Five Lessons From a Thanksgiving Hysterectomy
What says Happy Thanksgiving better than a transvaginal hysterectomy, bilateral salpingectomy, and anterior/posterior pelvic organ prolapse repairs? Don’t let me forget the placement of a midurethral sling.
In other words, last Thanksgiving, a surgeon gutted me like a fish.
The surgeries went well. The fierce, wrenching pain was unbelievable. When I arrived home, disoriented and sore, I discovered a feast my husband and four children had cooked for me. Still high on sedatives, I sloppily ate my turkey and mashed potatoes in bed.
Hospitals send women home 4–5 hours after a hysterectomy. 4–5 hours! Let that sink in for a moment. A doctor or nurse never called to check on my status. A message I left for the on call OBGYN went unanswered. The American healthcare industry prioritizes cost over care. The greed of insurance companies, hospitals, pharmaceutical companies, device manufacturers, and broken healthcare systems is nothing new, but it’s still unacceptable.
Because the system and its profiteers won’t look after us, we have to look after each other.
After six months of recovery, I can finally articulate what I learned from this experience. Sometimes, when you experience trauma, physical or psychological, it can take a while to get over the pain and feel safe again. I’m here, safe, with many lessons I learned over many months.
You don’t always have to be nice, especially concerning your health and what you need from the medical community.
In real life, I’m a nice person. Most of the time, I like to think I act with good intentions and compassion, treating people with respect, gratitude, and dignity. However, my agreeableness disagrees with me at times.
Being nice doesn’t pay when it comes to advocating for yourself in a healthcare setting. Do you need to act like an asshole? No, but nice won’t get you what you need.
If you don’t advocate for yourself, no one will. If you don’t speak up for yourself, no one will. Find your voice. Ask lots of questions. No question is silly or stupid.
If you have surgery scheduled, read up!
Do all the research beforehand, and arm yourself with knowledge. Knowledge is power. You need to feel powerful as you head into surgery and recovery!
Real talk — I did not do enough research. Other women shared their experiences with me, and no two stories were the same. While hearing those accounts helped me to feel less alone, they didn’t prepare me for how my body would react to and recover from surgery. Your experience will be your own.
In the weeks following the hysterectomy, I experienced excruciating back spasms. The pain confounded me and took my breath away. What did I do? I headed over to YouTube and watched doctors perform surgeries similar to mine. Then, I understood. Five hours spent on a flat, cold surface with your legs secured back by your ears will hurt an already “iffy” lower back!
As disturbing as it was watching those videos, I wish I had done my due diligence before going under the knife. Getting all the facts is an integral part of the decision-making process. Knowing what to expect reduces anxiety.
Keep a running list of questions to ask healthcare professionals, and make sure you get answers.
Once your surgery ends, you are now a doctor and a nurse.
Without medical training, you are responsible for nursing yourself back to health, even if you are in acute pain. Have a loved one help you when you are too sick and vulnerable to care for yourself.
Plan ahead! Stock up on medicines, supplies, and food before the day of your surgery. Organize childcare. When you are at your absolute worst, you don’t want to worry about what’s for dinner or who will take your kids to soccer practice.
What surprised me most about the days following the surgery was how dangerous it felt out in the wild with no doctors or nurses supervising my healing. My husband helped me to stand. He changed my menstrual pads, supported my weight in the shower, wiped streams of blood off the bathroom floor, and helped me empty my catheter bag.
You know when you want to express gratitude, but words somehow seem inadequate? That’s the feeling I get when I think about how my husband cared for me during those weeks.
Every time I experienced a new painful side effect, my best friend deep-dived into Dr. Google to problem-solve my symptoms. I called her at least a dozen times during those first few weeks of recovery, sobbing like a blubbering wreck, and she always heard me. Thankfully, my best friend is whip-smart and resourceful with a can-do attitude for days. She gets stuff done. My gratitude for her compassion runs deep.
No one can prepare you for acute pain.
As human beings, we avoid pain and seek pleasure. Our brains are wired that way. But sometimes, the key to growth lies in living through the pain.
A thousand people could have warned me about how much pain I would experience in the first few months after the hysterectomy, and I still wouldn’t have understood.
You don’t know what you don’t know.
When faced with actual physical pain, we step up and grit our teeth. In the end, it makes us more compassionate, empathetic caregivers for others.
Recognize the people who step up to the plate for you.
Pain shrinks your world. Choose advocates who love you. Their roles are to help lower the risk of medical errors and ensure you get appropriate post-procedure care.
My surgeries happened in November, smack dab in the heart of a pandemic. I faced a unique situation when it came to finding caretakers. Family members expressed discomfort over entering our home. People quarantined and socially distanced themselves from others. The threat of covid raged on and on.
Still, a few loved ones put themselves at risk to help me. When it mattered, they showed up. Thank you to my batters. You know who you are, and I love you until the end.
Am I better off now? Absolutely!
For decades, I lived in a constant state of pain. Anyone struggling with chronic pain understands. It’s your “normal.” Surgery was 100% the right decision for me, but that doesn’t mean it was easy. Through it all, I’ve realized one sure thing — I’m strong.
Ladies, I see you. What our reproductive organs endure throughout a lifetime boggles my mind. Many of us suffer from invisible, insidious pain every single day.
You are strong. You are brave.
Women — you are warriors.
