Like many women, when I was in my 30s I was diagnosed with fibroids, benign tumors in my uterus. In 1997, when I was 45, my doctor suggested I have them removed because there were several and they'd gotten big. So I had a myomectomy, where they go in surgically below the bikini line. Later the doctor told me he'd also taken out one of my ovaries because a fibroid was attached to it. I had signed a release, but I really didn't understand what he was saying. I wasn't as educated about my body as I am now.
The fibroids grew back, which I've learned is common, and caused excruciating pain. I became anemic and I menstruated every day for one year straight because the fibroids were pushing on the uterus, which is also common with some fibroids. In October 1999 my doctor said I needed a hysterectomy. I'm like, "Whoa, whoa!" So I got a second opinion, and that doctor agreed that I needed one. I was ready for a solution to this misery. But I didn't really understand what the procedure entailed. My mother never talked about menstruation, menopause or hysterectomies—in that generation no one even said the word hysterectomy out loud—even though she'd had one. A good friend was telling me hysterectomies weren't always necessary, and my holistic boyfriend was telling me to do acupuncture. Meanwhile I've got the date set because the doctor is a top gynecologist, and those doctors are like famous hairdressers—you've got to get the appointment when you can.
On Nov. 12, without telling even my mother, I went in for a hysterectomy. My business manager, who also didn't want me to have the surgery, went with me. When I woke up after the operation, I was in horrible pain. I'm screaming, perspiring, my belly is swelling, my pulse and blood pressure are crashing. So I was rushed back into surgery. I ended up needing four pints of blood and nearly went into cardiac arrest. Turns out I was bleeding internally, a complication that can happen in any major surgery. A few weeks later I was at my sister's house outside Philadelphia, and suddenly I'm doubled over and screaming with pain. We go to the emergency room, and I'm rushed into surgery—I had a hernia near the hysterectomy incision.
So I've gone through three operations in one month. I was so weak, I couldn't walk across a room. But I was happy to be alive and eager to get going. In January 2000 it's a new year, and I think everything bad is behind me. Suddenly I'm like, "Why am I sweating in the middle of winter?" Oh yeah, that's right. I don't have any ovaries. I'm in full-blown menopause. I had signed another release that said they could take out my other ovary, but I didn't fully understand that it would lead to immediate menopause. I thought it would come on gradually. I took hormones because I didn't have my ovaries to produce the hormones I needed. But it took two years to get the right balance. In the meantime, I was a basket case: depressed, sweating, irritable. I cried a lot. Not only do you feel bad, you look bad. No offense, but I'm not used to looking bad. And I wasn't interested in sex, which was a first for me. You're just not the same person after a hysterectomy. My boyfriend was 10 years younger and had no children. He asked, "Well, are we going to adopt?" I felt my womanhood was under attack. It ended up okay. We went to couples' therapy, and we're still together and happy.
As I look back, the hardest part of what I went through was emotional: I felt very stupid. So I started educating myself. I read books and manuals on women's health and talked to knowledgeable girlfriends. Now when a doctor speaks, I don't just sit there and pretend I understand.
It always comes back to you. It's our responsibility, as women, to be in the driver's seat as far as our health goes. We have to take an interest and educate ourselves about our health. It's not enough to go to a gynecologist once a year and be passive. We have to not be shy. I tell my daughter about hysterectomies, menopause, everything. She says, "Too much information, Mom." There's no such thing as too much information when the subject is our health.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
