Over the last decade I’ve proven there’s little I won’t write about and publish for anyone with internet access to see. In my early days of blogging, some of this oversharing happened as the result of multiple lifequakes. I simply lost my filter while digging out of relationship rubble. Then, by the time I found it, it no longer seemed to fit. And now, when I find myself hesitant to write about something, I think about what I might want to share down the road and how parts of my story won’t make sense if I leave other parts out. So, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Lately, I feel like I’ve told everyone, short of my mail carrier, that I’m having a hysterectomy this Thursday. Seems only fitting that I tell, you, too. After all, you need to know why I might be away from my keyboard for a while (when I’m resting and recuperating), or why I might be writing more than usual (when sitting with a laptop is one of the only things I can do). And perhaps you can help by reminding me not to lift anything or exert myself for the next 4 to 6 weeks (because I fully expect to feel fine and be tempted to resume life-as-usual right away). Or maybe you’re part of the 17% of women who’ve had a hysterectomy and can share something helpful from your experience.
My doctor gave me all kinds of information to read in preparation for the surgery, and Google seems only too happy to answer any questions that remain. But I do find myself wishing the pre-op packet had some kind of ritual or rite for saying goodbye to one’s womb. Chalk it up to the fact that I’m an Enneagram 4, but I just keep thinking the old girl has worked hard and served me well, so it feels wrong to send her off without at least a thank you. Maybe that’s the real purpose behind this post – a bit of an homage to this organ I’ve always taken for granted and assumed I would take to my grave.
I’ve never had surgery before. Never had a broken bone or serious illness. Anytime I’m asked about my medical history I tell the nurse/doctor that I’m boring (and they always reply “Boring is good!”). The only time I’ve been admitted to a hospital is to give birth and both deliveries were brief and easy. I didn’t even stay at the hospital 24 hours with my second son, we were both in such good shape. My uterus (and wide hips) seemed built for having babies and they made me a no muss, no fuss rock star in labor and delivery.
This wonderful womb of mine was home to four children over three years, but only two stayed full term. I didn’t have a rite or ritual for the two back-to-back miscarriages, but my parents came and cared for me, and together we planted a tree in my backyard to mark the occasions. I’m grateful they will be here for this parting as well. Perhaps an appropriate farewell to this intrinsic part of me should involve another planting, maybe later this summer when I’m feeling better? Or perhaps all my plantings from now on should be in her honor – a perpetual nod to new life, in all shapes, forms and fashions, because, after all, that’s what I was built for.
Once again, you lead the way for me like an older sister. I thank God for the gift of your womb—of all whom it has held and brought to life. May its transition open a path of wisdom and blessing for you in this next chapter of your womanhood. May its departure go peacefully and “boringly” and I hold you in my heart along the way.
Leah, I’ll be on the train from London to Glasgow on Thursday, but thinking of you and offering prayers of: gratitude (for the service your womb has offered over the years, especially your two fabulous boys/men); petition for safe procedure and recovery; and accompaniment, that every step of recovery and beyond will feel lifegiving and adventurous in a new way—a really GOOD way. Treasuring all of you, dear Leah, both with and without that particular “lady part.” Peace be in your heart and mind, and strength in your body.
You will be in my heart. It was weird and I grieved when I had my H. I was the woman who had two miscarriages and was told I only had a 30% chance of ever carrying to term. Showed them. Twice. So that womb was special to me. We aren’t usually encouraged to grieve for our lost parts. I encourage you to celebrate and grieve this very heart of our soul.
A prayer from “Women’s Uncommon Prayers (Morehouse Publishing, 2000):
Psalm 7: Before Hysterectomy – Ms. Terri Jones
Lord, I am wonderfully and fearfully made;
O Lord, I am a piece of work of yours.
In your image, God,
From my green time I have held worlds;
My flesh contains a universe for you,
an infinity of stars between my knees.
In my wet and salty substance you can kindle fires,
and I cup the new flame.
In my mantling darkness
Life and spirit and flesh can quicken,
At your call, O God.
In my deepest places
I can hold your Dance;
My heart beats out its rhythm.
I can form the notes you sing forth
With the breath of your Spirit,
A chamber for your song.
Hold me, God, with your stars and your worlds.
Keep me ever in your spinning dance.
Contain me even as the cup breaks.
Let not my essence spill and seep away
Unused, unsung, untasted.
Make of me a new song.
Cleanse me still in the blood that is yours,
That is shed in the rhythm of your tides.
Wash me in the light of your moon.
Hold me on the breast of darkness.
Encircle and enfold me; let me root in you.
Let me be filled.
Let the salt of my tears be seasoning,
Let my life find savor in the wisdom of the blood
That drums and beats in my veins.
Make of me a new song.
Let my heart still leap.
Let my soul still sing.
Let my thoughts still kindle.
Let me be a vessel still
For you.
Hugs to you, Leah. I had a hysteroscopy followed months later with a H a few years ago. These both made it clear they were needed to have the opportunity for more years ahead.
I hope you will experience a calming peace about this, along with gratitude for the years you’ve had together 🙏🏼❤️