Trigger Warning: Yeah, I don't usually do these, and I generally don't care for the concept, but whatever. Not everyone is going to care about this stuff or want to read about it. So if you're not into discussions of sexuality, periods, family planning, depression, and the like, stop now. Click away!
For everyone else, you can't say I didn't warn you. Tally ho.
There are certain expectations one has in life. Certain milestones that one anticipates. A particular rhythm, you could say. You grow up, go to school, have your first kiss, attend prom, go to college, get married, buy a house, start a career... Sure, things may happen in a different order, but those are the milestones it seems like everyone is expecting to hit. And I just...
Didn't.
I had a boyfriend for about two days in middle school. A friend of mine wanted to date someone, and he had a friend, so my friend said I should just date his friend. He was a year younger than me, we barely knew anything about each other, and we held sweaty hands on the playground. I felt no special attachment to him (though I still remember his name - Bryce Davis), and it really didn't bother me when he didn't call me over summer break.
To my eternal shock, a boy asked me to attend the Junior/Senior Banquet (Christian school - no dancing) with him when I was a Sophomore. I gained very little social credit for this since I didn't know that was a thing, nor would I have known how to wield it, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Social Butterfly either. I had some warning that he was going to ask, I told him I'd have to ask my parents, and eventually I said yes. Free food, pretty dress? Sure. It occurred to me SEVERAL YEARS LATER that he did actually want to date me. This was after we went to the next year's banquet together and I asked him to be my plus one for a wedding.
I'm a tad oblivious.
I figured it was just that I had no romantic feelings for him. I remember telling my mom when I was in high school that I didn't think I'd ever get married. She said that was okay but I'd have time to change my mind. But something about what I'd said resonated with me. It felt right, even though it went against everything Hollywood and the world around me was telling and showing me.
Sometimes I thought I just didn't have the right examples. My oldest sister's marriage was controversial, and my middle sister's marriage happened after she literally chased him down halfway across the world. At least, that's how it looked to me.
But I didn't want to pursue anyone. So I figured I'd wait until someone pursued me.
Except they didn't. (I was convinced someone was once, and then he moved to Arizona and told me six weeks later he was getting married.) But no one ever outright said to me, "Hey, I like you. Let's go on a date."
I wasn't that bothered, except for the part of me that was because I wasn't conforming to social norms. I thought something might be wrong with me. Cue the first depression.
When I became a missionary, the pressure both lessened and worsened. Single female missionaries are a dime a dozen, it turns out. Single male missionaries get snatched up pretty quickly. Some women marry for convenience or security. Some women do actually marry for love, but hardly anyone believes it because you just look 'desperate'. Up to a certain age, the people around you joke about finding you a husband. I think it stopped around the time I hit 30. I guess I didn't show much enthusiasm for the process, so they stopped trying. Or they were scared of the look I gave them when they mentioned it. Not sure.
Over the years, though, I was learning more about myself. For a while in college, I thought I should just become a housewife because at least as a wife and mother, I know what is expected of me.
I may have been a bit naive.
But even then, it was a utilitarian thing. I'll do it because I have to, not because I want to. And I started to realize that it was okay to be single. It was okay to go through life on my own.
And then I learned the word asexuality.
Look, I'm not a big woke apologist, and the LGBTQ+ agenda both saddens and angers me. But it was also helpful. Because I learned that there were other people in the world who felt different ways about sex and sexuality than what is normally portrayed. Not everyone wants to go around having sex with everything that moves. Some people (gasp!) don't want to have it at all!
I'm not broken. I'm just different.
But I'm also lonely.
It's lonely being single. Yes, I have family, but they aren't here all the time. There are only so many times I can call them a week because they have their own lives. It's weird to ask people (even friends) to just cuddle with you because you're having a bad day. Especially when you don't particularly like being touched. Cue the second depression.
Let's go back in time again. And again, I can't believe I'm talking about this, but it all fits together in my head.
I got my first period the summer between fifth and sixth grade. We were at Gettysburg National Park, I felt gross and uncomfortable, and my mom told my dad about it.
