What You Need to Know About Having a Hysterectomy and Medical Induced Menopause

Something that I’ve been thinking a lot about is how when you are a ‘sharer’ and you put your stuff out into the world, it always seems to land in the laps of those who need to read it. In the moments when I want to close up and fight the calling from deep within to share more of my story, more of the raw and precious parts that I often want to hide, I remember the random emails and DM’s that find their way to me that say, “thank you for sharing your story. I’m going through this too and needed to hear this.”

It’s been four and a half months since I had my hysterectomy and I’ve had countless people reach out to me because they found this post I wrote about deciding to have mine back in July. Most of them are Lynch Syndrome too and every time I read the parts of their story they share, I find myself overwhelmed by how many people are walking this earth and how every single one of them is going through their own stuff. Their own worries and fears and pain and healing.

Truth be told, I haven’t regretted my decision at all. That’s not to say I haven’t had my moments of deep grief and reckoning with what this type of surgery really means and the reality that, there is no going back. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. There is no going back to my doctor and saying, “Um, doc. Ah, can you like, put it all back in me now cause I think I made a mistake. I, um, I think I actually do want to try for some kids. Yeah, I think I made a mistake”

I think that has been the hardest part. Really accepting that I no longer have a place to grow life. I no longer get to dream of growing that life inside of me. I will never know what that is like. I will never feel a first kick or feel that rush of excitement when my water breaks. I will never be consumed with the complex emotions when the life is pulled out of me and placed in my arms. And well, that makes me sad and I’d be lying if I said I don’t have moments when I succumb to those harsh realities, curl up on the couch and mourn what will never be mine. And that is okay. I will do that for as long as I need to.

But I don’t regret my decision because something deep within me knew it was time and a few weeks later I got the confirmation that had been whispering to me from deep within. Upon hearing that the pathology report showed premalignant lesions (pre-cancer), I smiled behind my cloth mask back up at my doctor and all I could say was, “I knew it. I knew something wasn’t right. I f*&king knew it.” And then I apologized for swearing.

So now that a bit of the dust has settled I figured it was time to answer some of the more burning questions I have gotten about the surgery and menopause.

Ah menopause.

With this surgery I had my uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes and cervix removed. It’s all gone and it’s honestly still weird to think that those organs that lived in my body for thirty-nine years are sitting in a trash can somewhere.

Without the female reproductive organs I have no period and no hormones that were developed every month from that area. This is an automatic admission into the very stage of life we, as women, are taught to fear from a very early age.

It’s suppose to happen naturally, with age not medically induced and this was something I really struggled with. It felt so preemptive for so long to me that I had a really hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I would officially be in menopause, something I felt like I was years away from.

In reality, because of the radiation treatment I had in July and August of 2017 due to my metastatic cancer diagnosis, I was already partially in menopause which was confirmed by my doctor when he visited me in the hospital the next day. My left ovary was completely menopaused and my right had endometriosis and there was a shit ton of scar tissue. It also confirmed that I would have never been able to have kids naturally.

Know It’s Forever

I’m in several Facebook groups for Lynch Syndrome and one for Menopause support and sometimes I can’t believe how cavalier some people are about elective surgeries such as a Hysterectomy. Part of this, in my opinion, is because of the nonchalant attitude you get from a lot of the medical community, mine included. Although I really like my surgeon, at times I felt he was very dry about a very serious subject. When I asked about menopause he didn’t have a lot to say other then the fact that I can go on HRT (hormone replacement therapy) and that because of my age, I’ll probably be fine.

And then there is what I mentioned above. There is no going back so chill for a sec, take a breath and take the time to really think this through.

Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT)

At the time of my surgery I was thirty-nine and my biggest concern was being stuck with gnarly hot flashes so I opted to go on HRT. I’m on a patch called Estrodial and it’s time released. I wear the same patch for a week. I honestly don’t know that it works but wearing it does something to my brain and makes me think it actually works. So I wear it. I currently need to schedule an appointment with my oncologist and discuss it further because like I said, I’m not sure it works and the ones my insurance pays for are big and ugly. Not the cute little see through ones that put on in the hospital.

Hot Flashes

I started experiencing hot flashes after I finished radiation therapy. I remember sitting on the couch and being overcome with this intense feeling of my body being on fire and having to rip my shirt off. Yes, it was that dramatic. Sweat came out of nowhere and was chilling out under my boobs and dripping down my back and chin. Hot flashes are not fun. The first week after surgery I laid in bed and just waited for them to hit like everyone talks about but it was actually a slow progression which may be due to the fact that I was already in partial menopause. I hear that for some women, especially with medically induced menopause, they hit like a freight train. For me, it was more like the Spirit of Washington dinner train, slow and steady chugging along to insure you really get the full experience.

