The Saga

I'm climbing on my soapbox for this one. I hit my limit last week of stupid responses people have when they find out I had an emergency hysterectomy in December. The most common is "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry" but it's always followed by "You must be so crushed about not being able to have kids now." Every time someone adds that, I want to immediately set things on fire and steal little kid's balloons. It can really set the tone for the rest of my day. Let me tell you why! It's about to get real.

I have never in my life had a normal period. Ever. Even since I was a kid, they were downright awful. I think they put me on every single birth control available to womankind. Nothing worked. I was in the ER for cysts, internal bleeding, holes in my uterus and of course that one time that they were convinced I was hiding a pregnancy at 18. It was humiliating.  I would have actual pouches of blood that made me look pregnant. It ruined many horse shows, social engagements, dates and college for me. The first week of second semester of freshman year of college, my friends got to call 911 to have me hauled to the hospital. Not the kind of thing you want to put new friends though.  The number of jeans and cute clothes I had to throw away or scrub mass amounts of blood out of was getting expensive. That was my life for years.

What's even more frustrating than all of the above was the number of doctors that gave up on me and told me "This is just how your body is, try this XYZ birth control. It might help" I think they ran every test on me that is physically possible. Let me tell you how much my insurance hated me! And with all these changes, I gained an anxiety problem, migraines and sleep insomnia from all the meds. That was my trade out to not bleed to death. In college during finals, I didn't sleep for about 10 days. I would catch an hour or so here and there. I couldn't use tampons like a normal person because I would get Toxic Shock Syndrome where your body essentially starts to poison itself from all the blood.  I couldn't win. I was starting to pass out riding horses and anytime I over exerted myself. This was not acceptable for a girl who was supposed to be the scholarship rider and a star athlete.

Quick skip ahead and now its 2018 and I've been home for less than a year from working in Kentucky and things had gotten impossible. My doctor had cast me aside basically and I sought out a specialist without the support of a referring doctor. Luckily Lucas was there to take me to appointments and support me. It was a freaking breath of fresh air to have a doctor actually listen to me and get some results after a thorough search! It was endometriosis. Uterine tissue grows and attaches itself to things it shouldn't, causing pain and bleeding at random times. It can grow wherever it likes in the abdominal cavity. Rudely so might I say! I was approved for surgery and they were able to put me on a birth control that should settle things down. The serious pain was gone. No more 16 ibuprofen a day for cramping, but the excessive bleeding was still there. She hadn't guaranteed me that would go away however, another "That could be just be how your body is designed" comment. Grr.

So you can see why after all these years, I was never pro kids! I was assured that I could bleed out or die if I ever became pregnant, so from about 16 years old on, I learned to hate the idea of pregnancy and kids. Probably the most influential person was a deacon doing our pre-marital classes forcing me sign a paper stating I would bring more Catholic kids into the world. Upon me giving him the gist of my condition, he stated "Well that's God's will if you die in childbirth". I'm pretty sure I dropped the F bomb and told him to shove it. How could someone who claimed to be a man of God make so little of my life? I had to fight every month just to stay out of the ER! And for that-I would never be bringing kids into this world.

 Unfortunately, my problems didn't end here. About 2 years after the first surgery, I started to have serious bleeding problems again. There weren't enough tampons or pads in the world. Wearing white breeches was like the devil's temptation to humiliate me. It was time for a new doctor yet again. And by now my anxiety was so serious that very little things could spiral me into a panic attack multiple times a week. I did a lot of hyperventilating and crying upstairs alone after riding and lessons. I felt so small and alone. And drinking to numb the pain in my body. As we know, that doesn't help. And then Reddin died. It was a little hell loop. I needed help and no one seemed to have answers.

It was my physicians assistant that finally saved me and sent me in the right direction of someone who listened. It was a male gyno -which scared me to death. He was honest when I said I wanted a hysterectomy which I have been saying for years. He hated taking parts out of a very fit and young female without taking every step possible. Then he got ahold of my records and was quite blown away by my past. He called the previous surgeon I had that he also had studied under and got some details as well. I was livid when he made me try an IUD birth control but he calmly explained that my insurance wouldn't cover a surgery unless I tried it. It was the final step. I felt like someone was finally hearing me.

That IUD lasted about 6 days before I called him and said 'Get it out!''. It made everything worse. And boom! I was approved for surgery. Because it was a Christin hospital, they tried to tell me that I had to get my husbands permission and signature to have the procedure done to remove reproductive organs. I threw such a fit and started yelling that I was an adult who could make her own decisions that they were smart and decided they didn't need that form after all. I don't know whose asinine idea it was to ask for that, but I swear I will find you. I had to sign so much paperwork stating that I understood I would no longer be able to bear children and that I would accept a blood transfusion if I started to bleed out on the table as I barely had enough blood left in me for the surgery. My tendons hurt all the time just from riding due to the lack of blood supply in them My blood pressure was concerning for the doctors. But finally, we were off to the surgery table.

It was a bit daunting since it was Covid times and Lucas just had to drop me off early in the morning and then pick me up that night. It felt like I was going it alone, but wasn't I always? I had a nice nap while I was under the knife and struggled like hell to come out of anesthesia. I couldn't remember how to breathe and waking up was scarring as I gasped for air and choked and nurses came running over with alarms going off. Let me tell you how scary it is when someone yells "YOU NEED TO BREATHE!" at you and you can't figure out how to make that normally natural occurrence happen. I figured it out eventually although they wouldn't let me sleep and made me sit in a recliner fresh out of surgery. I was pissed. I demanded cookies and juice which they didn't have and someone had to go find so I would shut up. I was a real treat.

Home I went with Lucas that night after I was spayed. I still can't believe they just send you home after taking out body parts. With Lucas as my nurse, I slowly recovered and the 5 new holes on my abdomen became less angry. I was getting a second chance or maybe a 3rd at a normal life. When I went back in for my checkup, my surgeon informed me that the uterus they had taken out of me was actually necrotic and dying inside me, constantly poisoning my body as it decayed. Uhm what? Gross. They had never seen that before and had no idea how it had happened but he was glad we took it out. Naturally, they wouldn't let me take it home in a jar for the mantle above the fire place. Bummer.

So here I am 6 months out now, living my healthiest life. I'm struggling a bit with some frustrating weight gain they told me might happen, but I'm trying to be kind to myself since my body has been though hell. I've got a plan for the weight. But even worse is those that pity my lack of baby making ability. I am not a broodmare. My only job in life is not to make more humans. I am more than my uterus. FINALLY! So no, I am not sad I don't have kids and never will. No, I don't feel like I'm missing out. And Yes, Lucas is perfectly fine with it. I still can't believe people ask that one. As if he was unaware of my suffering for the 11 years we have been together. Don't pity me and tell me how sorry you are that I'm missing out on the joy of children. I'm finally getting to live my life the way I should have for the past 15 years. That's what I missed out on. I'm happy to finally be pain free and not worried about if I packed enough lady products for the show weekend or how I'm going to handle the withdrawals of forgetting to pack my anxiety meds for a long weekend away. 

This experience taught me so much about myself. I have a ridiculous pain tolerance to serious pain. I'm stubborn as hell and won't take no for an answer regarding body issues. And most importantly is that I know my body better than any doctor who thought they knew more about what was happening and told me to get psychological help for my craziness. I am bigger than the pain and stronger than the medications. And I'm just getting started on my second chance. This is Ali 2.0, signing out and climbing off her soapbox.

That pic was 10 days after major surgery!!