For a month now, a fire’s been burning in my gut. There’s something I need to say, especially to warn women, but wrestling with my own emotions has held me back. Here’s the thing: we’ve all heard it – listen to your body. Doctors might brush you off, but you know when something feels wrong. It’s your body, after all.
After my son was born, I expected some bleeding – it’s natural. It stopped for a while, but then started again. I wasn’t sure if this was normal postpartum bleeding or something else, so I decided to err on the side of caution.
My primary care doctor listened to my concerns about renewed bleeding after my son’s birth. They explained that since the bleeding stopped previously and didn’t feel like a period, it wasn’t likely related to postpartum recovery. Because the bleeding occurred only during bowel movements, they referred me to a gastroenterologist for further evaluation.
The colonoscopy revealed a number of polyps. They were removed and tested, with some showing precancerous signs, meaning they had the potential to become cancerous over time. This meant I needed regular colonoscopies to monitor my health.
This experience taught me a valuable lesson: listen to your body. If something feels off, don’t hesitate to talk to your doctor. And if they don’t take your concerns seriously, find a new doctor who will be your advocate.
A few years later, I noticed my menstrual periods were heavier than usual. Concerned, I made an appointment with my gynecologist. They explained that while having three C-sections can sometimes thicken the uterine lining, it wasn’t necessarily the cause of my heavy bleeding. To investigate further, they recommended an endometrial biopsy. It wasn’t as comfortable as a pap smear (which can cause some stinging), but it was a manageable procedure. The biopsy is a test where a small tissue sample is taken from the lining of the uterus to diagnose abnormalities. Thankfully, everything came back normal, a huge relief.
Adding to this, I also underwent genetic testing since my mother sadly passed away from ovarian cancer when I was just 11. Thankfully, the test results were negative, indicating I didn’t carry the gene mutation. However, after a few years and a move, I needed a new gynecologist. When I explained my history, including my heavier periods and approaching menopause, she suggested an oophorectomy (ovary removal). While the benefits are generally good, she acknowledged that negative genetic tests aren’t foolproof. A positive test indicates the presence of the gene, but a negative result doesn’t necessarily guarantee its absence.
The genetic test results were again negative, but this time with a higher risk score. This score indicates a slightly elevated risk compared to the average population. It doesn’t necessarily mean I have the gene mutation, but it allowed my doctor to justify the procedure to my insurance company and secure coverage for an oophorectomy (ovary removal).
While the necessity of justifying a medical procedure to an insurance company can be frustrating, that’s a discussion for another time.
I have an upcoming surgery in June to address a mass discovered in my uterus during a recent ultrasound. Doctors won’t know for sure what the mass is until it’s removed. Initially, my doctor recommended removing both my ovaries and the mass itself (oophrectomy with mass removal).
We also discussed a full hysterectomy, which would remove the uterus, cervix, and fallopian tubes. This option would eliminate any future concerns about the mass or other potential growths in the uterus. After careful consideration, I decided to proceed with the full hysterectomy.
I don’t talk to anyone who knew my mom, for their reasons, not mine. I don’t know what she went through as I was so young. I don’t know how she truly felt about the signs she had, only the visible ones. I know I am making the right decision, but it still scares me. The recovery is going to be about two months, which is why I scheduled it for the summer since I am a teacher, but still.
Right now I am just nervous while relieved I found this out now rather than later.
A Hidden Blight
Steel butterflies flutter in my chest,
Wings cold and sharp, a nervous guest.
June looms, a date etched sharp and clear,
Surgery’s shadow, ever near.
A mass unknown, a whispered fright,
My body’s map, a hidden blight.
Ovaries, uterus, the choice unfolds,
A path of loss, a story untold.
My mother’s journey, veiled in mist,
A silent echo I can’t resist.
Was she afraid? Did tremors shake,
When faced with choices for her sake?
The scalpel’s glint, a sterile gleam,
A stolen future, a waking dream.
Recovery’s road, a weary climb,
But hope remains, a flickering rhyme.
For health’s embrace, a price I’ll pay,
Though fear still whispers in the gray.
This body, tested, will mend anew.
