#Microblog Mondays: Choices

Two weeks from tomorrow I have my hysterectomy -- the culminating event in a sad history of an organ that should have done amazing things for me and instead just... failed. At every turn.

It's kind of complicated, saying goodbye to my uterus.

I'm not entirely sad about it -- there's some level of good riddance, what have you done for me lately? Get out, you evil thing -- happening here.

But also, I think of all the people who said throughout our journey,"Your poor body."

I really did a number on that uterus.

I think about all the embryo transfers, the hysteroscopies, the biopsies, the scraping and "refreshing" and checking for receptivity that all resulted in absolutely nothing good.

I think of the image of my uterus covered in scar tissue, a Freddie Krueger of a reproductive organ that could no longer even try to do the job it was purportedly meant for.

Miscarriage. Polyps. Asherman's Syndrome. Mystery fluid. Purposeful melon-balling of the lining. Failure of that resulting in a painful hematometra, blood that was meant to bring forth life that instead reduced me to a whimpering mess.

Did I do this to myself?

I mean, I made choices, but those choices were informed by situations that were not of my choosing. I didn't choose to be infertile. But the choice to undergo IVF a shameful number of times, to have multiple hysteroscopies in hopes of making my uterus more homey, to have a barbaric endometrial biopsy for receptivity testing that was basically a vegetable peeler taken to my uterus while unsedated, to purposefully remove my lining surgically to be done with all this nonsense... and now, the final blow, the removal of the entire organ...it's a lot.

Am I glad to get rid of it? YES. A thousand times yes.

But do I feel ever so slightly a sense of responsibility for the state of my defunct womb?

Maybe.

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