I'll have what she's having: a vaginal hysterectomy

Putting a pin in it

I’m back on my perimenopause bullshit again, trying to see what is the fastest, least painful, least stroke-inducing way to lessen the cramps, fatigue, depression, brain fog and grossness that come from what one male professor referred to as “sputtering ovaries” (that phrase lives rent-free in my head.) I’m starting from scratch with a new doctor lately and am spinning the wheel of fortune on what treatment will work for me—IUD? Pills? An ablation? Living alone in a cave ‘til it’s over?

I’m bracing for a long journey, especially after talking with my friend C., a 46-year-old who is one of those special buddies who was pregnant at the same time as I was with our first kids. You know you’re at a certain stage of life when your one-time new baby friend tells you about how she will never, ever have a period or risk pregnancy again, and you are fascinated and jealous. I kinda wish I could just get one, but I guess doctors don’t just like to just do them.

C. was so excited by how well her hysterectomy went, especially considering the long road of treatments it took before she finally was awarded one, that she offered to tell me her story for Evil Witches, and of course, I said yes. This was edited and condensed a li’l.

Tell me how you’ve been physically feeling since the procedure.

I feel amazing. I love having had this done. The recovery was super, super easy and not ever having a period again is the best feeling ever.

What was going on that made this an option for you?

It took a long time to get to this, and basically, what was going on is that I was having extremely heavy periods ever since I had twins, which now is almost 10 years ago. Ever since my period came back, it was horrible and painful and really, really heavy. I would say probably 50 to 70% heavier than it ever had been before.

I ended up getting an IUD because I’d heard such great things about a Mirena. I was like, I could just get a tiny period once a month. That would be amazing, so I went, and I had one put in, which was incredibly painful and traumatic. I literally threw up. They act like it doesn’t hurt, but I had a vagal nerve reaction, so I got really sweaty and passed out.

I was like, “Whatever. It’s worth it ‘cause my periods are going to stop.” But they never stopped. I waited probably six months, and nothing had changed. Then my OB, who was fantastic through this whole process—she did not do my IUD insertion—she was like, “Let’s try just a little progesterone pill and see if that will clear things up for you.” I was like, fine, I’m done having kids at this point in my life. I’m in my forties. I have three elementary-age, almost middle-school kids.

I went on this pill; it helped a tiny bit, but I was still bleeding. It evolved into this thing where I was having several periods a month, and I was losing my mind. It’s unpredictable. I can’t track my cycle. I’m like, “Am I in perimenopause?” They check my hormones. I am not in perimenopause. They do an ultrasound. I have tons of eggs. I’m not anywhere near it. I’m just like, “What the fuck is going on?”

Finally, they’re like, “ Let’s see what’s going on with your IUD. Maybe it’s just not positioned right.”

I go in, and they do a vaginal ultrasound, and it’s gone.

…What?

It’s not in my body, so they said, “Okay, this could be really serious. We need to do an X-ray and make sure it hasn’t migrated out of your uterus.” I asked, “What happens if it has?” They’re like, “Then you’re going to need surgery right away so it doesn’t perforate an organ or something.” They do this abdominal x-ray, and it’s not there.

They’re like, “Okay, sometimes it just falls out.” It was probably one of my really heavy periods — it just came out. I was like, cool, I’ve just been free-balling it for who knows how long before I was on the birth control pill. I could have gotten pregnant.

They figured out that the reason that I was having so many periods was because my endometrium was shedding at different rates. I’d have a little period from one part and then a little period from another part of my uterus. I ended up having a full body MRI, too, just to make sure there was nothing else going on because I had lost some weight, and they started being like, “Maybe you have a tumor. Maybe there’s cancer. We really need to figure out what’s going on.”

I had blood work, every scan, and every test possible, and there was nothing wrong with me. They decided to do an ablation. An ablation is where they deploy a little thing inside of your uterus that burns the inside of it out. Then you can’t get pregnant, and you don’t have your period anymore.

Again, I’ve heard of so many people who had this, and it was great, and I was like, perfect. The whole time, I just wanted my period to end. They apparently tried to deploy this thing three or four times, and it didn’t work because my uterus is so fucked up.

The best way that they could describe it to me is that when my uterus shrunk back down from having twins, it didn’t do it right. It wadded up into the spot where it should have been wrinkly inside, so it was impossible to do the ablation because the interior of my uterus wasn’t correct.

The next step was to do a hysterectomy. It took a year and a half worth of things before we got to that. They were able to do my hysterectomy vaginally. I was fully under anesthesia. They go in, and they snip your tubes and leave your ovaries, and they take out your tubes, your uterus and your cervix, pull it out through your vagina and give little stitches on the inside. It was an outpatient procedure. It was honestly less bad than the prep I had to do for my colonoscopy, where they checked to make sure there weren’t other reasons behind my problems.

The worst part of the recovery for me was just the nausea from the anesthesia. I was really sick when I woke up for a couple of hours, and then I was fine. They’re like, “You’re going to bleed for a couple of months.” I didn’t. I bled for a week, maybe.

