The thought, “Am I going to die?” also came into my brain…And then as I learned about my cancer and the treatment for it my thoughts changed to “wait…fuck yes, uterus is coming out??” I was happy about this. They wouldn’t give me a hysterectomy though, not yet. First they needed to do a cone procedure to see how far the cancer had spread and that would determine if I would get a hysterectomy. Dr. Poo “assured” me “again” that they would put a band in my cervix so I could “still have children”. UMMM DR. POO, WHAT PART ABOUT “I DON’T WANT KIDS DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?” Why did I have to shout this? I was not nice to Dr. Poo. I was done with being nice. Nice was not getting me anywhere. So. I stopped. I wasn’t the nice girl I was taught to be my entire life during my cancer journey. I cannot count how many times I became angry with this doctor. Thinking back… The medical gaslighting was actually horrendous. And the version of me that emerged in those rooms surprised even myself. I had been taught to smile. To stay pleasant. To keep things palatable - especially in rooms where authority lived. But niceness had never protected my body. I had always been too nice to really go for what I knew I needed. And in those experiences with this doctor, niceness finally stopped being my default, and advocating became a fire of tears and rage in these offices. I was not going to be “nice”. Not when I was dedicated to getting my uterus out. Not when it was my body.

Outside of those rooms with that doctor? I did what I knew how to do. I poured myself into work because work was easier to manage than the feelings I wasn’t ready to face. I kept showing up in spaces with friends and family. I wore the mask. I showed up as “me”. I laughed. I made plans. I created memories. I made sure no one knew about what I was going through so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or worried because of what I was carrying. That was the version of care I knew how to give - presence without need, connection without disclosure. I could hold space for others far more easily than I could ask them to hold space for me. Looking back has its way of giving clarity… and it all tracks. Parentification teaches you how to keep things moving, how to protect the room, how to make sure everyone else is okay - even when you aren’t. As I would later discover and name for myself in therapy, asking for help from people in my life was harder for me than the cancer itself.

Later my family doctor called to follow up. She told me gently but clearly that it was time - that I would need help. That moving forward with the cone procedure to see how far the cancer had spread wouldn’t be something I could do alone. And she was right. I didn’t like that was right. Not at all. Yes, I wanted my uterus out. And yes, having cancer was hard. But up until that point, I had handled everything by myself - and I desperately wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want to share my news. I didn’t want to make it real. I didn’t want to ask for help. And the waiting? That was the worst part. I was spinning on repeat. I was thinking about the past. About a future I might not have. About cancer as a possible, “end note”. My body eventually intervened - I developed shingles from the stress. It was my body’s way of telling me I couldn’t keep carrying this alone anymore. So I chose people I trusted. The people I knew could get me to the other side of the procedure.

I knew the cancer had spread. I wanted it to spread. I wanted my uterus out so the only way that was going to happen is if the cancer had spread... Otherwise they would not give me a hysterectomy.

I was terrified of dying. I was also terrifying of living. Both truths existed. At the time, I was in so much pain. I numbed pain with alcohol, pain meds, whatever I could. There were times when I thought, death wouldn’t be so bad, and that thought was scary too. I was just tired of being in so much pain. But I have always been good at spinning really shitty things into silver linings. So, I just focused on the cancer spreading so I could get the hysterectomy. I just knew that’s what I needed.

When Dr. Poo called me again, I remembered his exact words, “Well… Congratulations, you have adenocarcinoma in situ. You got your wish. The cancer has spread. You will need a radical hysterectomy to treat the cancer and I will be referring you to an oncologist”. Congratulations? Yes, I did want my uterus out. But… Did I want cancer? No. I know I had asked for this…but my nervous system went into overdrive. I swung between pretending I was fine and desperately trying to calm myself - wearing my “everything is fine” mask in public, then turning inward with Reiki, positive thoughts, and quiet bargaining. I told myself the cancer would only spread a little. I told myself I would be fine. I was trying to regulate the fear the only way I knew how. I focused on getting my uterus out. I focused on that silver lining…. And there were of course scary and sad moments. There were the truths I was not saying out loud. There were a few people that I felt safe with shedding tears with. To those that held space for me… thank you. Back then, even saying the word cancer felt impossible. The wanting to live and wanting to die complex was a daily circus in my brain. It just felt easier to focus on what I wanted all along…. my uterus out.

My cone procedure was in March 2022. I waited until June 2022 to get my radical hysterectomy. Remember that scene in Twilight when Edward leaves and Bella is just waiting by the window? That’s what this felt like. Time would move but… slowly. I could never prepare myself for the manifestation that was about to unfold. I had no idea, but the person I was before, she really was going to die. That part was true. She after all… was ready to die.