6 Things I've Learned Having a Hysterectomy, In No Particular Order
Booting my uterus comes with a host of new feelings, experiences and sensations
Listen to me read it:
It’s three weeks post-hysterectomy this week and as I start to feel more like myself I’ve made some observations. Some physical, some emotional, some obvious, and some less so.
I know that I’m still in it, like deep in the healing and I’ll continue to learn more, but so far these lessons are pretty indisputable.
More people have had a hysterectomy than you’d think
Talking about my experience is shedding (lol) light on just how common this procedure is. Uterusless folks are all around us and each decision is so personal and private, and I’m learning by sharing mine just how true that is.
In my reading, thirty-five seems to be the magic age - the age at which a pregnancy becomes “geriatric” or as they say now, advanced maternal age, and your reproductive value starts to go down. In my experience doctors are more likely to consider booting the ute as an option for you once you’ve reached this middle-aged milestone. Especially if you’ve already had children. Hell, it used to be the easy way out of managing '“women’s problems” once the uterus had fulfilled this divine purpose!
Twenty-two per cent of Canadian [cisgender] women age 35 and older (1.8 million [people]) have had a hysterectomy, with the most common age for the procedure being somewhere between 40 and 50. More than one in five people born with a uterus have had it removed after age 35. This is absolutely not to say that people under 35 don’t have hysterectomies - they can, and do, and over 90% of them feel no regret about doing so. More than 41,000 are performed each year in Canada, most due to benign conditions and mostly to improve a person’s quality of life.
But it doesn’t always work.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:
A hysterectomy is not a cure for endometriosis.
Many people have complications or continue to experience debilitating endo symptoms and I have no idea what’s in store for my future. Getting rid of my uterus has nothing to do with endometriosis and everything to do with it causing me nothing but grief for years.
If the reading and overwhelming anecdotal evidence is anything to go by, things are about to change. And I feel it. The appeal of never. spotting. again. Of not dealing with periods or cervical cancer scares or surprise pregnancies or excruciating uterine cramping. It doesn’t feel real. But I am cautiously optimistic.
Healing looks different for everyone
It’s hard with the internet these days not to fall into the traps of over-researching or consuming content. In the communities I follow there’s a wide range of what “success” looks like - or doesn’t look like. It’s a fine balance.
A friend who does clinical endometriosis research said going back to work after 2-3 weeks is not unheard of. I’ve also seen stories of complications at six weeks post-op so it’s hard to know what to expect, and not to expect the worst. (I’m still terrified of vaginal cuff dehiscience. This is literally my new worst nightmare).
It’s hard not to hear the experiences of others and play the comparison game. There’s always someone ‘better’ or ‘worse’ off than us and worrying about others’ progress isn’t going to help your own. Taking advice and sharing experience is incredibly valuable but I’m learning it’s important not to turn anecdotes into expectations. Everyone’s experience is vastly different.
As the physical symptoms subside I’m slowly regaining my energy and noticing some changes in my body.
There’s this thing that happens when you live with chronic pain where the pain becomes a part of who you are, how you move, what you do. You adapt to the fact that certain movements may cause a wrench or a tweak or a shot of pure white lightning and the pain just becomes part of you. You grow around it the way nature overtakes abandoned buildings and it becomes part of your landscape.
I have certain pains like that, that I can’t remember existing without. That became part of the landscape of my body and a steady source of suffering.
And now some of them are just … gone.
It’s a mindfuck.
As the swelling and post-surgery pains fade I’m left feeling not empty, but full. Not lacking, but complete. Open to whatever lies in front of me.
One day at a time. We’re taking it slow.
Sex is so much more than penetration
Like, I know this. We know this.
But sometimes it’s a lot easier said than done.
In an effort to bring humour to healing that is probably not helping my aversion to penetration, I’ve been comparing my newly cuffed vagina to a tube sock just chillin’ in my pelvis. Sure I’m terrified a cough, sneeze or poop will turn it inside out but if you really think about it a sock needs something to go all the way into it to be flipped inside out.
So that’s where I’m at on sex.
I explained this analogy to a friend when we went for coffee with accompanying hand gestures and the look on their face was pure terror.
So yeah, I’m not rushing to put something inside of this Tube Sock of Terror. What an affectionate name for my vagina. I bet people who sleep with me can’t wait for the next romp.