I mostly just get them at night. Actually, I only get them at night. When I’m suppose to be asleep. During the witching hour. I wake and it feels like my skin is on fire and I want to crawl out of it but can’t figure out how so I rip off all of my clothes and lay there naked only to find myself freezing five minutes later putting it all back on. If anything is touching me I feel as if I will cry. It doesn’t last long but it is intense.

Mentality

I can’t say this enough - this is a NO GOING BACK surgery. Once it is done, it’s done. I feel like surgery is just thrown at us so often these days that it’s really important to really think about the consequences and where you are at in your life. If you have the luxury to sit on it for a bit, please please do so and talk with a mental health professional first.

Pain

You are going to feel like shit for a few days but not like the worst you could feel, just super uncomfortable and full of air. My surgery was robotic which was nothing compared to when I had part of my colon removed and they cut me open from the top of my pubic bone to my belly button. That was literally the most painful thing I have every experienced, besides the infection I got from that surgery.

Here’s an image to show my incisions. If you look close, you can see my other scars too! My stomach is cute but it also looks like Freddy Kruger and I got caught in a wrestling match.

The pain from this surgery comes from all the air they pump in you to get the robotic arms in the five small incisions. Once that subsides, you mostly feel like you got hit by a truck for about two weeks. I was working out again about that time. Oh, an they pull all the organs out through your vagina so that didn’t feel too great afterwards either :)

Insomnia

This sucks. There is no other way of describing it. As someone who cherishes sleep greatly and needs a good amount of it, the 1pm wake ups that last anywhere from 1-3 hours have been gnarly. Mainly because regardless, I still naturally wake up between 5 am and 6 am. Some things that have been helping:

Mary Ruth’s Nighttime Minerals

Natrol Melatonin Advanced Sleep Formula - I think I got this at Whole Foods.

Edibles - honestly, this one is rare but if need be, I just get a little baked before bed and sleep like a baby :) and I mean, I live in Seattle so they are everywhere.

Mood Swings

Honestly, this hasn’t been an issue for me. I was already a moody person ;). Kidding. Not really but seriously, I’m actually WAY more chill and calm post surgery. I think mainly because I had already started the transition process after radiation, my hormonal decline wasn’t as dramatic as it would be had I not been in partial menopause already. I’ve also been working with a therapist for the past two months and doing EMDR therapy and I feel like that is providing a lot of help with addressing things that would normally cause the pendulum to swing. I also think because there was so much damage to that part of my body that all the scar tissue and the hormonal imbalances were messing with my mental health.

Hair Loss

It’s all making sense now. After radiation my hair started falling out in clumps and breaking and I have had a really hard time getting it back to healthy ever sense. It’s slow to grow and it frustrates the hell out of me. I want long hair damnit! But alas, it barely reaches my shoulders after three years.

In July I stumbled across Organic Olivia’s Mane Magic and decided to try it and holy hell, it is literally one of the only things that has actually worked. I also got more compliments on my hair the next month then I have in the three years post treatment. Surprisingly, I got the most compliments about my hair when I was going through treatment. I also was told I was glowing all the time to which I would laugh out loud and say, “Well, I’m in the middle of radiation so that may be why.”

Nettles and Hibiscus Tea - I also drink this every day and I think it adds a softness to my hair. You can get this pretty much anywhere.

Weight Gain

Honestly, this was a HUGE fear of mine. Partly because I have had pretty bad body dysmorphia in the past and had an eating disorder for about fifteen years. Well, not even partly. That is like, the whole reason. And even though I am in a great place with my body now and have done a lot of work around my fears of gaining weight, this experienced triggered me and I had a bit of a resurgence.

For whatever reason, I thought I was going to wake up and magically put on twenty pounds. I think my ‘people’ grew really tired of my obsessive worrying about this. It’s been four and a half months and I have actually lost weight. Something to take into consideration is YOUR body type, activity level, and diet. I’m naturally small and petite. I work out regularly, I don’t adhere to a diet per se but I do eat mostly plant based but if I want a burger, I eat a burger.

Bowel Movement Changes

Maybe this is TMI but hey, when you have part of your colon removed at twenty-four and are left with a temporary ileostomy bag you just don’t give a shit anymore. Ha! See how I did that. I’m so puny! Anyway, I went from being chronically constipated to free flowing after surgery. My surgeon told me that I had an extreme case of scar tissue through that area so my theory is that it was creating issues for my bowels. Once that was all out they were like, “cool, now I can finally do my thing again…sixteen years later.”

