Cysts

The Hysterectomy

by Rebecca Mayes

There is a strange phenomena in Western medicine that if an organ is diseased you should just cut it out. This seems to be our best method of “healing” after thousands of years of practicing medicine. Much of our society is walking around without gall bladders, a kidney, a scrotum, part of their intestines, breasts, and, of course, a uterus.

It was recommended early on in my reproductive health struggles that I have a hysterectomy. This was the best promise for relief, they said. But I refused.

So why keep it around? Why not get rid of it? This organ was supposed to be healthy for me, and getting rid of it could put me at risk for cardiovascular issues, a decrease in bone density, or a messed-up metabolism. But most importantly, if it actually performed the way it was supposed to (and there was always the chance it could) then I would have a child, and that would be worth every minute of pain and discomfort and unpredictability. If I let them cut out this organ, I knew they’d be removing hope along with it. To let go of one meant letting go of the other.

So I kept it, despite the fact that it could not contain or control its own endometrial lining, but allowed parts of it to go astray inside my abdominal cavity, creating webs of tissue that would sear with pain when hormone levels changed.

I kept it, even though its partners-in-crime, the ovaries, would regularly spawn cysts that sometimes grew until they burst, causing me to go into shock and rendering me lifeless on the floor (once in the bathroom at work, where the EMS kindly extracted me).

I kept it, regardless of how disappointed my OB/GYN always looked when I handed in my fertility tracker, which was supposed to have green, yellow, and red baby stickers lined up and color-coded, in an obvious pattern. Mine looked more like a traffic light gone haywire.

I kept it, though its unpredictability and lack of punctuality pushed me to the brink of insanity by producing monthly (I use this term loosely) signs and symptoms that gave hope of a pregnancy and then dashed them to pieces, over and over and over again.

I kept it, and simultaneously detested it, when it neglected to nurture my one biological child and instead allowed him?/her? to die.

I kept it, though the amount of blood it was producing in my 40’s was enough to make me anemic.

Until one day, I finally told this uterus of mine (figuratively) and my OB/GYN (literally), “Cut it out.”

This was not, of course, without first praying about the decision and talking to my husband. I felt like a hypocrite, having denounced so many times over the years the over-prescribing of hysterectomies to women who were done having children. It’s true that this was (still is?) a flaw in our medical system, and few physicians or patients recognized the important role this reproductive organ serves beyond reproducing. But my doctor, a Christian man whose joy in life was to help couples bring children into the world and and also lead healthy, pain-free lives, could truly do nothing more for me. It was time to let go.

Seven years later, I can tell you that this surgery completely changed my life. My wise doctor left the healthiest ovary to help me gently transition through menopause, so there was no sudden hormonal shift. My physical pain was completely gone. The optimistic voice in my head that chanted “but what if??” incessantly each month had ceased to haunt me. I was no longer afraid of sudden, conspicuous leaks in public places, or of having a cyst episode while away from home. I could finally have an entire month where I was fully present with, and taking care of, my precious family. My heart had always loved my family, but my body had prevented me from taking care of them consistently. Now this cross had been lifted, and I “rejoiced with great joy.” I still do.

My story is not your story. My decision is not recommended to all who share my medical issues. Sometimes surgery does not provide the full relief a woman is looking for. I knew that going into it, which is one reason I was hesitant to do it earlier. There are no guarantees. The idea of intentionally removing all hope of conceiving probably sounds insane to those of you still without any children, but I was not in that position. I was at a place where I was ready to let the surgeon take both the hope and the pain together.

After our first adoption, someone gifted us with a beautifully framed poem, which read as follows:

“Not flesh of my flesh,
nor bone of my bone
but very remarkably,
all my own.
And never forget,
for a single minute,
that you weren’t born
under my heart,
but in it.”

I read the poem to my oldest son when he was around 5 years old. He looked up at me, bewildered and confused, and said, “That’s a big heart.” Maybe it was time to remove my uterus so I could have more room for the heart.

Happy Grandmother’s Day!

Have you considered the facts?

