MY HYSTERICAL HYSTERECTOMY

Updated 2024 version of the original story

Written in January 2018 and 2020 following my total hysterectomy.

(Warning: Not for the faint hearted!)

INTRODUCION

This is the story of my hysterectomy journey, from the day I started bleeding, to the day I was 'emptied' and the beginning of my 'pause from men', yes, the dreaded surgical menopause...

For the ladies who may be reading this thinking I'm going to make the whole procedure seem like a walk in the park, well it bloody hurts and most men wouldn´t make it through the first 24 hours! But ladies, we are tough and as long as you possess a sense of humour, careful there though, laughing can be excruciating, and have some good people around you, then you will get through it... I will be sharing many great tips on useful pre-operation and post-operation aids, including how to carry around a plastic willy for 2 weeks (e.g. a catheter!)

Any males reading this: you will learn a lot in order to help the female in your life about to embark on her own journey...

Whoever is reading this story, it will definitely broaden your horizons and raise some eyebrows!

***

Let me begin explaining a little about my life at that time: I was a single mother of two humans and various street cats. Fortunately my daughters were grown up though, well one was only about 16 at this stage.

I was planning a very special trip to Galicia. I was going to go on the last stretch of the Camino de Santiago to see Finisterre, the end of the earth, the most Western point in Europe famed for its spectacular sunsets! And it was extra special because I was going there with my friend who was travelling all the way from Thailand. I was bursting with anticipation and excitement.

Workwise I was busy being an Airbnb host, renting out my bed in basic terms! I was also finishing my hypnotherapy training and preparing to open an office with my then business partner.

May 2017. In my Airbnb home, where it all started…

It was around this time when I had two nice British ladies as my Airbnb guests. I was experiencing an abnormally long period.

Medical wise I had already endured two other major gyno surgeries in less than ten years. The irregular periods had already begun a few years back, just like the other females in my family. This is why I put it down to peri-menopause symptoms, even though my intuition told me there was more going on…

So, there I am in my mid-forties chatting away with my Airbnb guests, sharing our lady stories.

One confides she has come away for some fun and relax time after months recovering from her hysterectomy. She shows me her scar, shares the suffering and gore, but also points out that it was a brilliant move and wishes she had done it years ago.

I in turn share my years of battling with gynaecologists, surgical interventions and my recent suffering, as well as my concerns about having to go through yet another mayor surgery.

Hearing my story, my guest responds, “Don’t even think about it, just get it all out!”

Not quite as simple as that, I thought. I knew what it was like to go through major surgery and I knew what it was like to recover whilst being a lone parent. It would be just my luck to have to go through yet another gyno surgical intervention…

And then the floodgates opened... down there... and what began like an unpleasant and abnormally long period, just simply decided to never stop. This really was more serious then peri-menopause I thought…

But I had a business to open, a place as volunteer at a Reggae festival, and did you think I would give up The Camino de Santiago after all this waiting and anticipation? Think again! My womb would just have to get over it.

Now don't judge me here folks! The benefit of hindsight is brilliant and if I had thought I was genuinely endangering my life, perhaps I would have done things differently, yet in true woman style I soldiered on.

Well, my womb didn't 'just get over it' and strange alien type things that looked like large slabs of liver began to fall out of me at the most inconvenient times.

After a month or so I had my first visit to A&E (the hospital's emergency room), the on-duty gyno welcomed me in and took notes, followed by much uncomfortable prodding. A biopsy was taken (at this point I really wished I were a man!) and I was told there were some issues with the lining of the womb and an ovarian cyst.

I was given tablets to temporarily cut the bleeding and told to rest. I decided I should tell them that in ten days’ time I would set off for a ‘little’ stroll...

“You are not being serious?” the gyno asked, but the look on her face said you’re out of your mind… I was told in no uncertain terms to think very carefully about possible repercussions. The gyno couldn't be sure the bleeding wouldn't worsen.

I went home and cried and ranted at my womb!

Again. Not that it listened.

