Revenge of the Uterus: Part 3

My woes with the uterus has been a longstanding one. I wouldn't dare to call them woes, I am looking for the word that describes children being irritating and annoying, but they are yours and you shouldn't complain, because they are yours. Well, this is somewhat like that. Except children are just being themselves, while the uterus is being mean and vindictive, and you can kinda reason with children (sometimes), but not with the uterus. However, the uterus is an integral part of me, and how can I separate a part from the whole and be mad at that part. Never mind that the uterus has no such hang-ups, it is out there waging war on me, BUT I will be the bigger person and not be the second one to tango and I will not submit to the war-mongering. 

I am not kidding when I say the uterus is waging a war on me. It began its first battle when I was a teenager; it just refused to do its monthly duties. I have had irregular periods that quickly got labeled as PCOS with its vicious cycle of no periods -> hormonal imbalance -> weight gain -> hormonal imbalance -> no periods. Rinse, repeat. It brought along body image issues, as an ally to fight alongside in the battle with me. We reached a (un)happy compromise on periods - not regular, not painful, but heavy when it happens. 

The next battle was when I was 25. I went to see the OBGYN when I was engaged to be married. She said very dryly that PCOS was the leading cause of infertility, and if I didn't want serious trouble later, I shouldn't put off having children. And as luck would have it, I did get pregnant a couple of cycles later, and boy! was I glad for that. The delivery wasn't as easy as the conception. After signs of fetal distress, I went into induced labor four weeks early, and after seven hours of labor, had to be wheeled in for emergency caesarean section. 

The second time around, getting pregnant wasn't so serendipitous. We had several heartbreaks, one miscarriage, some intervention, before it happened. The pregnancy was uneventful, and the planned c-section and tubectomy were, too. 

Thus far is the story of the slow build up of the antagonist in movies. Now the real villainy starts. About three years after my second pregnancy, I experienced the first "flooding" - where I passed clots so large I thought I was going to pass out. The uterus had developed an overgrowth of cells in the endometrium (endometrial hyperplasia), the saving grace was that there was no atypia. 

Fast forward three years, yet another "flooding" episode. This time, the uterus has one-upped itself. Not only was there an overgrowth, it had also developed atypia. It is a fancy word for precancerous growth. Now the errant uterus was chained and brought under control, through an IUD.  

As stories with villains that are caged go, when uncaged, it was back with a vengeance. But just before it was uncaged, I was given a heads-up. If the uterus continues to play foul, it will need to be put down. That was the first time a hysterectomy was mentioned. In the next few months, I would have four different doctors tell me that is the best option for me. I could not be convinced that such is the case. I still refuse to. 

Yet another flooding episode, again an ultrasound and a biopsy. No hyperplasia this time, yay! No cancerous or precancerous growth. But the uterus has a new weapon this time - a polyp that would need surgery to remove. One month later, the polyp had disappeared, and a more deadly weapon - adenomyosis, emerged. 

The next several months the uterus continues to be upset with me, lashing out every month. But I realize I have not been good to it either. I am allowing it to lash out, so it will let go of the anger and decide I am on its side. I look at the latest biopsy being clean with no precancerous growth, as the uterus telling me it is still upset, but not stark raving mad.

In the last year, I have been treating my body with love and care  - walking in the outdoors giving it enough time in the environment, including fresh air and sunlight, strength training, nutritional help through supplements, enough sleep (I am trying to). We still have some work to do. The body has to get around to trusting me, know that I am here to stay, and that I will not let it down and slip back into old ways. I will work hard to earn its trust, and earn it I shall. Until then, I shall not begrudge angry reactions to all the years of abuse.