Why a hysterectomy?
I knew as I lay there at 2 in the morning, soaking through a super-plus tampon and the two overnight pads I had taped together, that it would be another sleepless night. I dreaded getting out of bed to change my supplies. I had ruined enough underwear, nightgowns and sheets over the previous year to know that any sudden movement, even rolling over in bed, could cause a major gush. Still, I braced myself, slowly squeezing my legs together as I rose to cross the bedroom floor. Blood trickled down my thigh and onto the carpet as I fumbled my way in the dark toward the bathroom. Relief was on the way. At least for another three hours.
Bleeding profusely three days a month, losing sleep, keeping a change of clothes at work, not being able to concentrate because of my anemia and total exhaustion was the new normal for me. As a single parent raising two adolescent girls and working two jobs, I was a mess. Were it not for the love and support of my children, my family, my boyfriend, and my boss, I probably would have lost my job and my sanity. I needed help and I needed it fast.
Enough is enough, I thought as I trundled off to my family doctor for the third time in a year. "I can't take this bleeding anymore," I told her. "What's wrong with me?" She prescribed the blood-thickening medication Cyklokapron, which I was to take every four hours during my heaviest days. She also sent me for an ultrasound, which revealed multiple fibroids growing inside the lining of my uterus, one as big as an orange, and growing bigger by the month. Fibroids (I now know) are non-cancerous tumours that develop on or in the lining of the uterus and can cause severe bleeding, extreme pain or, for some lucky women, no symptoms at all. Approximately 40 per cent of Caucasian women and 60 per cent of African-American women have fibroids by age 35, with the numbers increasing to 70 per cent and 80 per cent, respectively, by age 50. No one really knows what causes them, but estrogen makes them grow; happily, they usually stop increasing in size after menopause.
Only three options?
My doctor referred me to a gynecologist who explained I had three options — manage my symptoms until menopause, increase my dose of Cyklokapron or have a partial hysterectomy to remove my uterus. "Your uterus is lit up like a Christmas tree," he said, referring to my ultrasound, which looked like a Lite-Brite screen, with zillions of coloured dots indicating where the fibroids were located. He described my uterus as a "cancer nest," and said a hysterectomy was the only sure way to remove any risk of developing uterine cancer down the road, even though I had no family history of it or any other cancer. With language like that, I bought in. I phoned my boyfriend on the way home, crying, "Gaston, I think I have to have a hysterectomy." I was drained and exhausted, my brain was in a fog, and I was now facing the prospect of major surgery. I thought about it and, after my next even heavier period, decided to call my gynecologist to book the surgery. My sister Sue told me I was crazy. She'd heard all kinds of stories about women who experienced major health problems after having hysterectomies. I ignored her, saying it was my body and I could choose whatever treatment I wanted. After all, I knew several women who'd had the procedure and raved about their results. One of them is my friend Louise, who, like me, lives in Ottawa. She told me the surgery gave her a new lease on life after years of heavy bleeding and excruciating lower back pain caused by endometriosis.
"I suffered for 20 years and just kind of put up with it as most women do," Louise confided. "One morning I woke up and the pain in my lower back was so bad I had to crawl to the bathroom. That was the last straw. I went to my doctor and asked for a hysterectomy." She says she's never looked back. I was envious and wanted the same relief.
