My Own Worst Enemy; November 7 2022

Content warning: I talk about surgery, periods, and pregnancy in this one!

I missed doing a Halloween post! Shucks. In my defence, I was wrapped up in the holiday – we went right from school to switching costumes, having a quick dinner, and going out to Trick or Treat! Got a good amount of candy and had fun in spite of a drizzle!

I wasn’t sure I’d be up to posting today, because last Friday – November 4th – I had my first big gender-affirming surgery. I had a hysterectomy – removal of the uterus, fallopian tubes, and cervix. And it went well! With… one minor complication.

I had to be intubated at one point, presumably because my sleep apnea is still just That Bad. And I wound up with blood in my lungs. For a couple of days, I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Honestly, it sounds scarier than it felt at the time, and I found out later how much more serious it was than I thought. I was like, ‘Surely I can keep coughing the blood up at home and I’ll just eventually be fine?’

No, reader, not so simple. Whoops.

My recovery’s been smooth otherwise, though, and I’m home comfortably. I’m walking around fine (or, as fine as I ever can) and I’m up to simple tasks. It was still pizza for dinner last night and I’m spending the majority of my time horizontal on the couch, but it was, y’know. Surgery. I didn’t expect to bounce right back.

But I want to talk about the mental impact this surgery has had. Emotionally, I’m still riding a high I hit since waking up at 5:00 AM on the Friday. I feel like I’ve taken this huge step towards becoming me. It’s an enormous relief knowing I can never get pregnant again – the first time was enough for me, thanks, and luckily I made the perfect kid – but it goes beyond that.

I don’t, and never have, equated womanhood to fertility or anything. I never thought of myself as more of a girl or less or a man because of periods, and as I’m sure you know, a large number of women can’t get pregnant. Or don’t want to.

The dysphoria that came from my uterus was directly linked to how much pain it’s caused me throughout my life. Since my first period, I could never predict when they’d come. They were entirely irregular, and tests said I didn’t have PCOS or anything, so doctors kind of just shrugged and told me to deal with it.

Periods were agony. There were times I was quite literally immobilized by pain, curled into the fetal position as I rode it out, doped up on painkillers that were discontinued in my teens but were the only things that helped even a little. I once threw up all over the floor of my high school Parenting class and crumpled into a ball during the Canadian national anthem.

To me, my uterus felt at war with my body. Even when I was pregnant – which happened super on purpose, what with the IVF – I suffered to the point where doctors told me, aghast with worry, that I never should have been pregnant to begin with.

But now it’s gone. It honestly feels like I broke a curse. It can’t hurt me anymore.

It’s a fantastic feeling, and even if I’d known there would be complications that followed, I’d do the surgery again without hesitation.