Tweet about grief and gratitude by Quinta Brunson

“Have you had a chance to see the baby?”, the nurse asked.
We stared and glanced at one another across the room.
“No, I replied. I had a hysterectomy yesterday.”

For the last 7-8 years, I have had sciatica pain on the left side during my cycle. In addition to very heavy and painful cycles, I thought the pain in my back was a part of life after having children. You hear these stories about how childbirth changes your body. How your feet grow (I’m a 9 on one foot and a 9.5 on the other foot). How your breast change (don’t even get me started). How things shift and move that require physical therapy and attention to support your return back to self. So naturally, I ignored the back pain. We bought a new mattress (twice), and I did stretches and massages (and medicated) for some type of relief during the 5 days of misery each month.

In 2021, I started going to the chiropractor and I mentioned my lower back pain during my cycle. In 2007 I had a car accident that knocked my hips out of alignment and after each pregnancy, I had to get my hips realigned. I thought perhaps this misalignment was pinching the nerve and causing these issues but an X-ray revealed that wasn’t the case. He suggested I check with my gynecologist for an ultrasound since the only time I had this specific pain was during my cycle. He thought it might be related to a gynecological issue and so I made an ultrasound appointment in June 2021.

My expectation was that I’d go in, they’d see something on the left side where I was having this nerve pain, they’d give me something to take and I’d be on my way. Instead what they found were a fibroid and a cyst. I started my cycle when I was 9 years old. It’s been a long experience of a multitude of issues. In college, I had to do a medical withdrawal one semester because I spent some time in the hospital for cysts on my ovaries. When I was pregnant with Tre, I had multiple cysts that they said would shrink as the baby grew and thankfully they did. The cysts are an old friend I haven’t missed so to see its reappearance, I was instantly over it. I had never had any fibroids but heard enough stories from other Black women about their fibroid reoccurrence to know this was not something I wanted to navigate. In addition to my constant pain (ovulation pain, PMS pain, Cycle pain), the thickness of the lining was concerning. Sharing my family history and my own experiences, my doctor gave me three options: remove the fibroid, shrink the cyst, or have a hysterectomy (leaving my ovaries). I was speechless.

The thing is I know that we did not plan on having any more kids. I’ve had 3 pregnancies but only two kids, I knew we were done. But part of me imagined being a surrogate or having another baby to fill the void of the loss. A void that would never be filled but I imagined, nonetheless. And yet even with my head in the clouds, I still knew. Before I could say anything I started crying. My doctor told me I didn’t need to make a decision at that moment but I told her, “I’m going to have the hysterectomy.” I had one good week where I wasn’t in some type of pre-pain/actual pain. The week of my cycle I was useless because I was in so much pain, I started getting migraines and as I got older it seemed to get worse. Not to mention this revisit of the cyst and this introduction to the story of the fibroid. I was over it. When I asked myself if could I endure another decade of this, eyeballing menopause for my reprieve, the answer was a hard no.

She gave me until my next annual visit to think about it which was in May 2022. We also scheduled another ultrasound for that appointment to see if anything would change for the better in a year. I also made the decision to stop getting relaxers to see if that would help also with all the information that was coming out about the impact relaxers have had on Black women. At my appointment in May, there were more fibroids than a year prior. No relaxer since June 2021 and an increase in fibroids. Not only was this frustrating but it was also scary. I finalized my decision and we got it on the schedule: November 30, 2022.

The journey began and ended at the same hospital. I reflect on the beauty and what it gave me. I understand there are other women making this decision who will never experience something they desired in the way they envisioned it. I carry them in my heart…

There’s grief in the decision. A decision you make with certainty and anticipation but also sadness and heartbreak. So much of our womanhood gets tied up in the existence of these internal parts we never see but are reminded of their existence once a month. Maybe more often depending on our situation. If we desire, we know they are the key to motherhood. They remind us of our capabilities. Even if you don’t want children, there is a war on women’s bodies to keep everything “just in case.” But we deserve a choice. Even if that choice leaves us in mourning.

On the other side of sadness, I am excited because as my therapist constantly reminds me, two things can be true. I struggle with that. I’ve always thought it had to be this or that. I’m finding freedom in the reality that it can be this AND that. Frankie Beverly said, “how come the things that make us happy make us sad/joy and pain are like sunshine and rain.” There’s always a soundtrack for what we feel. I can be sad and feel an emptiness about this decision. I can also be excited knowing I won’t be in pain every week. That I won’t need a full two weeks of no activity because the migraines coupled with the uterine pain plus the ovarian pain is too much to navigate. Also excited about how this will change the dynamics in my marriage. It’s been great but this will elevate it to amazing because we won’t have to work around the pain to find that “perfect” window.

I’m always talking about this collective grief we’re experiencing. The grief I don’t think has absolved. There’s this loss on a larger scale that we come across every day on our news feeds while also experiencing our own loss offline. People are overwhelmed with grief while also trying to navigate joy and learning to give space to both because they both speak to the journey.

The morning of my discharge the nurse asked if we had seen the baby while we were there.

I paused.

The same hospital where I had both of my boys. The same hospital where I walked the halls to get turkey sandwiches to eat as I nursed. My husband sleeping on the pull-out couch which is more fold-out than pull-out, I paused. Remembering that my journey to motherhood began in these halls full of fear and uncertainty. Seeing 27-year-old me first-time mom pleading with the discharge nurse that I wasn’t ready to be discharged because I had no idea how to be a mother…

I responded. No. I had a hysterectomy. She apologized.

It’s been 4 weeks and I am healing and resting. I need to be in control so there are layers of lessons that have been teaching thus far and for the next 3 weeks left in this recovery. Life is funny that way. Closing out the year having to allow others to help me. Having to tell the truth about how I feel and what I need.

Slowly surely is what Jill said.

Step by step, Day by Day is what Whitney said.

Count it all joy is what James said.

I owe this journey to my mother who took care of us + the boys with school. She spent her 59th birthday being a caretaker (motherhood never sleeps) and then gained a second patient when Cole tested positive for Covid. (Blesssit)

I owe this journey to the village, neighbors, family, and friends in different states who truly took care of me. Provided two weeks’ worth of meals for me and my family. Created self-care packages and brought them/shipped them to the house. They showed up, shared their stories (where applicable), checked in, prayed, encouraged, and exemplified friendship and the importance of having friends/neighbors who become family when you don’t have family nearby. My heart overflows in reflection.

Handwritten notes to each of them for their kindness, to express my gratitude.

I love you all deeply.

If grief finds you but joy wants to have a seat at the table too, let it in. Both of them deserve a plate. Life is good. God is in the high place. It is well.

Selah.

A Bittersweet Womanhood: My Hysterectomy, Grief, and Counting it All Joy