this isn't how it was supposed to be

I'm feeling a lot of things right now, but the emotion that keeps rising to the surface is shock. I think it's because I prepared so much and so well for what I thought I'd be feeling right now that to not be feeling any of those things I prepared for is just...surreal. That's the only word I can think of to describe it.

I've had horrible periods my entire life. My mom always said they'd get better after I had kids. She was wrong. If anything, they have gotten worse in the past ten years or so (my youngest child is 15). I spend 2-3 days a month literally doubled over in pain. Sometimes I'm bleeding so heavily I can't leave the house. 

I had an ablation. Didn't work. My uterine lining grew back with a vengeance, and it brought friends. Fibroids. I didn't have them prior to the ablation. I'm somewhat convinced some of my lower back pain and bladder pressure is due to the fibroids, but not sure.

Two doctors have told me the next step in dealing with my pain is a hysterectomy. Which I was scheduled to have yesterday.

It didn't happen. The doctor's office fucked up, canceled at the last minute. After I resigned myself to dealing with this matter once and for all--after years of waffling back and forth. After I had been preparing for this day for months. 

The biggest thing holding me back all this time was sex.

Okay, now you're listening, right?

I was supposed to wait EIGHT weeks after surgery to have sex again. When I was younger, I couldn't fathom not being able to have sex for 6-8 weeks. I rarely went more than a week or two in my thirties. The only time I abstained for 5-6 weeks was after having babies. But I had gotten used to the idea of 8 weeks because I regularly go 3-4 weeks now that I'm in what I call a low-sex marriage. We do have sex, but it's like 1-2x a month at most. So I was like, okay, I can do that part of it. I'll survive. It's not the end of the world. That probably sounds crazy to many of you who go much longer or don't care if you go longer.

There was also the fear that my sex drive would plummet after surgery. It's already quite a bit lower than it was in my thirties, but I think it's mainly because the access just isn't there. I mitigated that fear with the idea that having a lower sex drive would actually be a good thing for me. Then I wouldn't feel so...rejected...all the time. That's how I feel much of the time because we only have sex when my husband wants to. I can't initiate (it doesn't work for him), and if he doesn't want to do it, then sex basically ceases to exist.

I thought, okay, lower sex drive might actually be a silver lining of this surgery for me. It's sad that I had that thought, but it was there. I got to where I looked at it as a positive. More about that in a bit.

So what was still worrying me, holding me back, was the fear that sex was going to feel different. That my orgasms wouldn't feel as good/intense/strong/pleasurable. I'd read a lot of accounts of this happening, but then I started reading about women who had no problem reaching orgasm before suddenly not being able to AT ALL after their hysterectomies.

And I, frankly, didn't want to fuck that up for myself. It's one thing my body is REALLY REALLY good at. Reliable even. Masterful. Like, seriously, I am a great orgasmer; not to brag, but it's totally true. I have really intense contractions, and they last a LONG time.

Even then, I had come to terms with the fact that things might change, but hey, at least I wouldn't be in so much pain every month. At least I wouldn't have to cancel plans a few days a month because of bleeding. At least I wouldn't be taking 25+ advil a day during that time. I could give up really good orgasms for that kind of relief, right?

That's what I thought until just a few days before my surgery. Not gonna lie, I wanted to take my female parts for one last hurrah while the girls were still all together. The afternoon before my surgery I masturbated, and when I came, all I could think of was, wow, this could be the last time it feels like that.

Then, a nice surprise, my husband wanted to make love to me that night before my surgery. Guess he wanted his last hurrah with the girls too. And it was fucking incredible. I mean, really epic orgasms for both of us. Yay!

At least I had that, I told myself. I gave my uterus a great send-off.

But I was resigned. I'd made this decision. I'd rearranged my entire life and schedule to have this surgery, to accommodate an eight-week recovery. I had no travel plans. I had put all my potential FWBs on hold back in November due to covid and this upcoming surgery. I'd slacked off on my exercise regimen and decided to hold off on starting weight training because I knew I was going to lose a lot of ground during my recovery (and weight lifting/swimming would be off the table anyway during that 8 weeks). I'd also rearranged my work schedule to give myself "light duty" for 2-3 weeks.

