The time has come for you to go. And, I’d really like for you to take all your little friends with you. You’ve been a good companion for some of our 54 years together. But the thing is you’ve really outstayed your welcome. To put it bluntly, Uterus, you’ve wreaked havoc on my life right around the time AARP fliers started arriving in the mailbox.
Sure, we’ve been through a lot together, Uterus. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you with all my heart for the early 1990s. You cradled my two babies for nearly 19 months. Healthy, beautiful babies, who have grown into two of my favorite people in the world. Perhaps, though, this should have been my first warning sign that you hadn’t fully read the handbook or even “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” most of which I read aloud. I’m no dummy, I knew my husband wouldn’t crack open that book. Had you not been listening, either, Dear Uterus?
You see, you’re only really allowed to keep the baby swaddled up in there for nine months, then your job is really over. It’s clear deadlines aren’t that important to you or maybe you were an overachiever, didn’t think I could handle motherhood? Regardless, you surely didn’t think I was going to let you keep that baby. So, in 1990, doctors had to pry out that 10-pound, 2 ounce baby boy you fought pretty hard to keep. Two years later, you didn’t want to give up that 9-pound, 1 ounce baby girl, either. So, there we were again, hooked up to an IV to make you let her go. I didn’t want to resort to drugs in either case, but you gave me no alternatives. Really, I hold no resentment, because have you seen those two? We were a good team back in the early 1990s.
Our relationship has been a little touch-go since then. I thought we agreed two kids were enough? Maybe you were lonely? I just don’t understand how you let that fibroid invade your territory and then let it grow the way you did.
I bet you liked all the attention we got at the doctor’s office that day. The way all those doctors and nurses came over to look at the ultrasound pictures to see that you had harbored a 9 cm by 10 cm fibroid. It didn’t even all fit on the ultra sound screen, for crying-out-loud, and you know how I hate having photos taken. Do you know how scary that thing looks? It’s not cute like a baby, but it's the size of a baby's head!
So when Ovary 1 and Ovary 2 find out they also are being asked to leave the premises, be sure to let them know it’s all your fault. We could have ended this amicably, but you and your friends once again decided not to abide by the norms of society and go in peace somewhere around my 51st birthday (the average age a woman hits menopause). It makes me wonder if you were in collusion with Playtex and Kotex. Do you know how much money I’ve spent all these years cleaning up the messes you caused me? It’s no wonder I’ve become iron deficient. I can feel you laughing down there. It’s no joke out here, though. I’m tired. Oh, so tired.
Dear Uterus, you leave me no alternative. We have one more week together. My doctor says some women feel a sense of loss after a hysterectomy. Maybe I’ll feel sad, but I think I’m more likely to feel hot, because I know once you and Ovary 1 and Ovary 2 are gone, those hot flashes are going to crank up. But, that’s OK, I have a closet full of PJs made just for that occasion.