Your uterus is not performing at her peak these days.
Your doctors draw your blood regularly and order further medical tests.
Your pillbox has both an AM and PM dispenser.
You spend your evenings volunteering at church and around town because you have the time.
The majority of the Christmas gifts you wrap end up under other families’ trees.
You pull up pictures and videos on your phone of other adults’ children to show at parties.
You thrill when a small hand makes a sticky print on your clean window or spills apple juice on your polished floor.
You rejoice when a child asks you to read her the same book five times in a row.
Children tell you their secrets and ask you to display their colored artwork on your refrigerator.
Parents generously bring their children over to your house to visit at their best hours and then take them home for their worst hours.
You travel all across the nation just to sit on a bleacher and watch amateur sports.
You wash the dishes and wipe down kitchen counters for weary mothers.
You offer them your shoulder to cry on and hope they will allow you to mother them this late in life.
You watch parents struggle in raising their children and hold your tongue.
You pray for all of them day and night.
You grieve your own empty nest.

Have you considered the fact that you skipped motherhood altogether in this life and jumped straight into the role of grandma?

It’s not what you wanted, I know, but you have to admit: the joys are deep, the work abundant, and the sleep better than most. It is good to be you.

And for this reason, may I wish you the happiest of Grandmother’s Days tomorrow and every day?

P1040678

Bearing the Pain

pain

A co-worker sent me the link below. It’s an eye-opening account of what it’s like to live with chronic pain. I would imagine many readers of this blog will be able to relate to Christine Miserandino’s descriptions. Perhaps it’s not physical pain you carry with you each day – perhaps it’s emotional or psychological. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, if it occurs each day, or for certain seasons of your life, you know what it means to wear the “I’m doing fine” mask, and it makes you weary and feeling closed off from the rest of the “healthy” world. See Christine’s unique analogy here: ButYouDon’tLookSick.com.

Allow me to put things into perspective, though.

First, from Romans 8:18: “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

And second, from the Lutheran Service Book, Hymn 423:

Jesus, refuge of the weary,

Blest Redeemer whom we love,

Fountain in life’s desert dreary,

Savior from the world above:

Often have Your eyes, offended,

Gazed upon the sinner’s fall;

Yet upon the cross extended,

You have borne the pain of all.

The doctor’s in…

IMG_1879 copy We were blessed to have an OB-Gyn speak with us at The Great Getaway last summer. Here is a collection of some of the wise tidbits he shared with us:

On infertility…

“Fertility is one of those areas in life where God has us where He wants us. We have to lay it down. We have to give it to God. Who ultimately is in control? It’s not me [the doctor]; it’s not you and your husband; God is the one in control.”

“Infertility is a cross. It’s the cross God has given us. We are to bear our crosses.”

“We can’t even claim to understand why this is happening. This is a wound only God can heal.”

“No matter what happens, your Father loves you. Your Father has your best in mind.”

“Our culture says, ‘I have a right to have my 2.2 children when I want them. Children are things.’ We do not have a right to have children…Children are a precious gift from God.”

“If we had something that worked 100% of the time, then we would lose the awe and wonder of creation.”

On IVF…

“Infertility is not a disease. It is a symptom of a problem. IVF circumvents that problem. Let’s figure out the problem rather than circumvent the problem.”

“Who in the world do we think we are in saying that someone is a Grade D embryo?”

“For every baby that is born through IVF, between 20 to 30 are lost.”

The cost? “$15,000-$18,000 per cycle”

On why life begins at conception…

“Genetically, that embryo is not the mom; that embryo is not the dad. That’s a new person.”

On whether or not the pill ever acts as an abortifacient…

“If it happens once, isn’t that too many?”

PCOS P.S.

Gina is someone I look up to in so many ways, not only because she is an extraordinary woman who bakes decadent, gluten-free desserts, but because she doesn’t hide from the crosses God has given her – and she encourages me to do the same:

PCOS is so hard to live with and deal with, not only because of the infertility but because all of it is the pits. At this point in my life, I can look back and see that my PCOS was/is a cross to bear that at times I threw on the ground and despised, but, as with all crosses, it continues to be bearable only through Christ and the love of Christian friends, my spouse, and family. From this perspective, I can tell you that I am in part shaped by the suffering of PCOS and, as with all suffering, God can use it for the good of both the sufferer and those around her; but I can only see that now that I am 47 and reconciled to my barrenness, and I still only glimpse this here and there.

