Have you heard of a miraculous procedure known as the uterine ablation–codename Novasure? Chances are if you are a woman in your late 30’s you have, at least once. Perhaps by someone who said, “I had this procedure, and it’s wonderful, and I haven’t had a period since!” At least, that was how I heard about it.
Having suffered through crazy cycles, and anemia-inducing heavy periods, on and off for more than 20 years, I checked into it. After examining my issues–at 35, I was down to about a week per month without either pms or a period–my doctor gave me the options of hysterectomy or ablation.
Hysterectomy scared me. Abdominal surgery at 21 was one thing, but at 35, I’d never have a flat stomach again. And, I apologize to anyone who has been through this procedure, as I certainly am not trivializing it. That was just my initial thought.
So I opted for the ablation, after assuring the medical staff I didn’t want any more children. Three’s good, thank you. Actually two was perfect. Three pushed me dangerously close to the edge. Four would most likely put me in an early grave. I digress. The whole procedure was a breeze. Basically one day of downtime, no pain–actually the uterine biopsy was the most painful part, and that was very mild–and I was free from periods forever!
Or not. My doctor had advised that periods might continue for the first few months. And they did. They were much lighter, mind you, I no longer felt as if I needed a bi-monthly transfusion. But the first few months ran into a year. And the year has now turned into two and a half. Most women would have called the doctor by now. I don’t want to rush into anything. After all it’s a big improvement, and I am really grateful for that. And I know that the next step is a hysterectomy, which now scares me for reasons beyond the flatness of my stomach.
So for the past two days, I have eaten nearly everything in the house, preparing my burned up uterus for a fetus that won’t be moving in. I have downloaded a period tracker app to my iPod and begun carrying “supplies”–always good for an uncomfortable giggle at the baseball field when Lily pulls a tampon out of my purse. I have contemplated calling my doctor but have not. I have listened to the stories of several friends, who had the same procedure with great success and shamefully felt a slight “why didn’t it work for me” pang. And now, I have written about it, making it, in fact, real.
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