Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of my hysterectomy. If you’re new here and haven’t read my story, or if you feel like revisiting my epic journey to escape a life of servitude under a horrid dictator named Augustine, you can start reading the saga here. My decision to share my experience of undergoing life-changing surgery at 25 stemmed largely from my desire to support other women in similar situations, since there seem to be so few resources for young women making the decision. When I was pursuing surgery, I found very few positive accounts of hysterectomy in women of childbearing age, so I wanted to add my own saga on the chance it could buoy someone in need.
Here I am, five years later, and looking back on that distant time in my life stretches my brain. It happened so long ago, before The Electrician, and before Sherman, before I lived in the dollhouse. Sometimes, it seems to be part of another life.
I’d be lying if I said things have always been easy since I shipped Augustine to the lab. There are so many assumptions about women and childbearing, and I’ve been in quite a few awkward situations since then. Note: it’s really uncomfortable to be sans uterus when people hassle you constantly as a newlywed to “get knocked up soon.” I generally just smile and state that if I suddenly find myself in a gravid state, I will get my own church. I like the sound of “Our Lady of Dark Chocolate.” Sometimes, I want to have a t-shirt printed that says, “I have no uterus, but thanks for asking me wildly personal questions.” I’m thankful to have a husband who never gave my lack of factory parts a second thought; he’s a winner, through and through.
Five years out, I’m still so grateful to have found a good surgeon who could take my misery out of me. I don’t know where I’d be now if Dr. Wong hadn’t agreed to help me.
Wherever you are, Augustine, no one here misses you at all. Rest in pieces.
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