In my mid-thirties, I was very intent on becoming a pregnant person. A lot has happened in the five years since I wrote that blog post, but one thing has not changed: I am not a mother, and the likelihood that I will become one grows smaller every year.
But that's not what this post is about. This post is about the sharp pain I felt during that period of my life, the one in my lower abdomen. At first it was just an isolated jab. Then it happened again. And again. And again.
So I went to my gynecologist, who ordered a sonogram, which revealed a small uterine fibroid (about the size of a walnut).
If you're unfamiliar with what this is, it's a benign tumor that grows inside or alongside a person's uterine wall. They are surprisingly common (something like 30% of uterus-bearers have them at some point in their lives), and yet "the exact cause of uterine fibroids is unclear" (to quote Wikipedia).Really? That's where the medical community has decided to leave off on this topic? Ladies, maybe try not having a uterus so much, and then this won't happen to you!
If you dig a little deeper than Wikipedia, there are some theories floating around about the growing number of people dealing with fibroids--and other internal medical problems, many affecting reproductive organs--which claim that, like the allergy situation, civilized life might be slowly killing us from the inside. Constant contact with plastics and pharmaceuticals are be taking their toll on our bodies (even if you don't take any medications, our water supply is riddled with chemical compounds from pharmaceuticals--we're all doomed). But these conjectures are all theoretical and definitely not of any interest to most Western medical doctors. After all, if we were to all get well and stop needing medicine, how would anyone get their kickbacks? But I digress. We were talking about my tumor.)
"It's not serious and it shouldn't affect your fertility in any way," I was told.
Okay, sure. I believed him.
So I went on about my life, changing towns, changing jobs, and quietly accepting my fate as a childless woman (adoption is an option best saved for people with better finances than mine, and my triumphant return to classroom teaching did little to foster my interest in having children in my home anyhow).
The pain got a little worse. So we re-scanned the uterus. My fibroid had grown larger, and had gained a little friend. Big Betty was now the size of an apricot, and her cohort was about the size of a cherry. A uterine fruit salad, if you will.
"It's not serious and it shouldn't affect your fertility in any way."
So I went about my life and joined a CrossFit Gym (more on that later) and got into the best shape of my life (thus far).
But the pain got worse. Much, much worse. By 2016, my lower back began to revolt, making driving or sitting of any kind nearly impossible. I stood through staff meetings and professional development sessions. Invitations to a movie or concert were torture (sit? for TWO HOURS??). I had to empty my bladder every 30 minutes (which is about how long I could sleep at a stretch) and I had menstrual cramps for three weeks out of every month.
We re-scanned the uterus. Little Cherry was still a tiny tot, but Big Betty had now grown to 9 centimeters in diameter (just shy of a softball). Add in the fact that I apparently have a 'tilted uterus', and we have the explanation for my back pain (though my new gyno did not think one had to do with the other whatsoever--spoiler alert--I was right).
 |
| not my fibroid, but not unlike my fibroid. |
I was quick to agree to the surgery. Like the herniated disc, the pain had become so intense and constant that I could no longer carry on. I was taking enough Advil to elevate my blood liver counts. Once, when a co-worker said to me: "you look like you're in pain" I simply responded: "All. The. Time." and walked away. Not for the first time, I wondered why a human so genetically predisposed to unwitting self-destruction (me) had been allowed to survive into adulthood.
I had been through a big surgery before. I had returned to work two weeks later. I didn't see how this should be any harder than a discectomy.
Boy, was I wrong. You ever try and re-pack a suitcase after taking everything out?
I think that's what it's like, trying to put your organs back in after taking them out. Nothing ever fits back in the way it did in the first place. The first day I went back to work after my two weeks of home rest, I had to take another two days off for the massive stomach virus I had managed to contract (nothing like barfing while holding your stitches in place). Soon after, thanks to the degradation of my abdominal muscles, I was being MRI'd for the new (and yet old) sciatica pain down my right leg (this is what 2 weeks on a couch will get you). I had another (rather large) lumbar herniated disc. Thank goodness for Pro Sports Physical Therapy in Garden City--I've been symptom-free for over a year since my 6 weeks of therapy with them.Just like herniated discs, fibroids can crop back up, so that's a possibility (probability, even?) that I live with. For now, though, things are working well. In spite of my gyno's somewhat aggressive attempts to get me to pursue fertility treatments (full disclosure: I'm shopping for a new doctor), I'm still an apparent barren wasteland down there, but my uterus keeps ticking along on her pointless monthly schedule like always, so at least I'm keeping the menstrual industry in business.
But I never felt quite 'the same' after the surgery, and the last year and a half turned out to be an even more tumultuous time in my personal health and wellness than the years leading up.
But that's a story for another time. In the meantime, take care of yourself, and try not to get any fibroids.
image sources:
http://www.gynla.com/expertise/uterine-fibroids.php
http://www.fibroid.com/fibroidpictures/
https://www.multitrip.com/blog/art-of-travelling-light-travel-insurance/
*so many hugs&
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