Notice: mention of childlessness, surgery. Please no unsolicited advice, thank you.
Would you believe me if I said I actually hadn’t planned on having cake to mark one year since my surgery? (Something I’ve done on every M.E. anniversary for over a decade.) I had planned to do something different but M.E. laughs in the face of plans.
I’m feeling so much weirder about this than I thought I would.
I’m feeling very full of emotion and a bit overwhelmed. I think I’ve focused so much of the first year as acute, physical recovery that it’s only now the enormity of it all is properly hitting.
One year without a uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, or cervix.
One year of Hormone Replacement Therapy (at least 13 to go!)
One year without the intensity of PMDD, but with an overall baseline decline in mental health.
One year without the pain.
One year with a drastic decrease in migraines now the coil has gone.
One year without the blood loss.
One year of improved quality of life.
Over one stone heavier. With a scalp so itchy I’ve got sores. Enamel loss on my teeth! Who knew hormones were so essential ey!?
I’ve spoken before about how the removal of a faulty organ actually eased my feelings around never becoming a parent. But the sadness and finality is now seeping in. I really won’t have children. I can’t have children. I won’t raise children. (Conclusions I’d already reached as a result of how M.E. plagues my life, but the grief is asking to be felt now.)
I frequently have moments where I wonder if it really happened; if the pain hadn’t miraculously stopped I’d really wonder if it happened.
One year ago this week my poorly little body did something miraculous and got me through major surgery. And with the help from my friends and family, I got myself through the paralysing fear I felt beforehand.
As ever, this is not an invitation for advice or suggestions. As strange as it may make me, I am never looking for advice.
'M.E. myself and I' by Anna Redshaw 