Ew.
I did not see a gynecologist until I was 31.
20. Years. Later.
Do not do this. Please do not do this. I get it. It's awkward to talk about periods with your young daughter. But seriously. It isn't healthy to not see a professional.
Much like the milestone experience, my menstruation was not regular. It would occasionally fit the 28 day cycle that my health teacher told us about, but not always. It rarely only lasted a few days. But that was normal in my family. At least as far as I knew, because I didn't go out of my way to talk about it, and no one else did either. (My mom swears we had The Talk when I was younger. I have repressed that memory.)
As the Internet became more of a thing, I did some limited research. No, I wasn't normal, but I wasn't abnormal, either. Some women are just different.
But it got worse as time went on. I was bleeding more often and heavier than before. Instead of 28 days between periods, it would be about 15 days. Eventually, it was almost constant.
But it was life. It was what I was used to. I was pretty sure it wasn't normal, but I didn't think it was terrible.
When I turned 30, I decided that I should probably do something about my health. I saw a doctor for the first time in however long, and it actually took a few visits before I mentioned my irregular periods. She asked when I'd last seen a gyno. I said never.
This did not make her happy.
So I make the appointment. I mention all the things. He says let's do an ultrasound. I say no. He says yes. I say fine.
The ultrasound prompted a biopsy. The biopsy confirmed his suspicion.
Complex atypical hyperplasia.
A healthy uterus has a 2-14 millimeter thickness. My uterine lining was 3 centimeters thick.
Not great.
In July 2017, I had a dilation and curettage. It's a scrape and scoop. Get rid of the excess, hope it doesn't grow back.
To aid in that, I had an IUD device implanted. The hormones are supposed to regulate periods in normal people and keep them from getting pregnant.
For me, it was supposed to keep things from getting bad again.
I had biopsies every six months for four years.
They were not pleasant.
They were also telling an unhappy tale. Things weren't getting better. Like, at all.
So I started oral hormones. They made me sweat and grow hair in awkward places. My face broke out like I was 15 again. I gained weight.
And that's all they did. The biopsies continued and showed no change. What's worse, the bleeding came back. Every. Day.
See, the thing about complex atypical hyperplasia is that it becomes endometrial or uterine cancer in about 29 percent of cases. Especially when hormone treatment doesn't seem to be doing anything.
I went to see the gynecological oncologist. He gave me two options. First, we could start doing adding depo shots to the hormone therapy. Those happen every three months.
Pass.
Second, we can remove the problem.
(Third, we can do nothing, but I spent a long time doing that, and it did not turn out well for me.)
I voted for the second option.
And that's where we are. On December 2, I'm having surgery to remove my uterus, cervix, and tubes. I'm keeping the ovaries so I don't go into pre-menopause. But the majority of my reproductive system is being yeeted.
Here's where people get weird again. Because when I tell them this, they get all sad and lament the fact that I will never have children.
But here's the thing: I wasn't having children before. I didn't want to have children. I didn't want to do the thing that leads to children. I will take care of other people's children, but then I want to go home and live my childfree life.
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I have known for a long time that I didn't want to birth children. Probably as long as I've known that I didn't want to have sex. And since those things are generally part and parcel of getting married, I just figured that I'd have to opt out on that one, too. There aren't a lot of guys (none I've met) who are happy to marry someone who won't have sex with them or give them children.
And it's not just because kids are a handful or messy or a lot of work. They are definitely all of those things. But I also think there are already too many kids in this world who don't have parents, or who don't have good parents. I spent a long time being annoyed that I had to live in this world. I wasn't about to inflict that on someone else. But if that someone else was already here, then maybe I could be a good influence in their lives or support people who would be.
Does that make sense? Does any of this? Who knows.
What I do know is that this operation will and won't be life-changing. It will be in that it dramatically reduces my risk for cancer, hopefully makes my quality of life better, and is going to cost a fortune.
But it won't be because, minus some parts, I'll still be the same person. I'll still have my job, my friends, my family, my faith... all of it.
Besides. I wasn't using those parts anyway.
