The Dreamer's Pen

I keep thinking about how long this has been growing inside me. How many times I brushed off the pain, the bloating, the pressure, because I thought it was just part of being a woman.

The horrible period cramps that felt like a hot brick pressing down on my uterus. The hip pain that radiated deep into my bones. The relentless bloating that made me feel heavy and uncomfortable. It was all just normal, right? That’s what I told myself. That’s what we’re told to believe. Women are supposed to endure pain. It’s just part of the deal.

But it wasn’t normal. I have a  massive growth shifting my organs, compressing my colon, pressing against my bladder. A mass the size of a watermelon, sitting inside me for who knows how long, while I kept pushing through, convincing myself it was nothing. Now, there’s no denying it. No ignoring it. It has to come out.

The doctor says surgery is the only option. He’ll try to do it robotically, but if it’s too big, he’ll have to open me up, which means a longer recovery, a longer stay in the hospital, a longer period of feeling like my body isn’t my own. He reassured me that there’s only a small chance it’s cancer, but that doesn’t stop the fear from creeping in. Because what if I’m the 1%? What if there’s something worse waiting to be discovered?

I’ve never had surgery before. The thought of it, the vulnerability, the loss of control. It terrifies me. But more than that, I’m angry. Angry that I didn’t listen to my body sooner. Angry that I’ve spent so much of my life minimizing my own pain, dismissing it as something I just had to live with. I am mad that I squeezed myself into shape wear and I am hurt that beat myself up for my bloated stomach.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I wake up in a hospital bed, lighter but changed. I just know there’s no way around this. The only way is through.