No Way Around But Through

Choosing the Hard Thing, and Living in the After

I did it, friends. Surgery #2 is over and done.

Healing is underway again. Walking, protein loading, and napping are the cornerstones of my schedule. It’s January, so I’m spending less time in the garden. But I’m still going outside with the dogs. I feed the birds every morning and make sure to get sunlight in my eyes. I drink collagen and bone broth like it’s a job.

I’m through the hardest part.

Everything else is manageable.

In case you missed “Period: The End,” the surgery I’m referencing is a total hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo oophorectomy. And yes, that’s basically the shortest way to say it. My reproductive organs are gone. I have five gashes on my abdomen and lingering soreness.

But this recovery is completely different from the mastectomy last June.

Last summer, readers asked me to describe the procedure. I’m going to walk through this one too. I like talking about these things because they’re daunting and scary if you haven’t done them. If describing my experience gives you a boost to face the thing you’ve been avoiding, then I’m willing to go into graphic detail if necessary.

Surgery Day

I was first case, which is good for obvious reasons.

Arrival at the hospital was at 5:30, but surgery wasn’t until 8:30. I did get to have coffee before I left the house. I always drink it black, so that wasn’t an issue. Caffeine was clutch because I’m a coffee addict far worse than I like to admit. A day without it gives me a headache. Since I had some, even before 5 a.m., I felt okay.

The operating room felt familiar. Large, busy, and full of motion. Not quite as big as the room for the mastectomy, though.

Both times, emotions hit hard as they wheeled me out of pre-op and into surgery. That short journey is when fear tries to take hold. Both times it brought tears to my eyes and required deep breathing to steady my nerves.

They moved me from the bed to the OR table while explaining where I needed to sit and what was about to happen. This time, the anesthesia cliff wasn’t quite as abrupt. I remember the oxygen mask being placed on me. Being told to breathe deeply and that everything was okay.

Tears stung me even then.

Fearful. Reluctant. Overwhelmed. Maybe all three.

Whatever summoned them, they were tears of facing reality. Tears of feeling small and vulnerable while anchoring to the fact that I chose this.

Through those tears and all the commotion, I felt someone holding my hand. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel the grip. It was a woman, based on the shape and steadiness of her fingers. I squeezed, and she squeezed back.

I have no idea who it was, but I like to believe that reassurance came from beyond the veil, sent by my grandmother. On her deathbed, she promised she would always hold my hand.

I needed it in that moment.

Lights out.

The next thing I registered was someone calling my name, trying to wake me. It was hard to break the surface of consciousness. I’m sure they were calling for a while before I could respond.

When I did, I had two words.

Cold. Cramps.

I was freezing and cramping like the worst period ever.

Once I was covered in heaters and the meds kicked in, I went from PACU to post-op and then was discharged a little over an hour later. No overnight stay this time, thankfully.

At home, I felt okay. My throat was raw from the intubation, but I managed some soup for dinner. Mostly, I was grateful to sleep in my own bed.

What They Did, And How I’m Doing

A total hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo oophorectomy means they removed my cervix, uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes. This was a robotic laparoscopic procedure. They made several incisions in my abdomen and sent the robot in to disconnect everything. After removing my cervix, they pulled everything out through my vagina, stitched me up, and called it done.

The whole thing takes about an hour, all in.

I’m doing pretty well in the aftermath.

I’m wearing my abdominal binder to help with bloating and to keep me from bending or twisting. They filled my abdomen with air so they could see the organs more clearly. It takes a while to off-gas that, which is not fun. It makes your shoulders hurt because once you’re closed up, the air moves upward. Weird fact.

I have five incision sites covered in surgical glue, and my abs are sore again. To be fair, they’ve had mild residual soreness since last June.

Mentally and emotionally, I’m also surprisingly fine.

Shock menopause was my biggest dread going into this surgery. So far, the effects are negligible. Maybe next week’s essay will be about the horrors of hot flashes, but I haven’t felt any real effects yet. (She says while knocking on wood!)

I’m tired, yes. But my body is healing.

I’ve had a couple of low energy, foggy days, but again, recovery is in progress.

I don’t feel different.

Last summer, my body became a stranger to me in the span of a few hours. This time feels far less dramatic. I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything.

I feel like me.

And I’m very, very thankful for that.

I’m also thankful that pathology came back yesterday all clear and benign, confirming that this prophylactic move was exactly that. I’m thankful I got to make this choice. I wish I’d never needed to make this choice, but like I’ve quoted before:

“So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.”
– Gandalf

More next week on the philosophical angle. For now, it’s…

Your Turn

1. Ask me anything. CLICK HERE to leave an anonymous question or comment.

2. Schedule one thing you’ve been avoiding. Get through it instead of dancing around it.

More soon. Love always.

Thank You For The Well Wishes!