Fatigue

This was very challenging for me. I’m a natural “go getter” and I like to do. I love bouncing around throughout my day either in my shop or working on other projects and the fatigue has been hard for me. I’m tired. A lot. Like, all the time. Not just tired but T.I.R.E.D. Even four and a half months later I am always tired. Listen to your body and rest. Even though this surgery is mostly robotic, it’s still major surgery and your body is getting used to living without those parts, a hormonal decline and all the mental stuff that comes with it. Sometimes I go to bed at 7 pm, other times my body is like “Hey! It’s 9 pm! Let’s get this day started!” Like right now.

Sex

It feels really weird to talk opening about my sex life on the internet but it is a huge part of this experience. You are told when you have this surgery that nothing can go inside you for twelve weeks. I take these things very seriously because I have heard horror stories which I will spare you but if you want to know them just shoot me a message. I am single as well and not currently dating anyone and not into casual sex (no judgment! Just not my thing) so this one has yet to be explored but I will say this, I am extremely nervous about it. Sex is great. Like, REALLY great and I hope my body doesn’t throw a tantrum when I try it again. To be continued…

Well, I think that is a good place to end it. As I think of more and experience more I will add it to this post. I think something important to remember is that everyone is different. I’ve heard that you should look to how your mom responded to menopause (if you have that privilege). My mom said she barely had symptoms and she also was thrown into medical induced menopause at forty-four because of a hysterectomy.

As always, you can reach out to me to talk. It’s not an easy decision and definitely not one to be taken as lightly as it often is.

Amanda’s Email: amandawhitworthcreative@gamil.com
Find Me on Instagram: @_sawdustandsoul

Grief Is Not Something You Get Over but Rather Something You Learn to Carry More Gracefully

“You can still grieve and hold space for joy.”

The Before

I sit curled up on my bed in my cool basement apartment and the noise from the busy street outside echoes in my open window. It’s late afternoon and warm outside and my skin is hot and a new golden brown from spending so much time outside walking Baker. Today I took him to a park and practiced presence while proudly watching him explore the cold lapping waters edge at a nearby park. The joy stretched across his face was infectious and those final hours make what I’m about to endure worth it.

I still want to be outside soaking in the last few rays, watching my puppy discover new things but I’m tired. So very tired. I realize it’s the grief washing over me as I count down the hours until I begin prepping for my surgery. Today is Sunday, Tuesday is the day.

I wipe away the tears as I think about what this surgery means and how many times various doctors over the last sixteen years have hinted I should start to consider having it. Like a broken record each time, I wipe away their concerns with a well-practiced response, “Forty. I’ll decide when I turn forty.” My throat hurts from crying but I can’t stop. I must let myself feel the sadness wash over me as I finally close this very long chapter. This at times, beyond a heartbreaking chapter.

Over the years I’ve wondered what life would have been like if that surgery sixteen years ago would have gone as planned. If that tiny hole the size of the tip of a ball point pen hadn’t been missed. I wonder what life would have looked like had I never gotten an infection that nearly took my life but did take something else away. Would I maybe have a toe-head kid with springing curls and big blue eyes and a nose peppered with the trademark deep brown “Whitworth” freckles both my younger brother and I had as kids playing in the grass on a hot summer day? Or was that never meant to be mine in the first place? Was I never meant to be a mom? I’ve given myself permission to go to that place of curiosity so many times before and it’s a strange feeling that in just a few short days I’ll never again be able to wonder if just maybe there is still a chance.

I’ve grieved this all before, many times. I grieved when my ex-husband and I tried for two years and even went through fertility treatment to no avail. I grieved when I sat before the radiation oncologist and she told me my cancer treatment would more then likely send me into early menopause. And I’ve grieved the many times a woman with a big round belly full of budding life has walked by me and the quiet voice deep within that whispers, “that’ll never be you.”

Oh how I have grieved.

And it’s ok to grieve about this because as women, this is what we are taught to want from the time we can remember. I used to wrap my dolls in blankets and protect them fiercely from any oncoming threats as any mother would. Cooing and singing to them I had a list of names for all those unborn children. I prepared my whole childhood for something that in reality, I would never experience. Although I’ve spent a significant amount of time over the last few years asking myself if that was really a dream I truly wanted or just one that I was told to want, it’s still ok to grieve it even if it wasn’t.

I know this grief well. I’ve sat with her so many times over the years. Today though, she looks different.

Because I know it’s time. I promised myself when I turned forty. That’s when I would decided to do it. Maybe it was because my mom was forty-four when she was diagnosed with uterine cancer and her mom was young too and cancer takes time to grow. Maybe I just intuitively knew that it had to be forty.

