#49 - Dear Miss Period, Thanks for the Memories

I have reached the five year anniversary of the hysterectomy.

I know, I know... it should be HERsterectomy.

My period and I were permanently separated from the day of that surgery, never to cross paths again.

The morning of said surgery, I had a cheerful helpful nurse relay to me how much better I would feel once I was relieved of that naughty old uterus.

Hmmm...
What was she on?

I did not want a hysterectomy.

I did not want taken from me the core of my physical being that I felt at that time defined my feminity.

I was scolded and coerced by several physicians that I NEEDED the surgery.

I was actually told that they would discharge me from the hospital (I was doing the revolving door at the time) if I would just let go of Miss Period and her troublesome womb.

Too sick and in way too much pain to argue anymore, I surrendered the very core of my life as a female.

My uterus was never too cooperative.

She rebelled from the tender age of thirteen and she never quite got on track.

I don't blame my uterus. Not her fault after all.

We were born into a rather hostile world.

A world in the 1960s that was terribly conflicted regarding what a woman should and should not be.

And personally, I was born into a situation that led to a sexual assault by an extended family member.

I was permanently scarred from that... emotionally and physically.

Miss Period's arrival was more like a validation of the pain and suffering, as opposed to heralding the dawn of my womanhood.

And Miss Period brought out silent screams every month, which caused intense pain, swirling headaches, flailing emotions that I had yet to learn to master, and real bite down on your lips and try not to scream complications inside my gut.

Miss Period took away my ability to give birth.

She scarred my internal organs and attached my uterus to my bowels.

She scarred the bowels so bad, that surgeons had to take some of it away in order to prevent a painful death.

Miss Period was an angry banshee, who refused to be subdued.

Lord knows, I tried.

I became a chemical testing ground for hormones, first the Pill, and later injections to put me into early menopause.

But, the Pill made me manic and once the injections ceased, Miss Period would go at it again, carving a path of destruction with her endometrial tissue that refused to stay in utero.

When the surgeons decided enough is enough... they told me she had to go.

And so did my uterus and my ovaries.

Bye- bye... we have nothing left to offer.

I was not ready to let go.

I told my husband to buy me curlers when I came home from the hospital.

I wore nail polish, I put on make-up when normally I wouldn't, I curled my hair and did everything in my power to carry all the trappings of what I believed to be feminity... my birth right.

I even held on to Miss Period's monthly supplies. Somehow in my deluded early (way to early) menopausal brain... I was thining she may return... best to be prepared for that.

But, Miss Period was not coming back.

And neither was my old life as I knew it.

Physicians can be very dismissive about female castration.

I can not even count how many times I have wanted to scream at my male doctors, "Let's cut away your testicles and whatnot.. see if that makes life easier for you!!"

But, I haven't thus far.

I dropped the exterior trappings quite a while ago.

Curling my hair doesn't make me a woman.

Painting my finger nails and wearing make-up does not make me a woman.

And owning my uterus, although I really would like to have her back... well, that did not make me a woman either.

I am 100% woman.

Yes, I wear an estrogen patch.

But, I am a woman, because that is how I was born and that is how I will see the world until my dying days.

I am a woman because I have never had the power of male privilege.

I am a woman because I knew from the youngest age that my responsibilities lie in finding the heart of all matters.

I am a woman because I know my success is not measured by my bankbook, but in how much I have loved...

and how much love has been received.

Miss Period left five years ago.

My Husband drew a little cartoon picture of her running away with her little handbag to parts unknown.

We sent her on an extended vacation.

She's long gone, but I am still here... carrying her memory with me... memories of Miss Period and life with a uterus.

We are so much more than the sum of our body parts.

We are soul.

This body is a vehicle to transport that soul through this journey in life.

We can spend our lives trying to adjust the body to conform to what others may think is necessary for the perfect life,

but, take it from someone who has had to surrender bits and pieces of this body...

no one... no one can cut away your soul...

only if you let them.