The Not-So-Obvious Impact of a Hysterectomy: An Open Letter to My Friends with Children
- Caitlin Thiede
- Oct 11, 2016
- 3 min read
On a Tuesday afternoon it was life as usual. On this particular day, I had my period and bleeding was heavy. Very heavy. After struggling with fibroids for the past few years, I was used to this. I was accustomed to the agonizing pain, fatigue, lethargy, and discomfort that came with my fibroids, in fact, I had mastered it and learned to live with it. I met with multiple doctors, explored my options and did all short of surgical intervention: herbs, supplements, aggressive exercise, strict diet, oils, massage. Symptoms lessened significantly until that Tuesday. What I mistook as fibroids "naturally" shrinking was instead a brooding time bomb for anemia, an enlarged uterus and potential damage to my internal organs. A month prior I had decided I would undergo a partial hysterectomy in 2017 to assure fibroids would not return after surgical intervention. I was 29, childless and optimistic. Flash forward to this particular Tuesday: I would undergo the procedure two days later - still 29, still childless and still very optimistic.
Eyes awake, mind loopy and body sore, I was relieved to learn all had gone as planned in the operating room. I'm thankful to have met the right doctor at the right time, and even more appreciative to have my life and body back - for good. So, what is it like knowing I can't ever make babies even if I wanted to? For me, it's peaceful. I'm grateful I decided I didn't want that ability prior to having surgery. If I see a child, I don't feel morose or regret. I feel thankful. I actually feel a greater appreciation for children now. And you may be thinking, "Surely, you can foster or adopt. Don't say you can't have kids." For me, if I can't bear naturally, I don't want children altogether. "But you're only 29." I have no desire to bend over backwards to have or acquire children. I am choosing to be childless and, I promise, I'm okay with that.
As my body rests, my mind doesn't. There is only one thing I fear since having surgery: that somehow I won't fit into your lives as your children grow older. For years now, I've been Auntie Caitlin to innocent souls with cute faces. But even before this surgery, expectations were set. Together we planned, we dreamed, we spoke of our kids playing together. Will this somehow change things? Those closest to me have already expressed disappointments and, though I understand, it still hurts. I can so easily compare this situation to years ago when I broke my engagement: the only thing holding me back was what other people thought of me. Just as I feared, loved ones fell out of my life. So, if you're reading this, please know, I am worried that something might change - or worse - that it won't and you'll somehow find me "unfitting" in your world of pinks, blues and mom friends. Or maybe I'm scared because, rightfully so, it's true. I WON"T fit into that life. It won't be convenient, but it will be intentional effort that keeps you in my life. So, to my dearest friends who have blessed my life with bundles of joy, please know I'm still the same Cait - just without my uterus.
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