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I Had To Have A Hysterectomy At 31 And Now I'm Sensitive And Angry

'Me' was taken out a year ago on the operating table.

24/03/2017 5:35 AM AEDT | Updated 24/03/2017 5:50 AM AEDT

I'm not sure today is the best day for me to be writing this. Or maybe it's the best day to tell my story, because today, it has been sh*t.

Despite my best efforts, today was a day of tears and rage and fear, all driven by my f**king health problems. Today was the raw deal.

Almost a year ago I had a full hysterectomy to save me from dying from cervical cancer. I have also endured the pain of severe endometriosis since I was 18, and last week had my second day surgery for bowel polyps. Nothing's really related to the other and none of it makes sense but it's basically a war zone between my naval and my thighs.

I've put on more kilos than I care to think about, which is no big deal in the rational world. My old rational world. But none of my clothes fit me anymore.

I've had 16 surgeries since I was 18.

Today I went to my doctor to talk about my hormone therapy. Basically, it's not working for me. Let's put the hopeful word 'yet' in there.

I've put on more kilos than I care to think about, which is no big deal in the rational world. My old rational world. But none of my clothes fit me anymore. I've always loved fashion and beauty and how I look is important to me, like all of us. I just tried on a dress I ordered online. I can't write the size down here. The zip wouldn't do up and right now I don't know what I'm going to do. So I cried.

It's not just that. I've realised our hormones are what makes us feminine, the essence, the deep primal thing that is woman.

Last night I told my partner of five years, who I love desperately, that I was going to the doctor to talk again about my extreme hot flashes, weight, my mood swings and... my lack of sex drive. It's the first time I've said that out loud.

It was a quiet little confession but a big deal. He loves me and is still by my side but he's been asking me lately "where we went". It breaks my heart. He's still him, his balls haven't been chopped off, and he tries to understand, but sometimes I really don't think he does. I know he just wants the girl he met five years ago back, and I'm not her.

Just for laughs, the inside of my butt got nicked in surgery and is infected, so I've not really been able to sit down for a few days. Oh, I feel such the party girl.

But the visit to my doctor was positive. We've backed off some meds and moved from a pill to a tummy patch I change twice a week which will hopefully leech some essence of woman back into me... make me feel like who I was. I'm 32, not 60.

To my horror, my doctor had to call a 'special script' number to allow her to prescribe me the heavy duty stuff she had to prescribe me. She used the words "extreme" and "depression" in her conversation, but cheerily explained it with the good old "hormonal". Great. I'm the 'Special Script Number Girl'.

Rational me knows this will get better. But hysterectomy me is hating it.

I cried because of the dress. I cried because I had to write this. I yelled at my partner on the phone, told him to get his head out of his arse because he left his laptop at home when I dropped him to work and I had to go back and get it for him (it was a bit dumb). I called, shouted, and hung up on him about eight times today.

When budgets don't work, or a negative email comes, or any tiny thing that most of us (and the old/pre-hysterectomy me) would just shrug off comes my way, I overreact, punish myself, get mad and sad. I often feel like I'm a waste of space, a problem for everyone. I don't know where 'me' has gone. Well I do, actually. 'Me' was taken out on the operating table a year ago.

This is not self-pity. I'll get my meds right and I'll be fine.

You're reading me on a bad hormone day and I want to be honest and write down what it really feels like, so people understand. I want a sign on my head that says: "I'm a sensitive, sometimes self-loathing, fat bitch because of my hysterectomy, get over it!" But I can't. I want my man to know I'll be back, to wait while I sort this shit out. I want to scream at the unfairness of it all. I often do.

Rational me knows this will get better. But hysterectomy me is hating it.

So come on, little tummy patch, do your thing.

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Throughout 2017, The Huffington Post Australia is running a series called No Two Women. The series will cover everything women, and men, need to know about what women deal with thanks to their hormones.

We want to hear about your experiences, and about what you want to read. Let us know by emailing notwowomen@huffingtonpost.com.au or contribute a blog post by emailing blogteam@huffingtonpost.com.au


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