Where It Begins and Ends
This is a story about a mass of cells, but it really has very little to do with those cells. This story has to do with transitions, with the taking up of space, with dealing with aging and fear and joy and … a lot of things. It has to do with the process and practices of living of life.
Suffice to say - if you don’t resonate with the story of the cells, that’s okay. There might still be something here for you.
““I practice loudly so that others don’t have to suffer quietly.””
Our story begins on an otherwise un-noteworthy Saturday morning, in the middle of a Midwestern winter, in a large, blanket-filled bed.
I was lying on my back, contemplating whether or not to get up, when I made a very random move that changed the course of that day - and (not overstating) my life. I placed my hands on my abdomen and, for whatever reason, pressed in.
That’s the first time I felt the lump.
My first thought was, “Whoa - that’s not supposed to be there.” My second thought was, “Ouch”.
Fast-forwarding through a lot of worry, Google searches, conversations with my amazing doctor, appointments, ultrasounds, waiting, waiting, worry, and more waiting, and the final diagnosis:
First up, a cyst on my left ovary (very common, not usually of concern, not at all what I felt). Second, a fibroid in my uterus (equally common, not usually of concern, definitely what I felt).
A little background:
Fibroids are muscular tumors (almost always non-cancerous, as mine is) that grow in the wall of the uterus. Many uterus-having women have them throughout their lives (with chances increasing in 30’s and 40’s and with family history.). You can have one or many. A lot of the time, women won’t even know they have them as the fibroids can be as small as a tiny apple seed. Symptoms include heavy bleeding (which can lead to anemia), feelings of “fullness” in the abdominal / belly region, lower back pain, and others - which again, can be present or not depending on the number and size of the fibroids.
(Note: This is an extremely non-technical overview, pulled from my multiple Google searches and experience. If you have any further questions about fibroids, you can do your own web search, ask your doctor, or visit the White Dress Project site (one of many providing information and support for those with fibroids, and an organization I’ve grown to like as I start my journey) at https://www.thewhitedressproject.org/overview-1 . )
As mentioned, fibroids can be tiny little seed-size masses the cause no symptoms. My abdominal exploration on that Saturday morning certainly didn’t discover a little seed, though.
What was confirmed that I did discover was a uterine fibroid that was 10 cm x 7 cm x 7 cm.
That meant little to me at first. Over the next few days, I came to appreciate - and be astonished by - the true size. For comparison, that is the size of a small grapefruit. Or a very large apple. Or, as my gynecologist later told me, the average size of a newborn’s head.
That thing was demanding space in my uterus, pushing on all of the surrounding organs in order to do so.
It wasn’t enough for me to have some idea of what this intrusive thing looked like. I wanted to see what couldn’t be seen. I needed to get to know this thing that had been sneakily causing me so many symptoms over the years. (More on that later) So I re-created it.
This is the approximate size of the fibroid within me (represented in clay form, and painted pink with glitter. Because …. glitter).
In upcoming stories, I’ll share more about the symbol, what it means in general and as part of my personal journey.
For now, just …. wow, right? How can someone carry something like that within and not even know it’s there?
It was a massive reminder for me of how much we all move through our days having forgotten what well-being even feels like. Suffering becomes a normal part of our days, so much so that we don’t even question it. Maybe that isn’t you. If so, awesome.
But I invite most of you to pause for a moment here and to think of your own body, heart, mind, being. Deliberately breathe into it all. Try not to think about much - just feel. Just breathe. Be yourself for a bit - pains, comforts, and all. Start right here and now with a bit of awareness….and then let it go. Shake it off. You can revisit this whenever you’d like (and I’ll invite you far deeper into it as we go along).
Back to the story.
Through a series of events that are due to kind-hearted practitioners and schedulers, I was able to see a gynecologist + surgeon (same person) within a month. He spent nearly 45 minutes with me, examining, discussing, offering options and opinions, when asked for.
One of my favorite quotes during the visit, as my feet were up in stirrups and he was beginning his exam, came as he leaned his head to the side to ask: “You tolerate a lot, don’t you?”