I really milked my recovery. I told my husband, “I am going to really, really recover from this.” I actually had a letter from my doctor saying that I was off of work for a month, and I don’t have a job other than being a stay-at-home mom, but I put it on the fridge, like, “Look, I cannot work until after Christmas, so you guys are on your own.”

I went back in after six weeks and had a postoperative check. They did a pelvic exam, and they’re like, “Your stitches haven’t dissolved, so do three more weeks or so without having sex or whatever.” It’s all done now, and everything is better.

Did you ever have to get a biopsy?

When they did the ultrasound, and they figured out that my IUD was missing, they also saw a little cyst or something. They weren’t sure what it was, but it was poking the exterior of my uterus out a little bit, so they did a biopsy on that. They honestly just scraped while I was there in the chair, and it was nothing, really.

Was the ablation painful?

No, because you’re under sedation.

You said you were bleeding for a little bit after the hysterectomy. Was it period bleeding or a different kind of bleeding?

No. It was discharge-y. It was really light. I had my mom get me those giant pads when you have a baby ‘cause I thought it was going to be a lot, and it was nothing. I just wore a pad for probably four or five days, and then I just wore period underwear for another week, and it was just done.

When you were going through these crazy periods, did you have mood and PMS symptoms around them in addition to feeling gross and the inconvenience?

It’s like one feeds the other, right? You feel gross because you’re bleeding so much constantly, and you have no idea when it’s going to happen next, which, even without the hormones, makes you miserable. It really affected my life a lot.

I always had a really regular cycle and I was really easily able to get pregnant both times. The rug was pulled out from under me when it stopped being regular. I had no idea how to react to my own body or care for myself. I’ve had my period for 30 whatever years now, and suddenly, it’s different, and it felt really out of control.

So because you held onto your ovaries, you’re not in menopause, though.

No, they figured out during the course of this that I’m not even in perimenopause yet, but I guess now it doesn’t matter because I’m not bleeding. It’s good to have the hormones, but they also take out your cervix. Honestly, it has really improved P-I-V sex for me.

Do you still get PMS?

I still get PMS, which is weird. I know when it’s going to happen because I get a couple of little zits in the same place where I always would get pimples when I would get my period. I get really mad at my husband, and then my best friend goes, “Ugh, I’m going to get my period.” I’m like, “Okay, there it is.”

It’s not as bad because I’m not bleeding. I don’t think you can overestimate how wonderful it is not to bleed once a month. It’s so wonderful to just not think about it.

I explained to my kids what I was doing. They haven’t had their periods yet. My oldest daughter goes, “Now we’re not ever going to get to sync up.” She was sad about it. I was like, “Dude, one of the main reasons I wanted to do this was because I don’t want to have a period with three other girls in my house having a period.”

I don’t know if any of your doctors told you, would there have been any way to have been able to have gotten to this point sooner?

I do think that they probably have a thing in place like you’ve got to try X, Y, Z first. Inserting an IUD or birth control pills is much cheaper than doing a full-out surgery. It makes sense why, for their bottom line, they would want to do it. But it seems like if you’re thinking about healthcare in a less crass, money-hungry way, I feel like if a woman’s already had her kids and is ready, they should just listen to her.

Did your insurance cover the hysterectomy?

It was completely covered.

Do you think there’s anything that was within your control that you could have done any differently that would’ve either sped up this process or made it less painful?

I think I could have complained earlier. I let it go for a long time of bleeding with the IUD. I think I could have pushed back when my doctor put me on the pill and it didn’t work, but being a woman, it sucks to go to the doctor and get weighed and “How much are you exercising?” blah blah blah.

I think it’s really easy when you’re a mom to get in the habit of putting yourself last. If we’re going to pay a bunch of copays, I’d rather have it be for my kids than for me. But if my best friend came to me and was this miserable and having this much of a struggle, I’d be like, “Dude, go to the fucking doctor.”

How soon after the procedure did you have sex?

Nine weeks, I think.

Wow. Good for you for wanting to have sex with the person who got you pregnant several times.

I had a miscarriage when my younger children were in kindergarten, which I’m eternally grateful for because the due date was March 13th, 2020. But I know now the reason I had a miscarriage is my uterus was all fucked up. What if I didn’t know that and kept trying to have another baby? We need to have all the info that we can about our bodies that’s basically my biggest takeaway from this is don’t let your body be a mystery to you or your doctor.

I am so glad that you can enjoy life more. I’m sure your family appreciates that you’re feeling better. It’s a good lesson for your daughters, too, to see you taking care of this.

It’s been interesting to be so open with them about all of this stuff. They appreciate it and I think that it’s demystified so much for them.

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One witchy thing

At lunch yesterday, I spoke with another friend who has an IUD, and I asked her how much it hurt to get put in (she said some, but not too bad, all things considered.) She told me that while she winced through the procedure’s discomfort, she asked her female ob-gyn if she thought the pain was akin to what men feel when they kicked in the balls. Her doctor’s reply:

“Eh, who cares”