Fibroids

fi·broid
ˈfīˌbroid/
noun
MEDICINE
plural noun: fibroids

1. a benign tumor of muscular and fibrous tissues, typically developing in the wall of the uterus.

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I have had fibroids for a long time. I am so tired of them.

Here are some facts about fibroids:

Three years ago, my doctor told me that my uterus is the size of that of a woman who is seven months pregnant. I was given the option to have a hysterectomy, which I had every intention of having, but then my dad got really sick, my husband busted his Achilles tendon and I eventually chose to switch work locations and move back to my hometown. A lot was going on so I put the procedure on hold.

Currently, I'm experiencing perimenopause and I never wanted to have children so I'm good with the idea of medical intervention. The only concern I've ever had is that the organ is so large it needs to be removed through my abdomen and therefore I will have to take time off to heal. I also don't want anything to go wrong- obviously. It's weird to think about an entire organ leaving my body.

My friend, who is like my sister, noted how ironic it is that I've been living, physically, as a *sort of* pregnant woman for longer than pregnant women have to live as one. She's known me her whole life and knows it has never been my chosen journey to experience pregnancy in order to give birth. It is ironic.

Bonus fact: Years ago, I became an online-ordained minister after the aforementioned sister/friend did because she read an interview where Alanis Morissette stated that she became one in the same way.

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Anyhoodle, for better or worse, I'm totally the kind of person who has to believe there is a reason for everything. I can't let go of that. I choose not to. 

When the whole ordeal began I didn't realize my weight gain had anything to do with the fibroids. Once I hit the age of like thirty-seven, I stopped wanting to dance a lot and I ate more. These things add up. I was okay with it.

I feel it was a great journey for me, as a teacher of teens, to live through one of the lessons I share with my students. To be at home with oneself. To love oneself. As-is.

I say this all the time but I really do feel a lot like an alien living as a human, in order to experience what it's like to go through my specific existence. A student once informed me that this is called dissociation, but it gets me through the day-

This way I've chosen to perceive my time on this planet leads me to think about the reasons for going through everything I go through.

The part of this fibroid thing that has forced me to accept my body changes has been valuable. Up until recently, I never had to consider my weight, exercise or diet. In addition to that, I've been able to be unabashedly "fat" in front of people who, long ago, helped me create neural connections that helped develop an inner dialog stating that my self worth is intrinsically linked to my weight and appearance. Obviously, looks are nothing when you're sick and dying. The beauty on the skin of youth, big or small, leaves us all. There are more important things to think about, anyway.

How do we love ourselves.

After waiting many months for the new doctor in the new city to see me, for the new tests and the new schedules- it seems the procedure will be done this fall. Finally. A lot of things have to line up.
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Fantasy, symbolism and transition.

The mystical part of me wanders off into thoughts of things that might be "born" during my hysterectomy. What life changes will occur? Will I get my body back? I don't know. I know I won't feel this terrible pressure in my abdomen anymore. I'll hopefully have more energy. I will move better. Good god, I'll be able to empty my bladder when I pee!

And now back to dissociation.

Are there other dimensions where something might be born? Am I processing something here in this reality that affects another, unknown?

Am I a vessel for the fetal development of an interdimensional demon baby?

Maybe I'm storing alien eggs that will be shipped off on an interplanetary craft.

Maybe this is how dragons are born and sent into realms within fantasy novels and video games.

Perhaps the doctor will be surprised to find that my uterus has become a geode.

What if I've got one of those evil "Bob orbs" that bad Agent Cooper had in his belly in that one episode of Twin Peaks The Return?

No matter what this all means. What these things inside of me that have affected my life in the ways they have, could represent- I'm thankful for all I've been through with this organ. I'm thankful it gave me the opportunity to be a birth-parent, even though I chose not to be one. It gave me hormones that caused utter confusion and also a sense of harmony and connectivity. I'm so very thankful to have the opportunity and ability to safely leave it behind and I look forward to celebrating the rest of my time without my uterus and all that muscular and fibrous tissue that seemed to make such a cozy home within it. So mote it be.