June 2017 Camino de Santiago to Finisterre

So, after preparing for a year to do this stretch of the Camino de Santiago, nothing was stopping me escaping to Galicia, even if it meant bussing it all the way. I would see the famous summer Solstice sunset at Finisterre on June 21st, and maybe one of the many saints who'd gone before me would heal me?

Physical ailments aside, I knew this would be an amazing tonic for my failing mental health. I have a history of major depressive disorder, and I know from past experience: the combination of nature, and the incredible energy of the Camino de Santiago, are indeed food for the soul. I rested up beforehand, like I was told. I was being a good girl!

And off I went to bleed my way around Galicia.

I was sensible: I did NOT do the first 30kms on foot and spent the morning in bed in Santiago while my girlfriends set off for a rather long walk.

Meanwhile the temperatures soared, and I boarded a bus to our first destination. I even loved the bus ride!

I was so happy to be there, that even having to lug around plastic sheeting and wearing sanitary towels the size of surf boards did not get me down.

The following morning, after all three of us were kept awake by a cacophony of snoring from our fellow hostel dwellers, we decided to rise at an ungodly hour (well, at least for me) around 5:30 a.m. and set off. I decided I was ready to join, just for a short walk. I sent a video to family and friends to shock them, not the fact that I was walking but that I had actually risen at daybreak by choice and not under duress!

We had many memorable moments, if you haven’t been to Galicia, go! Stunning scenery, lovely people and great food, though if you are vegetarian, it can be slightly challenging...

I would intermittently walk, rest, bus it or take a taxi. Perhaps I was unable to do it in true pilgrim style, but actually I felt more of a pilgrim than most. Despite my physical suffering, my pleasure at simply being there and in such great company, overrode any doubts at my decision. In fact, my sanitary towels even came in handy as a makeshift bandage for a terribly painful blister!

It was June the 21st, the summer solstice. I made it to Finisterre!

I stood upon the clifftop, admiring the incredible sunset. Soaking up the vibes, I contemplated the many travellers who had congregated like us to participate in this special moment.

I thanked my body for getting me there in one piece more or less...

I made it and I loved every second of it!

A week later… Back home

I returned home, mentally and spiritually revived at least.

I rested and still the bleeding continued even though at times it seemed to stop it then immediately started again...

Swimming became awkward. I live on the Mediterranean and adore swimming. Summer without swimming is NOT much fun.

I carried on, opened my business, participated in courses, and lived life in general, but slowly found myself fading away...

August 2017 Benicassim, Spain.

Rototom international Reggae festival

In august another event was on my agenda, the Rototom. I managed to get there and subsequently bled my way around the festival.

Admittedly, my friends and I were all a bit concerned, however I was just going to sit most of the time, and help manage their charity stall, so I would be fine.

But queuing in intense heat, to use what can only be described in the kindest of terms, as very unpleasant communal toilets! You can imagine the scenario, it gives me the shivers now as I think back. What on earth was I thinking going there in that state!

I loved the festival and its happy collective vibe. I would definitely go back, but next time without bleeding in festival toilets and showers in what felt like 90 degrees heat.

As you might have guessed the festival was a tad too much and upon my return I had a minor collapse and was put on iron pills. I noticed my memory and concentration were really deteriorating and then my vision started playing up. I still had no idea of the dangers of acute anaemia and as the hospital hadn't seemed particularly alarmed then I wasn't going to make a fuss either.

But family and friends became very concerned at my obviously deteriorating health. My parents begged me to go back to the hospital so I finally gave in and returned yet again to A&E and decided to exaggerate it a little so I would be taken more seriously.

When I arrived there it turned out I didn't need to exaggerate, as I finally did collapse right in front of them. My body had decided to make it easier to convince the medical profession that a total hysterectomy was exactly what I needed.

It was like a scene from a horror movie as I spurted the gyno and her team of four with my life blood.

As everything began to fade around me, their voices became distant.

I was even slapped round the face as the team attempted to stop me becoming unconscious, shouting at me to stay awake.

Despite the drama unfolding around me, I still managed to be fascinated by how much blood I was almost projectile vomiting from my nether regions right at them, a scene even Tarantino would have been proud of!

