Removed

On June 4th, my body was relieved of the abominations it had created, out of spite, because of endometriosis. My ovaries were also relieved of their duties and given a funeral at sea, or more accurately…a dissection in a pathology lab. Personally, I prefer the Viking funeral imagery. An ode to two organs that did absolutely nothing to contribute to society and made my life an absolute living hell. May they be lit on fire and may they burn in hell.

Those of you living with chronic pain; I respect you. You are an enigma to me, as I could not manage to go one step further with the level of pain I was maintaining. All I could do was deny that it was as bad as it felt, that maybe I was the crazy one with a shitty pain tolerance and just hoped I could gaslight myself into believing these lies. I was blindly, forcefully, pushing myself so hard just to go through the motions and keep moving. I have been called a trooper, but I’m not even sure what this level of denial could be classified as, as I had many a moment of pure panic over the throbbing on my lower left side.

Truthfully, it felt like the biggest endometrioma cyst grew teeth, as I would have these lightning bolts of shooting, nauseating pain that would leave me breathless and sick to my stomach. Also couldn’t wear half the pants I own, as the biggest cyst/tumor was around 6×6 inches. Roughly the shape and size of a cantaloupe. The month before surgery I could finally see that fucker pushing through all my loose pants and when I laid down, it was a very smooth, obvious sphere underneath my skin. Nearly bisected by the original c-section scar from my last surgery. Super.

The surgery came swift on the heels of a cancellation, and before I knew it I was in the pre-op room getting all prepped for another organ harvesting and even if I wasn’t obviously displaying it- delighted at the fact that this was all going to be over. There was the of course, creeping anxiety that didn’t dare to hope I could come out of this unscathed, but I could largely ignore and tune out the creepy anxiety voice, whilst laying in a hospital bed with an IV, chatting with nurses and mum.

The ovaries; creator of cysts and bane of my existence were the topic. Should they stay or should they go. “Fuck no, out they go” was my statement and I asked her to quote me in my chart.

My surgeon still asked me if I wanted to change the plan. Luckily most medical professionals are all about statistics. The likelihood of cutting me open again was HIGH as I am not even 4 years out of the first organ harvesting, and my situation seemed to really give weight to the theory that estrogen feeds endometriosis. We both agreed that I should be cleaned out.

My surgery was apparently brutal. There was the argument of laparoscopy or c-section and the surgeon went with the lap, and then realized 1.5 hours in that this was a mistake, but pushed through anyway (his words). So there I was being pumped with C02 to dilate everything for over three hours, rather like blowing up a parade float. I was cleaned out, the big cyst was removed, and woke up in recovery in the throes of an asthma attack, more than likely from the lung compression of C02. It sounded like I scared the shit out of the anesthesiologist and recovery nurse who promptly had me sucking on an inhaler. I couldn’t even see yet, I was just taking these dramatic, terrible breathes and not getting any air into my lungs.

I was kept overnight also, because the surgery went so late. Core memory of this experience was feeling like absolute perfect shit, sitting up in recovery trying to breath, trying not to cry and eating their stock of red popsicles to distract me from the intense hot/cold flashes my body was producing. Caught a glimpse of myself in bathroom mirror later and recoiled at the blue tinged lips and pasty white skin that was actually MY face. Once again, I was the haunting of the hospital.

The recovery has been much quicker this round, but the gas pains with a laparoscopy were unhinged and took about a week to subside. I’m still slightly swollen, but I am moving around and driving a car. Just useless for errands as I get waves of fatigue once I get inside the store, but if I end up behind someone with a walker- they are the perfect speed and I appreciate them.

As for the Cougar Puberty that I am now in, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. What kind of shoes will they be? More Vans and Doc Martens? Maybe a set of heels? Probably a nice pair of orthopedic loafers. I’ve had a few random hot flashes and that’s been it, but when compared to the mountain of actual bullshit I have been through since I was around 39 years old-maybe this will be the peace and saving grace I have been seeking for the past 10 years.

Hear me out. When women around me list off their Peri/Menopause symptoms I just start to think back to the sheer torture that was my body with reproductive organs and I wonder if I’ve already been through the worst, as I can match them symptom for symptom starting in my late 30’s. Not resting on my laurels, but maybe it’s time I start to look forward to something for once? I am 100% in the camp of unlucky individuals who can say: anything is better than it was before. I’m not going to miss having such insane cramps that I couldn’t walk. I’ll spare everyone the gory details of what my body did to clothing, bedsheets, chairs, seats in cars, and do I NEED to go on here.

Endo pain is almost indescribable in it’s misery and feeling, and I wouldn’t wish this disease on my worst enemy. Closest thing we can agree on are the knitting needle in the pelvis pain shocks. When I started creating cysts, the threads of nerves and pain that would climb up into my bowels would just light me up. It was the Dresden bombing in my peritoneal cavity. The burning. Always this burning.

The resident told me they drained a liter of fluid from the biggest cyst, and there was mention of taking hormones at some point, but this was not set in stone. Hard to accept that it’s all over (for now) and that in a couple weeks I can be cleared for exercise, lifting weights and maybe going back to work, asserting dominance. Perfectly normal, general fuckery.

Before I go, let me share this brief interaction I had with a nurse. My procedure was not correct in the system, but I had fun with this as it really did not matter in the end, nor was it going to change the approach. I was listed as a “Bilateral salpingo-oopherectomy” which is Latin for a bilateral tube/ovary removal. I was supposed to be a “bilateral oophorectomy“. Meaning just ovaries (the oopher). The salpingos? Are my tubes that are long gone.

Every person that I chatted with in the hospital repeated the incorrect procedure to me and I would, of course, correct them. This exchange was just one of many.

Nurse: Do you know what procedure you are having today?
Me: Ovary removal and gigantic cyst eviction.
Nurse: Right! A bilateral salpingo-oopherectomy.
Me: No salpingos.
Nurse: Pardon?
Me: There are no salpingo’s. My hyster was harvested back in 2020 and thats when you took the salpingos.
Nurse: What do you mean? (she did NOT think I was funny)
Me: I have no tubes. They were removed during my last rodeo because endo was blasting them up.
Nurse: That’s not what it says here.
Me: This is my second rodeo. I mean, that probably isn’t going to matter since they will see once they are in there but I just wanted you to know that there are no salpingos there.
Nurse: Wait, are you serious?
Me: Have you ever looked at anyone more serious?
Nurse: Well, yes. Yes I have.
Me: Oh. ( I was a little sad at that and stopped talking)


The irony that this incorrect entry was probably because of a medical secretary is the best part. Hospitals? Are gonna hospital. I know I try to be careful when I’m listing reason for visits, and pretty sure I wouldn’t make that much of a mistake but maybe we can blame booking for this error. If we cared. I didn’t, obviously.

Cross your fingers that when the shoe finally drops I get a nice pair of cute, versatile flats.