So imagine my mental status today, what should have been the day after my surgery, when I'm still supposed to be tired and doped up--but my uterus, cervix and tubes are still very much intact due to my doctor's office fucking things up for me and canceling my surgery at the very last minute.

First off, I'm feeling a crazy amount of ambivalence. 

And I'm rethinking EVERYTHING. I am realizing a lot of my resignation about the surgery and shoving those fears about sexual changes down into the abyss were borne out of my depression. When I decided in August to go through with the surgery after several years of waffling back and forth, I wasn't in the best place mentally. I had been given an ultimatum by my husband to lose weight, and I was still feeling so unworthy and undesirable since he dropped that bomb on me back in June.

I'd started therapy in June and then quit in August because I didn't know if it was helping, or if I really wanted to spend the time working on myself when things were so up in the air. I was honestly thinking hey, let me get through this surgery, and then I can figure out what to do with my mental health, my marriage (I was considering leaving, not gonna lie), my job--because I'd been considering giving up on the writing career and going back to work for The Man. But I needed to get this done and get through recovery first. I'd pushed surgery off until I was self-employed so I didn't have to worry about taking several weeks off work. 

I was literally putting my entire life on hold for this surgery.

No wonder I'm reeling so much!

Now it's been six months since that initial appointment with the doctor (whom I just fired), and I realize I'm not the same person she saw at that appointment. Yes, I'm still beyond frustrated with my period and the pain I'm in every month, but I don't know if I'm willing to just give up on myself as a sexual creature like I was then. 

I had reached the conclusion that I didn't deserve sex anymore. I wasn't worthy of it, and it shouldn't be important to me. I'd had my glorious slutty phase in my 30s, and now it was time to pay the piper. While I had (and have) absolutely ZERO regrets about anything I did during that time period in my life, I really used it as an excuse to take the risk of fucking up one part of my body and sexuality that I really enjoy. Like, wow I had so many orgasms in my thirties. I'll always have those memories, if nothing else. It's time to grow up and "do something for me."

And so many women kept telling me I needed to do this, that I'd feel so much better, that I needed to take care of myself, and that they were all so thrilled they'd done it--and I would be too. No one told me they regretted it.

Until...

Until I mentioned I was having some sexual reservations and then BOOM, friends crawled out of the woodwork to say that while, no, they didn't regret doing it, they do miss what their bodies used to be able to do.

Would I have those same issues? It's impossible to know. Maybe everything will stay the same down there and I'll just have a whole new week out of the month I can get it on.

There is no way to know. And that is maddening.

I have more soul-searching to do, even though I thought I'd done it all over the past several years. I have an appointment with a new doctor on April 12th. I may still ultimately decide to have the surgery, but I am 99% sure I will insist on keeping my cervix. I didn't fight for that with my previous doctor because I had pushed those fears aside. I had told myself it was time to let go of my sexual identity, to not put so much stock in it. I was 46, after all. Time to close up shop. I got plenty of use out of those parts in my youth.

Depression is a weird thing because it's all lies you're telling yourself, but you're the one saying them, and you trust yourself, so you believe them.

I'm also open to hearing other less invasive/permanent fixes the new doctor might recommend (though the other two doctors I saw didn't have much to offer in that department other than the ablation, which didn't work, obviously). Or maybe the answer is just waiting for menopause, though that could be several years away (late menopause is the norm in my family). I've made it this long, though. I shouldn't have any more than 5-10 more years, although things could get worse before they get better. And I could still end up needing a hysterectomy someday (my mother had hers after menopause due to uterine polyps.)

Or maybe after having a few more awful periods I'll be like nope, this surgery is absolutely the right course of action.

I don't know what I'm going to do. But somehow I feel like I'm on a better path than I was just a few days ago when I thought having this surgery was the best option for me. I guess my uterus has gotten a reprieve. Maybe she'll be nicer to me next month when it's that time LOL.

I'm going to start upping my workout game again. I'm going to start meeting potential FWBs again. And we'll see what happens. I might have new stories for this blog...finally.