A friend of mine and I were talking about the wounds and scars of life and we finally decided that we can’t hide them and we can’t repair them. We can only let them leak God’s mercy to others, that same mercy He showed us.

How Should I Grieve?

Question Submitted: Thank you for your blog. I usually read several entries at once every few months when my barrenness comes to the forefront again. Thank you especially for the Bible verses, prayers, and hymns. Recently I’ve seen a lot of miscarriage awareness Facebook posts. I’ve never gone through a miscarriage and its grief. My husband and I are just infertile. I’m pretty sure it’s ok for us to grieve, but obviously not with the same grief of those who lose a child. So how should/can an infertile couple grieve?

I asked my friend Diane Lamberson, a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in Texas who does psychotherapy from a Christian perspective with people struggling with complicated grief and loss, to help us with this post. Not only is Diane one of the wisest and most compassionate sisters in Christ I have ever met, but she has the education to properly address this question for all of us:

As a psychotherapist who specializes in grief and loss, I am often asked this question in one form or another. Actually, it is two questions:

1. Is the grief I feel legitimate?
2. Am I grieving correctly?

The simple answer to both questions is YES.

Bearing the cross of infertility, even in the comforting shadow of Christ’s cross, is a difficult road that is full of uncertainty, frustration, and most certainly grief. Is it the same grief a couple who experiences a miscarriage has? No. Does that make the grief of not conceiving (and possibly never conceiving) any less intense or legitimate? No. One is not less than the other. Instead, they are different, yet overlapping, experiences.

In fact, one parent feels her grief after six miscarriages and one full-term birth of a child (after the third miscarriage) is less painful than the grief suffered by those who have never conceived. “I am aware that the pain of other women who never carry a child must be greater than mine,” she writes. She calls miscarriage the “loneliest grief of all.” I think barrenness and miscarriage are both lonely kinds of grief, and I am grateful to the hosts of this forum for giving it a voice and providing a much needed source of Christ-centered comfort to all who are grieving as they carry this cross and follow Christ.

While having experienced neither infertility nor miscarriage personally, I have been called upon in both my clinical work and personal life to bear witness to and assist with the grief that comes with both. For the couple who has never conceived a child, news from a medical professional that it will not be possible can feel as if a person has died because their dream of a person has died. Indeed, in some ways, this news is a more complicated kind of grief. When we lose people we love to death, we have memories of our interactions and can share them with others. Society acknowledges it. There is a specific date of death and mourning (a public expression of grief).

When grieving the loss of a person for which we hope and dream but who does not yet exist, there are no memories in which to share or take comfort. There may not be a specific date when the dream died, only ongoing uncertainty. Society doesn’t acknowledge it in any public or formal way. There is no funeral. There are no flowers or casseroles in the refrigerator. There is no gravesite to visit. Many who suffer miscarriages don’t have all of these outward signs either, depending on when the pregnancy ended. Instead, what couples bearing the cross of barrenness largely get instead of compassion is suggestions about IVF, surrogacy, sperm banks, adoption, or other ways to “fix the problem” that don’t in any way acknowledge the very real grief and loss that the barren are feeling.

Some feel they are grieving too much and others worry they don’t feel enough and wonder what is wrong. The truth is neither is wrong. It just happens to be your feelings about what you’ve been through. They are colored by your personality, how you view being barren, and your faith/theology, among many other factors. Your grief may be more intense at one time than another. Many think grief is a linear process when it is more like a spiral lying on its side. While you may be moving forward, there are many emotions you may revisit along the way. This is not a sign of regression but a revisiting of feelings that have come around again in your movement through the spiral.

The truth is, God is present to comfort us through all our times of grief, whether it is the loss of a specific child, the loss of one’s womb/reproductive organs, or the loss felt every time an unwanted menstrual cycle comes along with the knowledge that once again a child is not growing within the womb. All are painful and difficult to endure, but in Christ we are never alone. With the support we provide each other God works through us. We may not know what the future holds, but we know Who holds the future.

Diane Lamberson, LCSW

Is procreation an intrinsic quality of marriage?

