I’ve gotten to know a lot of other women who have had hysterectomies in the almost 5 years since I had mine. We all have stories about how we got to the point of having one, we all have stories about how it went and we all have stories about the outcome. Some of the stories are filled with tears, some with hope, some with (often dark) humour and some are heart-breaking. And they are all individual.
One of the big threads in those stories though is the issue of choice.
I chose to have hysterectomy. After finding myself effectively out of treatment options I was willing to consider to control the chronic pelvic pain I lived with day in and day out from the time I first got my periods, I asked for one. In fact, my exact words to the consultant where “I just wish you’d rip the fucker out”. He almost fell off his chair laughing. When he composed himself, he said, “I can do that”.
I had a long wait from the decision to actually having one, where I agonized about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I agonized right up until I was in the pre-op room being knocked out with anaesthetic. And when I woke up, I knew I had done the right thing. And I never looked back. It was my choice, I would live with whatever consequences came my way.
When I was in hospital, I met a women who had the same first name as me. I had seen her at the hospital a few weeks before, and we got chatting about why she was still there. It turned out she had Ulcerative Colitis, and I told her that my father had that. I asked what she was doing in the gyne ward. It turned out that the scaring from the UC had effectively welded her uterus and cervix to her colon, and they couldn’t do the surgical treatment for the UC she needed unless they got her uterus out of the way. She was 45 years old, a grandmother, and was seriously grieving the loss of her fertility and part of her body. And she was waiting for more surgery, and was terrified. I hope that I was able to re-assure her a bit by sharing my dad’s experience of having a stoma (it changed his life). I often think about her and wonder how she is doing. But ultimately, she didn’t have a choice. She needed potentially life-saving surgery on her guts, and part of the cost of that was losing a part of herself.
That was when the issue of choice really hit home. I made a choice, and I would live with the consequences, whatever they were. Other women who have had hysterectomies didn’t have a choice. They were like the woman above. They had cancer. They almost bled to death giving birth. There was no choice. No time to think things through. No time to research and ask questions. No time to come to terms with things beforehand. The choice wasn’t theirs to make. And I found that they struggled more to come to terms with the surgery than I did.
What does this have to do with Crohn’s? The issue of “choice” is still there. There is a difference between being able to make a decision yourself and making a decision because you have been wheeled into hospital from an ambulance and need immediate life-saving surgery. As I am not in the later position (and hope I never will be), I want all of the information available to help me make choices. I want the choice to be mine. Not someone else’s.
One of the big threads in those stories though is the issue of choice.
I chose to have hysterectomy. After finding myself effectively out of treatment options I was willing to consider to control the chronic pelvic pain I lived with day in and day out from the time I first got my periods, I asked for one. In fact, my exact words to the consultant where “I just wish you’d rip the fucker out”. He almost fell off his chair laughing. When he composed himself, he said, “I can do that”.
I had a long wait from the decision to actually having one, where I agonized about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I agonized right up until I was in the pre-op room being knocked out with anaesthetic. And when I woke up, I knew I had done the right thing. And I never looked back. It was my choice, I would live with whatever consequences came my way.
When I was in hospital, I met a women who had the same first name as me. I had seen her at the hospital a few weeks before, and we got chatting about why she was still there. It turned out she had Ulcerative Colitis, and I told her that my father had that. I asked what she was doing in the gyne ward. It turned out that the scaring from the UC had effectively welded her uterus and cervix to her colon, and they couldn’t do the surgical treatment for the UC she needed unless they got her uterus out of the way. She was 45 years old, a grandmother, and was seriously grieving the loss of her fertility and part of her body. And she was waiting for more surgery, and was terrified. I hope that I was able to re-assure her a bit by sharing my dad’s experience of having a stoma (it changed his life). I often think about her and wonder how she is doing. But ultimately, she didn’t have a choice. She needed potentially life-saving surgery on her guts, and part of the cost of that was losing a part of herself.
That was when the issue of choice really hit home. I made a choice, and I would live with the consequences, whatever they were. Other women who have had hysterectomies didn’t have a choice. They were like the woman above. They had cancer. They almost bled to death giving birth. There was no choice. No time to think things through. No time to research and ask questions. No time to come to terms with things beforehand. The choice wasn’t theirs to make. And I found that they struggled more to come to terms with the surgery than I did.
What does this have to do with Crohn’s? The issue of “choice” is still there. There is a difference between being able to make a decision yourself and making a decision because you have been wheeled into hospital from an ambulance and need immediate life-saving surgery. As I am not in the later position (and hope I never will be), I want all of the information available to help me make choices. I want the choice to be mine. Not someone else’s.
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