Part 10 — The Days Before, The Day Of, and The Moment After
Content Note: surgical anxiety, medical trauma, reproductive health
There’s a strange kind of countdown that happens before major surgery — a slow drip of days where hope and terror sit in the same room, staring at each other.
I thought the week before my hysterectomy would feel peaceful.
Relieved.
Certain.
Instead, it felt like standing on a cliff edge with the wind shifting every few seconds.
The Lead-Up: Hope, Fear, and Every “What If”
My biggest fear wasn’t the surgery itself.
It was that it would be cancelled.
Bad weather, a paperwork mistake, a cruel cosmic joke — I imagined every scenario where the universe might yank it away. After decades of dismissal, having real help lined up felt almost too fragile to trust.
But beneath that fear was another one, quieter and sharper:
“What if the pain doesn’t go away?”
“What if my uterus wasn’t the whole problem?”
Holding those questions was like holding my breath for days.
And then came the moments that made everything real.
The call from the clinic about pre-op procedures.
The checklist.
The instructions.
The confirmation that yes, this was happening.
But the moment that hit deepest was picking up my partner — my then-girlfriend, now wife — from the train station. She insisted on being there with me. Seeing her step off that train felt like the universe saying:
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
A couple nights before surgery, something beautiful happened — tender, intimate, and full of trust. I won’t write it explicitly here, but it was a moment that made me feel fully loved, fully wanted, and fully held in my body for maybe the first time in years. We watched fireworks through my bedroom window, shared something soft and close, and for a few hours I let myself stop being afraid.
The following night she made me my “last meal” before fasting — peanut butter and jelly and a few simple things she knew I loved. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t have to be. It was love in its purest form: small, thoughtful, grounding.
🚗 The Drive to the Hospital
My best friend drove us.
My partner sat in the back, rubbing my shoulders to keep me anchored.
About ten minutes away, I started sinking lower and lower into the seat — like my body was trying to hide from what was coming. 🤣
My bestie kept talking to distract me.My partner kept touching my shoulders softly.I kept sinking.
By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I was a puddle of nerves and used facial tissue.
🏥 The Day of Surgery: Fear, Kindness, and That Last Moment
Inside, everyone was incredibly kind.The staff could tell I was scared — mostly because I was openly crying the entire time. I let my best friend and my partner answer most of the questions because I was shaking too hard to think straight.
When the surgeon came in to the operating room. The same one who had held my fear so gently days earlier.
She asked, “Are you ready?”
I burst into tears.
“I’m so scared,” I said — or maybe sobbed.
She came around behind me where I was lying on the table, bent down, stroked my face gently, and said:
“I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That was the last thing I remember.
Being held.
Being reassured.
Being believed.
If there’s a way to fall asleep feeling safe, that was it.
🌄 Waking Up: The Beginning of My After
Waking up from surgery felt like blinking through fog. I could barely stay conscious. I remember being wheeled outside into the sunlight, my best friend pulling the car around, and my wife holding my hand, telling me everything went beautifully.
I remember pharmacy bags.
I remember laughing that I was too tired to walk and then promptly falling asleep with my head on the dining room table when we got home.
They wrapped me in a blanket, propped a pillow under my cheek, and let me rest right there. I was comfy. 😂
I don’t remember talking to my doctor afterward — it’s all haze and fragments — but I remember the feeling:
A strange, quiet lightness.
The pain was there, but it wasn’t the same pain. Not that grinding, consuming ache that had shaped my life for decades. This was surgical pain — sharp, clear, temporary.
I actually had to be reminded to take my pain meds.
My wife looked at me wide-eyed and said:
“I never realized how much pain you were in daily until now. You had major surgery — you should be feeling worse than this.”
And that’s when it hit me.
I had lived in so much pain for so long that even post-surgery pain was easier.
Lighter.
More merciful.
🌱 The Shift Into the After
I didn’t wake up healed in every way.
But I woke up different.
I woke up with a future that didn’t feel like something to endure.
And maybe that’s what healing really is:
Not the absence of pain, but the presence of possibility.
When the Shoe Never Dropped-Part 11