Question Submitted: At a recent theological symposium, I posited that we in the Church need “to return to teaching properly about the positive locus of marriage – teaching about its procreative purpose and nature.” Another attendee replied in part that “procreation is NOT an intrinsic quality of marriage, as we do not say the infertile are not married.” If I had had a chance for rebuttal, I would have pointed out the error of his logic. Bipedalism is an intrinsic quality of humans, despite the sad reality of paraplegia. It would be very helpful to hear how you would counter the idea that infertility invalidates the argument that procreation is an intrinsic quality of marriage. I have my own answers to this false argument, but I would like to make sure I have an answer that is sensitive to the minds of those who suffer from infertility.

My pastors taught me that God institutes and defines marriage in Genesis Chapters 1 and 2. We learn in verses 1:27-28 that God created man in His own image; male and female He created them, and He blessed them. He told them to be fruitful and multiply, and God saw that “it was very good” (Gen 1:31).

The gift of procreation is not only a blessing God speaks over marriage, but God sees the blessing of children as good.

Barrenness is not good. Barrenness is a brokenness of God’s good creation. Endometriosis, PCOS, fibroids, hashimoto’s thyroiditis, low sperm motility, ovarian and cervical cancers, miscarriages, childlessness, and the groaning of all creation came about as a result of man’s fall into Sin; and we don’t use the effects of Sin to redefine that which God institutes and calls “good” in His Word, nor do we use the effects of Sin to defend the notion that procreation is somehow not a part of God’s intrinsic design of marriage. That is my biggest qualm with the other attendee’s rhetoric. His thesis does not fully confess barrenness as a post-Fall reality. Barrenness proves nothing about God’s procreative intent for marriage other than that God, post-Fall, allows the cross of barrenness to burden the shoulders of some married couples.

In regards to being sensitive to the barren, we should be careful not to turn God’s good, fruitful blessing for marriage into man’s good work. Scripture tells us that having children is not a law of God for us to keep but a heritage from Him for us to receive (Psalm 127:3). None of us would have children apart from God’s merciful blessing and giving. Only God in His wisdom knows why He does not open the wombs of the barren, and we should not burden the consciences of those who are unable to have children by suggesting they should be able to outwit the very Author of Life.

And as for using the existence of barrenness as an excuse to avoid the gift of children in marriage, I can think of no place in Scripture where God calls that good.

Top Ten

Top Ten Reasons for Training for a Triathlon:

10. Exercise is a heartening (pun intended) alternative to grieving.

9. Endurance sports are good training for enduring chronic physical pain.

8. Running helps you go all jedi on the havoc wreaked by Darth Lupron.

7. Swimming laps is a great time for running hymn lyrics.

6. Riding a bike through the country affords you views such as this one.

5. Endorphins and dopamine, the natural kind.

4. You won’t be the only one wearing a wetsuit to the party.

3. You can train with your siblings and cousins and make race day a family reunion.

2. You get a really cool swim cap (and a really ugly T-shirt).

1. There is bacon at the finish line.

Hormone Therapy?

Question Submitted: I was wondering if you know where I might find good information about the ethics of the medicinal use of hormonal therapies for a married woman. It looks like I will probably be having to wade into some murky waters here soon. Tomorrow, I’m going to make an appointment with my OB. I saw her nurse practitioner a week ago, and she was thinking I need either three months of birth control or 10 days of progesterone, but we decided to see if time would help. Well, after nearly doubling over with cramps in the middle of the church service on Sunday because of my 4th menses in 2 months, I think we need to do SOMETHING. I trust my doctor for the medical info, but I don’t think she will be able to help with the ethics. My husband and I would like to be as well informed as we can be before making any decisions, but, to be honest, other than doing a little research that led us to avoiding hormones for birth control, we don’t even know were to start. I was hoping you could point us in a general direction. Thank you so much.

I am so sorry to hear you are in such physical pain. That is awful. I had similar pain episodes a couple years ago. They were excruciating, debilitating, and socially embarrassing.

I do not know of any particular published resources which I 100% recommend on this topic. At this point, I suggest you ask your OB-gyn some very frank questions, listen to her answers, talk to your husband/pastor/father confessor, research all you can about your doctor’s suggested treatment plans on the internet (Lutherans for Life and LCMS Life and Health Ministries may be helpful resources with this), and then make decisions according to your conscience. Remember, you do not have to make a decision in the doctor’s office. You can go home, take your time researching and discussing your options, and come back at a later time with your decision.