I’ve worked really hard at looking at this decision through the lens of maturity and not through the one that says cancer is stealing from me once again. This decision doesn’t come on the heels of some medical disaster, it was my choice and sometimes it’s easier to decide in a disaster because then I got to be the victim. But I know now that my victim tendencies of the past have gotten me nowhere but a body full of rage and anger so palpable, I pushed a lot of people and opportunities away. I know I am no longer a woman who faces these things from that point of view. I’ve come too far to go back there now.

I’ve spend the better part of the last three years working on repressed disappointment, sadness and anger and have let go of a lot. I feel content deep within in a way I’ve never experienced before. In a way I still don’t have words to describe how I feel. I know, however, it may surface again. Old ways of doing things, old ways of feeling and I’m ready. I’m ready to meet myself differently. Meet myself with love. With acceptance. With my newer friend grace.

I’m committed to processing things as healthy as I possibly can and one of the things I’ve come to believe is that we are given the full spectrum of these magical feelings to experience them all fully. They are our greatest teachers. Our wise and at times, excruciatingly harsh elders. So when a few months ago they started speaking to me, that quiet voice deep within began whispering, I looked myself in the mirror and just nodded knowing that I would be able to handle it now.

It was time.

The After

It’s been six days since I had a total hysterectomy and surprisingly I feel really good. I had my uterus, ovaries, tubes and cervix removed. My trauma around routine surgeries told me these things go terribly wrong and I had a tremendous amount of anxiety prior to surgery. It’s been good for me to have such a smooth recovery. It has restore my faith in the medical world.

I remember waking from my surgery bracing myself for horrific pain, both emotional and physical, but all I felt was deep sense of peace as my eyes fluttered open and I saw my mom sitting quietly in the corner chair. I looked on at her and thought about all the pain she’s endured over the years from cancer and I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t do this for her too. Because I love her that much and it’s ok to do big things for those you love.

The choice I made means I get to eliminate two of the major cancers I statistically have a higher chance of getting and for a long time I couldn’t bring myself to do something because statistics told me to. However, after having two different Lynch Syndrome cancer and one very scary unknown tumor in my groin in the past fifteen years, I decided. It was time to live instead of continue to be consumed by the fear and anxiety that comes with the statistics.

I’ve been through a lot with my health in these short thirty-nine years and I’ve spent the better part of the last two years watching my mom fight for her life knowing that I had an opportunity to spare myself from some of what I was witnessing if I just made this decision.

I could only do it when I was truly ready though and honestly, I had no idea when that would be. Forty was really just a number I told myself knowing I could change it if I wanted to. Any moment sooner, instead of being filled with peace I would have been filled with regret. I know that about myself. I would have felt forced into doing something I wasn’t ready for. I learned that lesson the hard way many times before. This decision was all mine and could not be influenced by what other’s thought was best for me.

Although I had always promised myself forty, I knew I would be okay waiting longer if I needed to. But a few months ago something inside of me started thinking about it more seriously, it wasn’t some profound moment rather more of a quiet inner knowing, a feeling, a subtle shift towards a new perspective. I just new. I knew the time was approaching.

From the time that I confirmed my decision to the day I had surgery was two weeks. I sat across from my surgeon, my eyes staring down at the piece of paper with the drawing of the female reproductive system and scattered notes from my doctor describing the details of the surgery. I felt tears start to well in my eyes and I took a deep breath slowly lifting my gaze. First to my mom, then to my doctor.

“Okay.” I said. “It’s time. When can we do it?”

And just like that I knew.

When I opened my eyes after surgery I remember thinking, it’s finally over. Sixteen years of being scared of having to make this choice is finally done. And then I smiled because I was proud of myself. I felt a peace wash over me because I knew that I wouldn’t regret this but rather I’d sleep just a bit better at night knowing I’d never get uterine, ovarian or cervical cancer.

Ever.

That I’d never have to go through the pain and suffering endured by long treatments and scary outcomes. I was free.

And I felt deep peace that this choice wasn’t made on the heels of some medical disaster but one I made for myself over time, when I was truly ready. I was proud that grew to know and trust myself that well.

Today, I choose to live.

Today I want to live.

And maybe there will be days when I feel the depths of grief that come with this experience, this loss of sorts, but I’m not so worried about her anymore because I know she’s just a part of me. I know she is there for a reason and I’ve learned to let her take my hand and walk with me. With her I walk taller and just a bit more gracefully. I know she is no longer the enemy but rather, a close friend.