Wombs and Womanhood

“You are going to need a hysterectomy in the next 5 years.” I had a feeling those words were coming, but hearing them was deafening. We had already had the “it’s unsafe for you to carry anymore pregnancies” and “a tubal ligation is permanent sterilization” conversations, so the word hysterectomy shouldn’t have felt so much like a gut punch. But it did. I started my period when I was ten. I remember sitting in a human growth and development lesson in 5th grade and the teacher was reading anonymous questions from note cards all about periods, and breasts, and armpit sweat. Someone asked if periods hurt. The teacher said no. I asked why she would lie. I never got an answer. Painful, intense, frequent periods have been my reality for over half of my life. So here I am, a month away from 25 grasping at straws and going over the very few last options with my doctor to try and keep my uterus for as long as possible. I’ve been given a preliminary diagnosis of adenomyosis, a condition in which the endometrial lining of the uterus grows into and infiltrates the muscle of the uterus. This condition can be extremely painful, which explains so much of my life (let me just tell you, it feels so great to finally have an answer that doesn’t involve “maybe it’s in your head”). This in combination with the conditions I experience during pregnancy, as well as endometriosis, and polycyclic ovarian syndrome, will facilitate the need of a hysterectomy as the only form of relief and treatment. But here I am, a month away from 25 figuring out how to say goodbye to the piece of my body that housed my three babies, the part of me that makes me a “woman of childbearing years”, before I turn 30. Possibly before I even turn 26. How can I feel so attached to an organ that for so many years has caused me pain, sickness, and heartache? I know that my ability as a woman isn’t defined by my womb or my child bearing abilities, but somehow giving that up seems harder than I ever could have imagined. It almost feels like a cruel joke considering how fertile I am-how easily I can make babies, but how impossible it is for my body to carry them. My eyes fill up with tears of misplaced guilt just thinking about it. And the tears will continue to flow this week as I take the first step in fighting back against my hostile uterus. An endometrial ablation. A bandaid, without even a promise of improvement, to hold my body over until I am in a better position for major surgery. So with this I will continue to promise myself that what makes me a woman is not this defiant organ, but my kindness, bravery, nurturing heart, motherly love, intellect, intuition, tenacity, femininity, and resilience. I am made a woman by being a daughter, sister, mother, wife, and friend-not my body. I can still embody all that the womb symbolizes, even without a functioning one. Even so, I will mourn this piece of my story. I will, however, do so with the hope and prayer that it will improve my quality of life. That by taking away this symbol of motherhood, I will actually become a more able one. The hope of being able to enjoy my time with my little people without pain and illness is what drives me towards this frightening reality. And like a true woman, I will face this, conquer it, and have dinner on the table by 6. Just kidding about the dinner part.