That Pesky Uterus

Looks like I had my uterus removed just in time.

I had a hysterectomy at the end of May. Uterine fibroids were causing issues and with my history of breast cancer, it was the best choice. We wiped out the heightened potential for cervical and endometrial cancer and lowered my risk of ovarian cancer by removing the fallopian tubes (where it often starts). I decided to keep my ovaries because I didn’t want to be thrown into medically induced menopause. Even though I’m on an estrogen suppressant to reduce my breast cancer recurrence, those side effects are mild and manageable. So when I’m off it in eight years, I’ll go back to my gynecologist and remove the ovaries too.

During my post-op appointment, where the gyno said I had made a full recovery, he asked if I had any questions. I wondered if I needed to come back for an annual checkup, and he said, “Well, you don’t need a Pap smear because that’s for cervical cancer and you don’t have a cervix anymore. You have your oncologist checking your breasts, so that just leaves the ovaries. And your primary care doctor can check those. So you’ve graduated from gynecological visits until we take them out.”

It's a strange thing, not only having an internal organ taken out, but one that changes an aspect of my womanhood. Before the surgery I had to sign a waiver stating that I understood I could no longer bear children after this, which I found comical. I’m guessing there must’ve been some lawsuit where a person was like, “What?? No one told me I couldn’t have kids after this!” My gyno said you’d be surprised at how little some women understood their own physiology. The way certain places in our country treat sex health education (or ignore it) is abominable.

But I’ve been reflecting on the medical choices I’ve had to make lately, between my breast cancer and lumpectomy two years ago and now the hysterectomy. Luckily, taking out my uterus was a fairly easy decision for me. I never wanted kids and spent my 20s and 30s explaining why to people and insisting I’d never change my mind. I was on birth control for 20 years (thank you, health insurance!) before having to go off it because of the kind of breast cancer I had. I rejoiced when I threw out the last pregnancy test in the cupboard right after my hysterectomy. Having dealt with guys who didn’t want to wear condoms, it was a relief to be rid of that pesky uterus.

Now I know men can be involved in these choices and have a tough time with them also. But this is not just a mental or emotional issue for women—these are physical problems with medical consequences. The list is long: periods and repeat discomfort or pain; hormones and the drugs often used to manipulate them to prevent pregnancy, or get pregnant, or deal with menopause; IUDs for those who can’t/don’t want to affect those hormones; the enormous slate of issues that can happen during pregnancy, including death; rounded out by the various cancers listed above. Never mind social stigmas, like morality clauses at religious schools, being accused of starting a job for the maternity leave (or not getting leave at all) and making less money than a man for the same work. And the list goes on.

So it’s not only heartbreaking, but also alarming to hear Roe has been overturned, and that moving forward (or backward as it were) women are going to have fewer federal rights than their mothers once did. I mean, I was working on a sci-fi book in 2014 where I set the story 50 years in the future because the political backdrop was Roe v. Wade being overturned, which seemed extreme at the time. That was the catalyst in the book for a civil war between religious zealots and other political factions. It’s crazy to me how quickly this ruling happened.  

And it scares the shit out of me.

We can argue when life begins. I was raised Catholic (I stopped practicing in college), in a household that believed abortion was murder. We can argue Constitutional law. We can argue about the patriarchy. But the truth is, this is a frightening step that will be detrimental to a large fraction of the population. And it’s only the beginning. I remember after the election in 2016, a friend asked if anyone he knew was directly affected by the actions of that president. At the time, we knew of grad students who couldn’t go home because of the travel ban he had placed on their native countries. But as time went on, so many other consequences snowballed to get us where we are today. And I fear for my nieces and the world they’ll be inheriting.

That’s why it’s imperative to protest, vote, and educate future generations to be vigilant. Thank goodness my nieces live in Massachusetts and not a state where their neighbors now have a say on their bodily autonomy. Because no woman should be worried we’re around the corner from The Handmaid’s Tale. I’d rather my sci-fi story be fiction.