The night before my hysterectomy, I slept like a baby — meaning I woke at every sound, checked the clock a dozen times, and then couldn’t get up when it was finally time.
I’d packed my hospital bag, scrubbed myself in the shower, double-checked my list, and laid out my comfiest clothes. I was prepared. But emotionally? I was somewhere between calm and cautious — both healthy, honest places to be.
I’d fought hard for this surgery. Years of advocating, asking, researching, pushing. So when it finally came, I didn’t need a dramatic farewell. No journal entries. No tears.
I had a beautiful dinner with friends. I laughed with their kids. We watched Botched. Then I quietly went to bed, preparing for what was next — pain, recovery and … constipation.
The Morning Of
The alarm went off. I jolted awake, forgot where I was, fell out of bed, and knocked over a full glass of water. (Not that I could drink it anyway.)
But I didn’t rush. I was on time. I moved slow, deliberately.
Comfy clothes. Comfy shoes. Clean skin. No makeup. Just me.
Before leaving, my dear friend Elly prayed for me — a grounding moment that reminded me where my strength comes from. It wasn’t about being brave. It was about being held.
The “What Ifs”
Even though I knew this was the right decision, the “what ifs” still crept in:
What if something goes wrong?
What if I wake up and feel empty?
What if I lose a part of myself I didn’t realise mattered?
Valid questions — but also out of my hands. I had to release them and trust God.
Trust the surgeon, nurses and anaesthetist. Trust the years of thinking and praying that led me here.
I was tired of living by “what if.” It was time to live by “what now.”
What Helped Me Cope
As I waited in the pre-op room, nerves stirred. But three things grounded me:
- Scripture. I was scrolling the ‘gram, then paused. “Is this how I want to go into surgery?” So I opened my Bible app and read 1 Timothy 4 & 5. It gave me peace.
- Prayer. I whispered, “Thank you, Jesus, for protecting me. Thank you for your peace.” Simple prayer. Steadying truth.
- Connection. A student doctor was present for my surgery. She asked thoughtful questions about my endo journey, my big family, and rural life. Telling my story reminded me I wasn’t just a patient. I was a person — and this moment mattered.
On the Table
Pre-op moved quickly: gown, paperwork, compression socks. The team was kind. Everything was clinical.
That’s when I got nervous.
Right before the anaesthetist arrived, I thought, “It’s all good.” And then… I was out.
The last thing I remember was the nurse asking something about something, and then sweet, sweet, sleepy oblivion.
Surgery day wasn’t some fireworks event full of symbolism and quotable conversations.
It was practical. It was clinical. It was the outcome of years of fighting to be heard.
But in its own quiet, gritty way — it was profound.
It didn’t need to be dramatic to change my life. It just needed to happen.
And it did.