Time goes by so fast. This week marks one year since the day of my surgery. It’s been my first year living without abdominal pressure, without sudden pulls in my lower belly, without constant bleeding or discomfort.
I was 11 years old when I got my first period, and almost immediately came the discomforts that went beyond what’s considered “normal” in becoming a woman. I remember that when I was 13, after a lot of pain, medical exams revealed a large cyst on my right ovary that might require surgery.
It was the first time I ever heard the word surgery. The doctor, trying to avoid that option at all costs, prescribed rest and medication, and after a few months, the treatment worked. Some time later, they found other cysts, smaller this time, but decided to put me on birth control pills for a while.
About ten years passed and everything seemed fine, until one day, already living in the United States, during a routine annual exam, they detected an infection in my cervix. I remember the doctor who saw me that day was a bit dramatic and mentioned everything from a hysterectomy to cancer.
Without thinking twice, my parents sent me to see three other doctors. I even traveled to Colombia to visit a women’s health clinic. After many tests, it turned out to be a simple infection, and the recommendation was to go back on birth control pills.
Years later, when we were beginning the IVF process, I had a myomectomy, a surgery recommended to remove five fibroids located outside my uterus that could interfere with a possible pregnancy.
I thought that surgery would finally close that chapter, and for a while, it did. But the fibroids came back. At first they were small and harmless, but little by little, they started to hurt, to bother me, to interfere with my daily life.
The topic of a hysterectomy was always there, hovering, but I kept postponing it—partly because of my age, partly out of fear, and maybe even because of the lingering hope of a third child who could come into our lives that way.
Until last year, during an appointment to review my biannual ultrasound, while talking to my doctor, I realized the time had come.
I remember feeling a mix of fear, uncertainty, and relief. I was closer than ever to leaving behind all that pain and, above all, the constant bleeding.
So I focused on preparing for recovery: I read many testimonials, listened to podcasts, improved my diet, exercised. I wanted to be as ready as possible to ensure a good recovery.
But emotionally, there was something inside me that I didn’t quite know how to process. I felt a kind of built-up anger toward my uterus. It’s hard to explain, but I felt like it had never fulfilled its main purpose, that it had only brought fibroids, pain, and frustration. I was ready to say goodbye to it and move on with my life.
And then that day came, October 15th, 2024. I was 40 years old, and even though I always knew this moment would come, facing it was different. It wasn’t just a surgery; it was also a farewell.
It was closing a chapter that had followed me since adolescence, all the doctor’s appointments, treatments, hopes, and disappointments.
At the time, I didn’t think I would feel grief. In fact, when I read about people experiencing grief after surgery, I didn’t understand why they felt that way. To me, it seemed more like a light at the end of the tunnel.
But after some time, grief did come. One day I noticed a sadness deep inside me, a need to cry without fully knowing why. Being honest with myself, I realized it hadn’t just been a surgery.
Through all those years, despite the cysts, fibroids, and treatments, there had never been a medical reason why I couldn’t get pregnant. And even though I wasn’t actively trying, the simple idea that it could happen had always lived somewhere within me.
With the hysterectomy, that possibility disappeared completely. Saying goodbye to that small hope, that tiny “maybe”, hurt more than I expected.
Today, a year later, I look back and recognize that it wasn’t easy. I think all of us who go through that rollercoaster of symptoms, diagnoses, and emotions as women, often try to appear stronger on the surface than we really feel inside.
My hysterectomy took away pain, discomfort, and constant medical worries, but at the same time, it gave me a new kind of life I had never known before. A life without pain, without interruptions, without constant checkups, without pads or tampons! It brought both a farewell and a rebirth.
Grateful to have you here, heart to heart.
Melli
