It must be about 7 weeks ago now that I went to see my GP about the results of my scan, (no, not that GP, another one: same practice, different male doctor, but this time a nicer one) and to discuss treatment options now that it’s been confirmed I have fibroids. But to be honest, he didn’t really seem to have much of a clue either. He mentioned the possibility of me taking some tablets to help control my periods, but admitted they’d do nothing to help with the fibroids themselves. He also mentioned the Mirena coil, which he said they would normally fit at the surgery but, because I’ve got so many fibroids and my uterus is all bent out of shape because the biggest one, Freddie the Bastard, is growing on the outside wall of it, they wouldn’t be able to do in my case, so if I wanted one it would have to be fitted at the hospital using an ultrasound for guidance. But again, the Mirena is used to control periods the same as the tablets so it still wouldn’t solve the fibroid problem.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the visit ended with him agreeing to refer me to a gynae consultant. Hallelujah!

And Monday was the big day. The day of the important I’m-finally-going-to-see-someone-who-knows-what-they’re-talking-about hospital appointment.

L came with me this time because Dave was away oop North on work business. It was a baking boiling hot day in Norwich, so when we arrived at the hospital with about 30 minutes to spare we decided to go straight on in rather than loiter outside in the heat: “Hang on a minute while I just go and have a pee” I said as we got to the gynae department. Then, once I was sorted, I went up to the desk to let them know I was there.

The clerk checked all my details, then asked “Did you bring a urine specimen with you?”

“No, it didn’t say anything about that in the letter.”

She handed me a plastic pot

“Do you think you could do one for us now?”

“Ermm, I don’t know, I’ve only just been”

“Well, if you could try…..”


I went and sat down next to L. Grumbling. “If they wanted a specimen why didn’t they say so in the letter? Now what am I going to do?”

“Stop panicking, if you can’t do one you can’t do one.”

For a while there were only us two and a couple of other people in the waiting room, but as time went on it slowly began to fill.  People either chatted to each other in hushed tones, or they sat and flicked through magazines. Me, I stared at the clock. About 10 minutes before I was due to be seen, I jumped up: “Right, that’s it, I’m going to go and try.”

I came back 2 minutes later jubilant. “Hah! I filled it.”

“Great. Are you going to calm down now?”


A nurse came and took me off to be weighed and measured. I didn’t bother asking her how much I weighed, but I did ask about my height, and it turns out that Dave and the kids are right when they keep telling me I’m shrinking. I’ve lost half an inch!

And then it was through to see the consultant.

She asked me the usual questions, made some notes, and then told me she was going to examine me. She said she was also going to do an endometrial biopsy.

“You might feel some cramping when I’m doing it, but it won’t take long.”


And out came the speculum……

……..and the big long thin thing that had to go through my cervix and into my uterus.

I won’t go into too much detail about the joy that is an endometrial biopsy, but suffice to say it bloody hurt. And I did that really annoying thing I always do, and tried to minimise just how much pain I was in. So rather than being honest and going “Ow ow ow fuck fuck fuck that fucking hurts!” I sank my teeth into the top of my left arm and made a little whimpering sound instead.

Once she was done we talked about my options. But there weren’t any really. Contrary to what my GP said, I’m not a suitable case for a Mirena coil; I could have hormone injections for 6 months that would shrink the fibroids, mimic the menopause, and make me feel like shit, and then once the 6 months is up the fibroids would in all likelihood grow back so I’d be back to square one again.  Or I can have a hysterectomy and get this sorted once and for all.

So I’m having a hysterectomy.

The maximum waiting time is 18 weeks. So it’ll be happening some time this year. Before November.

Just before I left the nurse handed me an information sheet.

And that’s when I discovered it.

A hysterectomy helps women become better housewives:

“For the first week at home you should take plenty of rest but are able to make a cup of tea, do dusting and easy household jobs. Sit on a chair when possible to reduce standing. Gradually increase household jobs e.g cooking, ironing, and using a vacuum cleaner until by 6 weeks you are back to normal…”


What? dusting? Ironing?

Not for me it’s not.

OMFG! What are they going to do to me?

I’m going to lose my uterus, and gain housekeeping skills instead!