I’d been growing a ‘fibroid’ - many in fact - in my uterus for a few years - they tend to stick around longer than the 9-month gestation period.
Google defines fibroids as “common, non-cancerous growths that form in the muscle wall of the uterus. Made of smooth muscle cells and fibrous tissue, they are not cancerous [turns out they can turn cancerous] and do not increase the risk of uterine cancer. They range in size from a tiny seed to a large melon.”
Well, one of mine at 7cm was starting to concern doctors, and then it doubled in a few months - taking on that ‘melon’ shape. They wanted it out - I wanted it to shrink.
The scary thing about getting it removed (other than the other worst-case scenarios I would regularly run through my mind) was that the gynaecologist recommended I take the window of opportunity for growing children 12 months after surgery. (They weren’t just a one-off thing for me, but part of a genetic condition that loves to feed excess estrogen into growing fibroids). I was 28 and had just met my partner at the time five months prior. I knew I wanted kids, but did not feel ready in any conceivable way.
Flying to Tasmania for Christmas, going camping for a week? No worries, we’ll plug it into the toilets at the campground. My determination kicked in, as well as my very helpful boyfriend.
Each day, I would try to assess if my partner and I were right for each other - if I was going to bring kids into this world - I needed to know. But it’s really hard to know like that.
Fibie wasn’t going down. Different doctors all agreed - I should probably get it out. Then it started showing funky signs, and I agreed not to fuck around. I was moved up to category 1 for suspected (but very unlikely) cancerous cells.
I was booked in for a likely midline c- section cut to get this 24-month-sized uterus under control. Lucky for me, I had an ace (female) surgeon who decided we could do a general c-section cut so my abs weren’t ripped apart as much as they would have been. I lost 1.7 litres of blood. I couldn’t walk for a few days. I spewed up every drug. I woke up wishing they’d taken it all out - endone does weird things to my head.
A few months later I was on a multi-day hike, surfing on my belly, feeling strong and agile.
A few months later my partner and I broke up. And the surgeon said ‘ah we can do this again if we need’, and here’s a drug that should keep them at bay for now.
I worried a lot about all this. I worried about a lot of things I couldn’t control. I learnt a lot about surrender. And I’m hoping they hold off from growing back again, I can’t do those bloody Chinese herbs again.
The impact of underfunded women's health continues to show up in a variety of ways. I had great support from various gynaecologists, Chinese medicine doctors, nutritionists, and integrated doctors - but there was always a knowledge gap in what could be done.
The medication I was offered after is only funded for endometriosis, so I’m $220 out of pocket every 28 days. This is a huge drop from the $600 a month I was paying for Chinese herbs, but I would only pay $7 a month if fibroids came under the medicare rebate. On these meds I don’t get a cycle and have various other side effects.
Since speaking to many other women friends, I am very much not alone in this, yet a lot of the population haven’t heard of them, and many don’t seem to know what to do with them either.
I acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the lands on which I mostly live, work and play - the Wurundjeri Woiwurrung people of the Kulin Nation and the Brayakaulung people of the Gunaikurnai Nation, where I grew up and return to often. I pay my respects to Elders past, present and emerging, and recognise their continued connection to Country and culture, and as the first and most enduring storytellers of these lands. Sovereignty was never ceded. Always was, always will be Aboriginal land.