I should have known right away that something was seriously wrong.

The cramps intensified every month. The bleeding increased in quantity. There were moments when, if I walked a little too fast, the world seemed to spin around me.

But nothing prepared me for the pains I felt one recent day onboard a train. I thought I would black out from the cramps. I couldn't stand straight. 

I looked desperately for an empty seat to rest in. I didn’t find one — until the last stop right before my destination station. I took it anyway, urgently needing the few minutes of respite it provided me.

Instead of seeking medical help right away, I carried on my way home. It might just be stress, I thought, or a lack of sufficient sleep causing these extreme pains. 

In hindsight, I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I just wanted to rest.

That night, I was rushed to the emergency department for severe abdominal pains. 

Initial diagnoses of appendicitis and ruptured cysts soon gave way to one: A degenerated fibroid in my womb. It was so big that it had outgrown its blood supply.

I had long known that I had fibroids in the womb, and had been making regular visits to the gynaecologist to monitor their growth.

Upon further detailed checks, the severe pains which I had experienced were also due to adenomyosis and endometriosis, painful uterine disorders which involve the endometrial tissue of the womb. I was in severe pain despite round-the-clock doses of Arcoxia, a pain and inflammation reliever. 

Taking the full measure of the situation and the fact that my husband and I had no plans to enlarge our family further, my gynaecologist asked me to consider a hysterectomy.

In removing my womb, she promised to preserve my ovaries as there was no medical need to remove them. If she were to remove them, I would enter straight into menopause.

Considering my pain and the dire state of my womb, I went ahead with the hysterectomy on May 5.

At the time, I thought of it purely as a medical procedure. The pains were so bad that I really wanted to find a solution to ease them. In my mind, this was a purely physical ailment which needed to be removed as soon as possible. Problem solved.

However, after the procedure was done, I looked at my clinical discharge summary — and, to my own shock, tears started forming in my eyes.

Medical facts stated how bad my womb was, with the enlarged, adenomyotic uterus, numerous endometrial blood clots and fibroids.

Strangely, even though such a “bad” part of my body had been removed, I found myself grieving for it.

I grieved for the womb which had helped me to sustain two pregnancies and bear two beautiful children. 

I grieved for the womb which had “failed” to see me through natural menopause. 

I grieved for a physical part of my being which I had now lost. Was it possible to feel “less” of a woman, having permanently lost my womb and thus the ability to have more children? 

There were just so many emotions pulsating through me. 

As I spent time at home recuperating after the procedure, the emotional turmoil continued. I wept. I searched. I prayed. I journalled. I read. 

I have come to realise that, even though I understood the rationale behind my choice to remove my womb, I needed the time and emotional space to mourn and say goodbye to an integral and dear part of my body. 

My womb had given us our lovely children. It had fulfilled its task of sustaining life for my babies. 

Throughout my life, my womb has worked very hard for me — and it had now become medically non-viable to keep within my body.

I am thankful. 

As I emerge from this brief but unexpectedly profound medical episode, I’d like to advocate for two things. 

First, for my female comrades, it’s so important for you to get connected with a good gynaecologist and undergo regular gynaecological checks. 

It’s not uncommon for women to feel uncomfortable with gynaecological visits, or to find them unnecessary as they assume such checks are only meant for women who are planning to have children or already have medical issues.

Don't ignore even seemingly “small” issues like inter-cycle bleeding, increasingly painful menstrual cramps, or increased bleeding.

Especially for women who are planning to have children, make yourself a gynaecological appointment to rule out fibroids and other risks before conceiving, not after having conceived. 

Thanks to my own kind, reassuring gynaecologist, I was able to feel like I was in very safe hands for such a major surgery.

Secondly, let’s strive to normalise conversations and concerns on menstrual concerns. 

Even in these modern times, I still notice people reacting with visible awkwardness when topics relating to women’s health pop up in everyday exchanges, such as menstrual pains, cramps and bleeding. 

Women make up half the planet’s population. Menstruation happens once a month to everybody in the world in possession of a uterus who's reached puberty. For a great many of us, it can be deeply uncomfortable and even severely painful. 

Can we normalise “period leave” for women who might be experiencing heavy menstrual bleeding and find it hard and inconvenient to spend long hours away from home for work? 

What if we spoke of menstrual cramps and bleeding as if they were like any other physical debilitations and ailments — flus and coughs, for example? 

How might we care for friends and coworkers undergoing tough menstrual challenges? 

Could we ask if they need to rest in, need a recommendation for a good gynaecologist, or would like a heating pad to relieve the cramps without fearing crossing archaic taboo lines?

For now, as I continue to recover, I am grateful to be able to count on the love of family and friends and the understanding of kind and supportive bosses and colleagues.

Within myself, I’m also making peace with this farewell process. 

I’m learning that it’s possible to embrace both sadness and gratitude, and smile through my tears.

Goodbye, my womb. Thank you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Yvonne Kong-Ho works in a university, specialising in workforce development.