(Turns out he had run into the fibroid with a tool because the mass had moved since the original ultrasound. Because I was practicing my deep breathing, I’d certainly felt it, but didn’t react. And ladies, let’s be honest: how many of you pretend to feel absolutely fine during some of the most awkward minutes of your life? Sure, I’ll stick my feet up in these things and just open right up here for ya. Oh, it’s fine - keep poking around down there. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Let’s try some conversation - so how are you dealing with this weather? Yep, it’s a doozy.)
That quote still bounces around in my mind. Sure, I might tolerate a lot. I’m a woman, a mom, a people-pleaser. But I also might not even realize just how much I tolerate. Many of us might not realize this. We’ve forgotten what well-being feels like. This is life, right? (Spoiler: it might be, but it doesn’t have to be.)
That appointment was useful and gave me direction forward, but it was the call that afternoon that really set my mind spinning.
During the appointment, we’d decided that a partial hysterectomy was the best* path forward.
(*There are many options for women with fibroids which I won’t get into here. The partial hysterectomy - where the uterus will be removed along with the fibroid, but during which I’ll hopefully be able to keep at least one ovary, if not both - is the best decision in my particular case, but might not be for everyone. In my case, we chose it because of the size of the fibroid, the probably symptoms it is creating, and the fact that we are done having children.)
I understood this logically. Ok, hysterectomy. Got it. But it was still abstract, still somehow hypothetical.
When I received that call, I had to set and confirm a date for my surgery. What was just an idea floating vaguely in my mind became a concrete, planted stone in my schedule. I had to write it on the calendar - our wall calendar, where all of the kids’ social and school events are written, where my husband’s work schedule outlines our days, where vacations and plans and hopes and expectations are laid out. In black ink, I scribbled it down and made it real.
And I freaked out.
This brings us to the beginning and the end.
This is the end of wavering, end of uncertainty, end of ignorance, the end of illusion.
This is the beginning of a new journey, of a chosen transition, of an exploration into greater well-being.
This is the end of blissful comfort and the beginning of painful awakening.
This is the end (hopefully) of fibroid-related symptoms and the beginning of new energy.
This is the end of allowing something undesired to take up space and the beginning of reclaiming my self through awareness and action.
This is …. life and death, living and dying, all tied up in one little (ish) fibroid.
I wasn’t sure if I’d share this whole story. But thought after thought, day after day, it became evident to me that I simply couldn’t stay silent.
It helps me to feel and find and express my own voice, which is important for every woman and person to do.
It helps anyone on a similar journey - awaiting surgery, dealing with fibroids, anticipating the changes from a hysterectomy or menopause (which the hysterectomy will likely push forward on my timeline) - to know that you aren’t alone.
It helps us all to understand the stories and experiences of the millions (billions) who go through such transitions (if only from one perspective).
It helps to normalize the transitions of womanhood, to give space and voice to that which has been kept silent for far too long.
It helps all of us to explore our fears and uncertainties around daily life, and to practice how we breathe with those.
It is truly a journey of being breath.
I’ll be adding posts about the fears I’m facing as I contemplate this transition (and how I’m coping with those on a daily basis), how I’m preparing my teenage kids and husband for the six weeks of recovery when mom won’t be as available as she usually is (and how one feels as a parent when doing this), what the symbol on my clay fibroid means for me and for all of us, the experiential practicalities of a hysterectomy, discussions around menopause and women’s aging with all of its societal baggage, and so much more.
I will be as transparent as possible for all of the reasons listed above.
Not everyone is ready for or wanting to hear the stories of such a journey, which is why I’ve separated it into its own blog. (I’ll still be periodically updating the main Being Breath blog.) I will try to get a subscription service set up for those who want reminders of when I post here. For now, your best bet is to follow me on Facebook and/or subscribe to the main Being Breath newsletter, where I’ll include a small reminder snippet about these posts.
To all those going through transitions, you are not alone. Here’s to our journey …