I was simultaneously pondering on whether I'd have an NDE (Near Death Experience). It was hideous: No tunnels or bright lights and handsome angels telling me it was not my time, just excruciating pain and muscle spasms.

I could hear the medical team shouting in panic and my mum crying in the room next door. The scene will remain in my mind for a long time to come. That was the moment that propelled me back. I was NOT ready to die, leave my children, family and friends. I had to fight and face the severity of the situation. So, back I came, using every last inch of energy still within me.

I was at the end of my tether with my lady bits. I wanted it all out.

I was kept in hospital for a couple of days whilst they administered the blood transfusions. I thought of the conversation I had with one of the two British ladies months ago. “Just get it all out” she’d said. I smiled ironically as I recalled the conversation.

After almost three months of serious blood loss that had culminated in acute anaemia and near death, I made it clear, in the words of 'The Manic Street Preachers', everything must go!

I was evidently in no fit state for an operation at that point and was told that I needed a minimum three-month recuperation period before I could be operated in order to recover from the anaemia caused by all the blood loss.

Iron and B12 became my best friends. I had three injections over a three-month period to stem the flow of Oestrogen, provoking the onset of a chemical menopause. This finally stopped the bleeding.

Despite vague concerns over menopausal symptoms, though obviously preferable to bleeding to death, I found many great supplements and herbal tinctures which helped me enormously.

After all those hideous experiences I was taking no chances. I needed to be fighting fit before the operation. I prepared myself mentally with hypnosis, went to yoga classes and continued with my Iron, B12, Agnus Castus, CBD oil, Aloe Vera juice and super smoothies just to name a few, to ensure I was in the best health possible.

I began to feel incredibly well and so pleased to never have to see a surfboard sized sanitary towel again!

January 2018 THE OPERATION

The road to being 'emptied'!

Finally, seven months after it all began, I had my operation. The doctors had concerns that there may be slight complications due to my past interventions: a sterilization that I responded badly to, and a follow up procedure to correct the previous procedure!

Fortunately, they were still able to go ahead and perform a laparoscopic hysterectomy, with four incisions in the abdomen, and remove my womb, ovaries and cervix. After so many months of it all hanging over my head and uncertainty over the final date of my operation, I was just hugely impatient to get it over and done with.

Despite my mental preparation I did have a slight freak out the night before, straightening my wild curly hair at 3 a.m. in case there was a hunky surgeon! Pre-op nerves obviously as I rarely have straight hair...

Another tip: I had a full wax beforehand to avoid unpleasant hospital shaving.

I had read five books on hysterectomies, long lists of before and afters, what to take to hospital and what to have waiting at home.

Yes, I know I can be slightly extreme.

And so, I entered hospital with a large overnight bag and a shopping trolley full of all the comforting items to make my stay and recovery as pleasant as possible whilst my father complained that we looked like a band of gypsies.

Rose water, to cleanse and fresh
Ear plugs, to drown out the hospital noise
Lavender oil, to calm me and aid with sleep
Natural laxatives, no explanation needed!
Homeopathic arnica, to aid with healing
CBD oil, to calm me and help with my nervous system in general and mental health
Books
Music
Toiletries
Flask of herb tea
and the list went on...

It was a tad annoying to realize I recognized just about every hospital employee, surgeon, nurse and specialist. It was definitely time to finally break up this relationship with the hospital and really hope this will be my last intervention either ever or for many years at least! I waved at Mr. friendly gynaecology student (he had patted my hand on a couple of painful occasions) greeted all the team who of course I recognized and drifted off...

Waking up after the operation...

“This isn't so bad... Feels kind of good actually, all woozy, floaty and dreamy...echoes... Oh fuck! Am I dead?! Where am I?

Why are there dead people wrapped in Christmas napkins, stuffed in the dustbin? And actually, how do they fit in the dustbin? Is this like Alice in wonderland or Gulliver's travels? Has everyone shrunk?

And what the actual fuck is Donald Trump doing, visiting the ward? Why is he in Denia, Spain? Oh no! Maybe I am dead and I'm in hell paying for my sins?”

