Sarah’s hysterectomy is “the best thing that’s ever happened” to her.
On May 15, 2014, I stood on the prow of the great ocean liner The USS Hysterectomy, waving a heartfelt, bittersweet goodbye to that noble country known as Menstruation, and knowing that this was the last time I would ever see its shores.
Then I gave the noble country known as Menstruation a double-barreled middle finger, yelled “FUCK YOU” at the top of my lungs, and bent over and mooned it with my huge, white, dimply ass. Because it is literally the worst place in the entire world. And I don’t miss a single thing about it.
Every woman who’s had a hysterectomy feels differently about the experience. Some women lament the loss of their fertility, especially if they’d been hoping for more children. Some women view their reproductive health as a measure of youth and femininity, and find themselves depressed and insecure about no longer having their blessed lady parts intact. Still other women find themselves with a whole host of medical complaints, including weight gain, sexual dysfunction, and/or hormonal complications.
And then there’s me.
I couldn’t wait for my hysterectomy. I counted down the days on a calendar, marking each day with a big scarlet X, as red as the color of the menstrual blood I would never have to deal with again. I begged the doctor to let me wear my tap shoes and a pair of glittery, sequined Spandies into surgery, so that I could jump up and dance my way right off the operating table when it was all over. (He said no.) I went on a shopping spree to Target and bought EVERY PAIR OF WHITE UNDERWEAR THEY HAD.
You heard me. WHITE.
The surgery went well, and after I had fully recovered, my husband and I cracked open a bottle of Spanish champagne and danced naked in the moonlight around a bonfire fueled primarily by boxes of Kotex. Then we made celebratory love together, and for the first time since my son was born, we did NOT execute the dreaded Pull ‘N Pray. And it was delightful. Because cleaning that shit up is GROSS.
Since then, every time I hear the word “hysterectomy,” I immediately think “freedom.” The freedom to buy real lingerie. The freedom to not smell like octopus crotch at high tide. The freedom to take a long, relaxing bubble bath without fear of a blood clot blooping to the surface and floating around the tub like the worst Portuguese Man O’ War ever.
To every woman out there who misses her uterus, who feels like less of a woman without it, or who just wishes that life hadn’t played out like that, I salute your feelings and respect your daily struggle. I truly do. However, when it comes to my personal experience of being uterus-free? All I can say is that I haven’t had a period in over a year and I’ve never been happier. There’s no fuss. No muss. No unpleasant “well, I guess I’ll be changing my bedsheets at 3 o’clock in the morning” surprises.
My hysterectomy is, quite simply, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Sure, I had to buy some extra pairs of tweezers afterward, but what are a few chin hairs among friends?
Editor’s Note: Sarah wrote an incredible 4-part series on her blog about her bionic vagina and all the other reasons a hysterectomy was the right choice for her. Speaking of which, now’s probably a good time to remind you that we’re humorists, not doctors. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health care provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition or treatment or before having any internal organs removed. And never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website, m’kay?
(Pssst. We have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to lady bits. Of course we do.)