planning to have any more children,” I added with a light laugh, assuming she already knew this, though I sensed she wasn’t entirely convinced.
“I believe this could resolve the issue entirely.” I was taken aback by her rapid agreement, but her affirmation was all I needed to commit to the decision for a hysterectomy. The “issue” I was referring to were my uterine fibroids, which had been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. They have shaped my reproductive journey, complicating my ability to conceive.
As we discussed alternative treatments, none felt right to me. By the time I left her office, I was set on undergoing a partial hysterectomy, which involved removing my uterus and fallopian tubes while keeping my ovaries intact — effectively resolving a lifelong struggle. I had faced an array of complications, from heavy menstrual bleeding to bowel issues. Despite my previous surgery lingering in my memory, here I was preparing for yet another procedure.
According to a study by McLeod Health, 25% of African American women have fibroids by the age of 25, and by 50, that number jumps to 80% compared to just 70% of white women. For me, surgery appeared to be the only path to achieving pregnancy and ensuring the possibility of carrying a child to term. Earlier this year, I underwent hernia removal surgery, which was harder to recover from than my c-section. The same doctor who performed my c-section, who understood my anatomy intimately, had advised me to remove the hernia, a daily reminder of my twin pregnancy and the complications it brought, such as constant abdominal bloating.
This doctor, who had also guided me through my desire for a natural childbirth, was well aware of my determination to achieve my goals. I had long dreamed of becoming a mother, and she was instrumental in helping me carry my twins to 36 weeks before their planned c-section. In the U.S., c-sections are the most commonly performed surgery among women of reproductive age, according to the CDC. I needed that c-section after undergoing abdominal surgery to remove fibroids, where my gynecologist removed over fifteen benign growths from my uterine lining. This myomectomy, which lasted several hours, was crucial for enhancing my chances of a successful pregnancy.
Before surgery, I was informed that my window for conceiving before the fibroids returned was limited to two years. The pressure was on. After experiencing a failed IVF cycle, I feared I might never get pregnant. As a lesbian, the process of starting a family involved meticulous planning, selecting a queer-friendly clinic, finding the right donor, and more. I had to ensure my body was ready to bear a child, which was challenging given the uterine fibroids.
Typically, the likelihood of developing fibroids increases with age, and I was diagnosed with them in my twenties. My periods were long and heavy, and I often faced constipation, which soon became a norm for me. The persistent bloating made me look pregnant even before I actually was, and I carried those fibroids with me everywhere. Now, approaching forty, I’m eager for a new chapter — one free from the burden of fibroids. A partial hysterectomy is my chosen solution. My doctor outlined various options, from embolization to hormonal treatments, but none seemed suitable.
In the U.S., over 500,000 women undergo hysterectomies each year, making it the second most common surgery performed. I never anticipated being part of either “most” list. I had hoped for a smooth pregnancy, but developed preeclampsia at 30 weeks, leading to a five-day hospital stay. I faced the sobering realization that a vaginal delivery wasn’t feasible due to my previous surgeries, the twins, and the fibroids that had worsened during my pregnancy.
After my surgery, I hope that the partial hysterectomy will be my last operation concerning my reproductive health. I’ve learned that life is too short to endure discomfort or postpone what I know must happen. For me, choosing to have this surgery is a proactive step in caring for my reproductive health, including bidding farewell to the very organ that aided in my journey to motherhood. It didn’t fail me then, and now it’s time to release it.
If you’re interested in similar experiences, check out this post on home insemination. For expert insights, you can also visit Intracervical Insemination for reliable information. Additionally, Progyny offers excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.
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In summary, the decision to undergo a partial hysterectomy is not just about relieving physical discomfort; it’s a pivotal step in reclaiming my reproductive health and embracing a new phase of life.