If it helps, at the request of my own OB-gyn, I took the pill for a few months a year-and-a-half ago to help her diagnose what kind of masses were growing in my abdomen. Since some types of masses are known to be hormone responsive, my undergoing hormone therapy helped my doctor diagnose (without immediately, surgically opening me up) whether or not those masses were cancer, regular cysts, fibroids, or endometriomas. The results of the hormone therapy helped my doctor better treat me and, in the end, prepare for surgery.

I will admit that in order not to burden our own consciences, my husband and I abstained during that time.

I also bartered with my doctor. I acknowledged her need for me to take the pill for diagnostic purposes, but I also explained that I was only willing to take it for a limited season of time. She understood from the beginning that the pill was never going to be an acceptable, longterm treatment option for me. I think that information helped her make alternative treatment decisions for me before, during, and after my surgery. My surgery was successful, though my doctor had to leave some offensive tissue in my body so as not to destroy some of my organs. In an effort to get rid of that tissue, I then took Lupron Depot shots for six months in order to starve the tissue of my own hormones and, hopefully, kill it.

I am neither advocating nor discouraging you from taking hormone therapy for the purposes of healing medicine. I never thought I ever would, but, when the time came, the risks of vascular bleeding in undergoing immediate surgery and the risks of an ovarian torsion in doing nothing outweighed the longterm health risks of hormone therapy for me. My doctor was also reticent to perform a hysterectomy at the time unless she absolutely had to, as the consequences of depleting my body of its natural hormones in my early thirties also had longterm risks. Every woman is different, every diagnosis is different, and every treatment plan is different. Just be sure to ask your doctor detailed questions about the entire effects of any therapy which you engage. Let her know that you have religious concerns that could burden your conscience if you engage in any therapy which might potentially serve as contraception or an abortifacient. Whether your doctor agrees with you or not, she is a professional who wants the best for you and your health and most likely will respect your request with honest, forthright answers. She does not have to agree with you to be a good physician.

At this point, I do not plan on engaging in any more hormone therapy for long-term health reasons. My husband and I agreed to undergo such therapy once in an attempt to rectify the immediately dangerous situation. If I continue to have problems post-surgery, my husband and I are seriously considering alternative options, even a hysterectomy, for hormone therapy does have its own longterm consequences on the female body.

These are such hard decisions. I am sorry that they are also undefined and ethically murky in so many ways. I am serious about asking your doctor the hard questions. Listen to her, talk to your husband, make a decision you can live with, and trust in Christ always.

Ouch

I admit that I neglect the topic of physical pain on this site. It is a selfish decision on my part. I don’t like to dwell on it. Physical pain simply is, and I can’t do a whole lot about it. It is something to be managed and endured for the long run, and I am the queen of self-numbing when it comes to long runs. Deep breath, chin up, eyes ahead, slow and steady.

However, I do not mean to neglect or ignore your own physical pain, dear reader. I know you are weary. I know you have to stay home two days a month from your job because of the searing pain. I know your menses are more than inconvenient; they are debilitating and socially impossible. I know you can neither stand nor sit nor lie down when the pain hits, and I know you vomit and writhe and pass out from the experience. I know the injections, therapies, surgeries, and crazy dietary restrictions are giant feet kicking your already dead horse. I know you shake your head at heaven every time a cyst bursts and ask “Really, Lord? Isn’t my childlessness alone already painful enough?”

Yet, physical pain is a symptom, not the root, of the problem of barrenness. Sin is the culprit which leaves our bodies twisted in pain, and only Christ’s atonement for that Sin will do. His blessed exchange on the cross, His loving sacrifice of Himself for the Sin of the world, is the reason we have hope in the midst of our pain. For, we know that our Redeemer did not stay dead but lives, and though fibroids and cysts and scar tissue and cancer and worms may destroy our bodies, yet in our flesh will we see God.

So, by all means, consult your doctors, your naturopaths, and your pharmacists for help in managing your physical pain, for they are God’s good gifts to us in this life; but, when the pain cannot be managed and simply must be endured, remember your suffering Savior on the cross and cry out, “Lord, have mercy!” and know that He does.