But that’s the thing. I want to lean into the vulnerability of doing something new, of exploring my own sexual identity outside of a penetrative lens, and see what’s possible when the focus isn’t on that or on orgasm but on the whole experience of pleasure, of embodied existence, of the erotic in everyday life.
I masturbated this week for the first time. My fartner expressed surprise that I hadn’t tried it sooner, but I think the possibility for pelvic tension and release that comes along with that - whether I orgasm or not - made me nervous.
But it was okay. It was good. It made me more emotional than I anticipated. I had an orgasm. A couple, in fact. There was no pain, and hasn’t been since. Before surgery I’d asked my surgical team how soon I could resume external stimulation and they said whenever I felt “ready.” I guess I got there. I’m not rushing out to do it every day right now, but will continue to see how I feel and take it day by day.
I’m not putting any pressure on myself either way - I just zooted my ute through my pussy, I think if there’s any time to give myself a chance to explore sexuality and gender through a new lens, it’s now.
Gender is a construct, not an organ
I was chatting with another uterusless nonbinary pal about the general correctness of not having a uterus and how they felt such gender euphoria, and I I finally get it. I’ve felt it before, but not like this.
I feel gender euphoria when I put on a particularly good outfit or freshly buzz my head or wear a dildo. I feel it when I express my truest most comfortable self in ways that make me feel good, powerful, strong.
But this. this is something else entirely.
I’ve always felt uncomfortable with the notion of “divine feminine” energy and the connection to a sacred purpose to fill a womb and birth life and be in tune with your cycle and while doing that do all of the things that societies have burdened uterus owners with for centuries.
This notion is like a pair of pants that just don’t fit right but you wear them anyway and it’s hard to breathe because it feels so restrictive but you hold onto them because society tells you that one day they’ll fit when really you hate the pants and are keeping them for a life you’ll never actually live. Luckily there are lots of people who like those pants and can fit into those pants and will wear them for a long time.
To feel like I’m not restricted by an organ associated with femininity is true freedom I didn’t know I was craving. A freedom from gender stereotypes and obligations and assumptions and projections — in medicine, in work, in relationships.
My experience is not everyone’s, but it is that — mine. I don’t think I anticipated the reinvigorated sense of self that would emerge during this whole experience. It’s part of navigating the changing landscape of my body. Internal or external, there are new things to discover and versions of myself I never knew existed.
Guilt and Happiness can co-exist
As I start to feel better physically, the emotional waves are starting to roll over me. I’m feeling some guilt around the fact that my recovery has been going so well. Not having a uterus feels right and good and I’m so fucking happy to be on this side of it, but I recognize the privilege in having had my experience go the way it has. That many people don’t find relief after their own surgery, or if they do it’s fleeting, or they have complications, or they spend years navigating an overburdened system before any of this even happens.
People with endo can suffer so deeply for so long, I think we start to believe that we don’t deserve happiness or good things or pleasure or even just neutrality. That when we do feel happiness, it won’t last long or we shouldn’t share it because people are still suffering, every day, and how dare we?!
Being a person is messy. I think taking the moments of happiness, pleasure, relief, are part of what makes it worthwhile. Yes, the guilt is there too, but that’s the beauty of dialectics; learning to hold space for multiple things to be true at once.
I’m still figuring out where I belong
All of this has got me thinking about gender and my place in the world and in endo communities and queer communities and I feel like I’m floating around in the ether between all of them.
If I’ve learned anything during this whole process it’s the incredible value and importance of community. Having people who see us and accept us for who and where we are is essential. Knowing there are people you can lean on or who get it makes hard life experiences a little easier to swallow.
I’m still figuring out what my community looks like. I’ve always been a bit of a satellite, hovering around the edges of social groups but never really settling or crash-landing into something that changed everything. Perhaps until now.
I feel as though I’ve turned the page and started a whole new chapter of living. This is Act Three of my Life Story, however that unfolds remains to be seen.
Where do I belong now?
Who am I without these pains that defined me for so long?
How do I move forward into a life without a uterus?
The landscape has changed and I’m just learning to navigate it.
~
I’m curious, if you’ve had a hysterectomy, what lessons are you learning? Does any of this resonate?