I peer under the sheet and I gasp: My belly has grown 4 times its usual size...

“Jesus! I'm pregnant! How can I be pregnant when they just removed my womb? OMG maybe they replaced it with a pregnant lady womb! But isn't that impossible? Nothing really makes sense anymore... Ah, Thank God that awesome floaty feeling has returned again...”

"Señora, señora! Estás bien? Cómo te encuentras?" the nurses voice comes from afar…

Jesus! The floaty feeling is fading, the pain is excruciating, and a 12-year-old nurse is calling me señora instead of señorita.

Yes, it probably is called, 'heavy pharma comedown' but still...

It turns out they filled my belly with gas as part of the laparoscopic procedure so now I have this helium filled football for a belly not to mention intense pain and discomfort...

Leather Belly “a stomach that resembles a mini leather football complete with tattoos and wounds (the worst is in the belly button, yuk!)”

“Bring me drugs and oxygen now!”

Beeping machines and murmuring voices lull me back into a woozy state of bliss...

The next time I open my eyes, he himself is there, Captain Bliss.

No, this is not some sort of dodgy post operation sexual fantasy, that really is his name. He stands before me yielding a large bunch of flowers whilst at the foot of the bed is my mum, busy fussing with the sheets. I am happy that they are here to see me, but I'm still wondering about Trump and the dead people wrapped in Christmas napkins...

From all the books I read, I don't remember anyone mentioning the bit about needing a catheter for over 2 weeks. Apparently in normal circumstances this is not necessary, maybe for 24 hours, but I am one of the happy few whose ovary was stuck to my bladder. So in order to remove the ovary, they had to cut my bladder. This means more pain and more stitches, on top of what was already uncomfortable to say the least. As well as a long, plastic tube hanging out of my lady bits, a.k.a. my ‘willy’ which comes with a pee bag at the end.

After being in the hospital for about 3 or 4 days, or was it 5? It felt like forever! I remember not being allowed to leave ‘till I had passed my first post-surgery poop. So here is another tip: how to ask your subconscious mind to help you poo, post operation:

I sat for one hour, yes, a whole hour, speaking to my bowels:

“Come on, you can do it” nothing happened.

“Come on, work with me, you know you want to, so we can go home.” I sighed, if I can’t poo I need to stay another night and I just want to go home now.

The pressure! It wasn’t helping…

I was thinking what can help me get it out? Donald Trump and dead people in Christmas napkins crossed my mind. I was getting impatient…

“Just expel your little brown friend, and we can get out this joint” I was pleading with my bowels to cooperate.

“Don’t you want to go home?”

And then it happened! I’ve never felt such relief, not even with giving birth...

I called out to the nurse who came running in panic expecting a medical emergency. Instead she found me beaming with satisfaction.

She knew, I’d earned my freedom.

She helped me to my bed where I called my parents to come pick me up. I was so looking forward to going home.

I’m finaly going home!

So finally, me and my Willy were able to leave the hospital, looking rather odd. There I was in a wheelchair, wearing my mum's kimono and big baggy bloomers, large sunglasses, walking stick and big black boots. A cross between something like Lady Gaga and a dominatrix; any remnants of dignity were long gone… Willy was placed in a plastic supermarket shopping bag draped on my lap.

I clutched my big bag full of drugs and prescriptions not to mention my list of instructions: No laughing, sneezing, lifting, or 'ilfing' (my own term for horizontal dancing if you know what I mean) for 11 weeks! The 'ilfing' was the 11 weeks rule, not the laughing or sneezing thank God, I mean life is tough enough without not being permitted to laugh on top of all that pain!

I was truly glad to be single at this point; I mean a helium filled football belly, uncontrollable hot flushes (or flashes as some people call them), a long, plastic willy hanging between my legs.

I really could not ever imagine wanting anyone of the opposite sex near me again...

I can tell you this much: I'm definitely coming back as a man in my next life!

Recovering after the operation

January is a good month to be operated, short days, long nights, sleeping, reading, hobbling, watching films and documentaries, It was rather nice to be forced to rest, read, watch endless Netflix but it also required tremendous patience... wondering when or if I'd ever get my body back again.

Bit of an emotional roller coaster this surgery malarkey... Being a lone parent family for a large part of my life, I was used to being full-time carer, though I do hear about many women with husbands/partners where this is unfortunately the norm too!

Luckily in my case, family and friends rallied around helping me with everything, no lifting etc. The recovery cannot be rushed if one is to ensure all goes smoothly. Doing the wrong thing could cause irreversible damage and believe me I did not want anything 'falling' out that wasn't supposed to! I had no wish to experience a vaginal prolapse or anything else that could happen as a result of not resting or lifting heavy objects. I've got to be honest, despite feeling like a bloated hormonal whale, it was nice being pampered and cared for, for a change.

15 days with a catheter was not much fun, nor for me, nor for my family…. Just adding to my discomfort and pain. What a huge relief when I could pee normally again. Certainly makes you thankful for the small things like normal urine function!

During my recovery, some of my saviours were

A combination of CBD oil (fabulous stuff, don't believe the hysterical hype from non-believers)
Lavender oil
Soy isoflavones
Red clover
and peppermint oil

and they really worked!

Another saviour was the fabulous female physio with her great exercises and erm, 'machine' thingy to help retrain my internal muscles, i.e. pelvic floor. Yoga, meditation and some fun partying later on all confirmed that I had survived the ordeal.

I can report that there is certainly life after hysterectomy and no regrets. It IS a big operation, despite what some may make you believe, just because it is the most common surgery for women does NOT make it a small thing by any means.

Be kind to your body and mind; listen to your body and give it time to heal...

It had never occurred to me that I might actually feel some grief and mourn the extraction of those lady organs: Womb, ovaries and cervix.

I mean, I'd already been sterilised, fallopian tubes were long gone.

So, yes, no more kids had already been resolved alongside my dissolved fallopian tubes so why mourn? Those f*****s had given me some serious shit over the years and yet they had also blessed me with two beautiful daughters.

One of the side effects that kicked in after recovery of the operation, is the surgically induced menopause. It's a HUGE shock to the system and not much fun. Funnily enough, years ago my youngest daughter (who I often refer to as Wogan, but that’s another story) asked me if it meant a pause from men! Some will probably be heaving a great sigh of relief at me taking a pause from men, yes Men O(n) Pause...

Which brings me to the song “Men On Pause” by The Futhermuckers, a tongue in cheek warning to men the world over who are walking on eggshells! Ladies, this is written from a men’s perspective, but it’s so recognizable, that it made me laugh big time when I first heard the lyrics:

"Hot flush, but not from a good rush

She won't do the things she used to do that make a nice girl blush.

Devil inside, she don't wanna ride

The only thing you can do now, is run and hide.

She goes loco, from the heat within

You never know, when it'll begin.

Any time, day or night

Watch for the signs, get ready for flight.

You better beware, don't get too close.

You'll feel the wrath, Of all her woes.

Heavenly beauty possessed by hell.

When will it end, oh nobody knows?”

I think this song does represent, in a very funny black satire kind of way, what a woman does endure, because like the song hints, the hot flushes come and go and nobody, not even us women, knows exactly when… so men, you better run and hide!

See link to song here:

https://youtu.be/tYIrqZ6fnys?si=gHSeE7ur-nO22hkB

At the time of writing this, it is now almost two years later and despite a very short period of needing some medication following some highly unstable mood changes, I feel strong and well.

I did not feel the need for HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) and indeed the doctors were not in a great hurry to prescribe it despite my young age for menopause. I just take care with diet, exercise and supplements. I have hot flushes and menopausal Tourette’s but hey... at least I’m not having my periods anymore…

By the way… I never did find out how they managed to fit dead people in Christmas napkins, or WTF Donald Trump was doing in my ward… maybe best to let sleeping dogs lie as they say...

***

Rewritten and edited in 2024 by Saffron Mello Castro and Nina VKL of Outburner Productions