I was diagnosed with fibroid tumors in 1993. Many women who have them are not symptomatic; unfortunately, mine were. I had debilitating, chronic infections.
My HMO doctor refused to do anything because - he said - I was too young to get a hysterectomy. A year later he still would not refer me to a gynecologist.
I shopped around. I checked books out of the library.
And I discovered. . . .
The HMO doctor had misled me.
There is an alternative to hysterectomy in the case of fibroid tumors: it's called myomectomy.
The HMO director had no problem sending me to another primary physician. And he had no problem referring me to a gynecologist.
For a hysterectomy.
No alternative was mentioned.
When I confronted the second HMO doctor, he said that if I didn't want to have any/more kids there was no need to keep my uterus.
It was obvious he did not specialize in women's care.
A few weeks later I saw the long-awaited gynecologist.
After examining me, he smiled and said, "You know you have to have a hysterectomy."
Yikes! Was it a conspiracy?
I asked the question that was to grow very old, very quickly: "Why not a myomectomy?"
"Oh," he said. "A myomectomy? I can do a myomectomy. You want a myomectomy?" as if the idea that a woman approaching the big 4 - 0 would chose to preserve her uterus had never, ever occurred to him.
Before I knew it, I was injected with Lupron - to be followed by one more injection in another month's time - and told to set up a surgery date with the nurse. (Lupron is a horrible drug that throws a woman into instant menopause.)
Needless to say, I didn't trust that gynecologist.
I cried for two months and tried to convince myself that he wanted to save my uterus.
In the end, I could not lay down on the operating table because I did not know what I would wake up with: a hysterectomy or a myomectomy.
I knew from my research that two shots of lupron were not enough to effectively shrink fibroids, and are in fact often administered to patients prior to a hysterectomy to minimize bleeding.
In other words, I suspected that the gynecologist planned on doing a hysterectomy. A suspicion that later proved to be correct.
So I canceled my surgery.
One month later, I got the big call: my first book - Awaken, My Love - sold to Avon Books in a record five days and would be published in a record eight months, if I could finish revisions in a mere month and a half.
By the time I finished revisions and celebrated the Christmas holidays, the fibroids had grown twice as big as they had been originally.
The gynecologist, it turned out, had neglected to tell me that after cutting off the body's natural supply of hormones, it produces estrogen with a vengeance once the lupron wears off. And of course fibroids feed off of estrogen, so. . . .
The horror stories after this point are more plentiful than I have space to write. Without question, the most heartbreaking moment occurred when I insisted that the above gynecologist perform a diagnostic laparoscopy to determine the exact position, size, etc. of my fibroids so that the probability of a successful myomectomy could be determined (and I could shop the video of my fibroids around to find a more skilled gynecologist).
Immediately after waking up from surgery - I mean, I was still on the operating table - the gynecologist thrust a Poloroid snapshot in front of my face. I knew what he was trying to do, so I circumvented it by managing a very drugged out "My – o – mec – to - my?"
Rather irritably he responded, "I don't think so. Make an appointment and we'll talk about it in my office."
What I soon found out, however, is that while I was in recovery he presented that photograph to my husband and my mother.
He told them that I might have cancer.
He told them that a fibroid was attached to my left ovary, and that it (the ovary) would have to come out along with the uterus.
He told them that the fibroids were so enlarged he could not see my other ovary, so there was no telling what the little critter was up to.
He told them to convince me to have a hysterectomy.
Worse, he convinced them that I needed a hysterectomy.
Urgently.
All that based on a little photograph that was taken from an inside shot of the outside of my uterus (he didn't go inside the uterus to determine fibroid positions, etc. as planned, so in essence he performed a partial laparoscopy merely to take a picture of my bulging uterus so that he could emotionally blackmail me into having the hysterectomy and ovariectomy he had planned on doing all along).
I have never felt more alone than I did at that time.
When I wrote Awaken, My Love, 28 agents rejected it. But I endured because my husband who is my best friend in addition to being "my best fan and worst critic" supported my efforts.
After the gynecologist talked to my husband and my mother, I had no one who supported my fight to preserve my body. Not my loved ones, not my doctors, not even the lawyer I contacted.
A rift that took many, many months to heal grew out of that gynecologist's arrogance. Not to mention many, many long months of physical agony.
But I learned something that I will never forget as long
as I live:
1. Be a smart shopper - women have and always will be easy prey if they do
not research/exercise their options; and
2. Don't give up. And don't give in.
Not even when your decision seemingly threatens to tear your family apart.
Always remember that it is your body. While undergoing an "elective" surgery may console your family, it is you who will have to live with the results of that surgery for the rest of your life.
A phone call to HERS (Hysterectomy and Educational Resource Services) provided me with the name of a gynecologist in Cleveland, OH who is successful in removing large fibroids, but I ultimately found one in Chicago, IL who, ironically, was on my HMO referral list.
After a three-year, nine gynecologists (and innumerable HMO primary doctors/directors) long battle, I finally won the war: I had my myomectomy. The gynecologist removed 16 fibroids.
There was no cancer (fibroid tumors never turn into cancer; there is a type of cancer that mimics the growth of a fibroid, but it is rare). And there was no need to remove either my left or my right ovary.
The effects of the myomectomy were dramatic. In less than a week, my husband said he could see "the old Robin." In two weeks, I was driving.
Two and a half weeks after surgery, I felt so great that I decided to do something in honor of HERS.
Nora Coffey, (HERS founder/President) is dedicated to helping women preserve their bodies and their sexuality, so I thought . . . Why not bring together the industry's most erotic romance authors in an anthology celebrating a woman's sexuality?
I am happy to say that my idea was a success!
The industry's first erotic historical romance anthology, Captivated hit bookstores in July, 1999. Contributing authors are Thea Devine, Susan Johnson, Bertrice Small and, of course, myself.
Well, now you know the real story.
Women, fight to keep your body intact.
Men, support your women. Unless you are willing to undergo prostate removal because you don't want any/more kids (impotence often follows prostate removal) - or unless you feel that now you're forty, what the hell, it's time to get rid of a few body parts - don't encourage your woman to undergo 'elective' hysterectomy. And if you're concerned that she may get cancer if her uterus/ovaries aren't removed, well, then, remember to schedule yourself for prostate removal six weeks after her surgery. After all, we women don't want you men getting prostate cancer! And just to be on the safe side, you might as well get your testicles removed, too, because cancer of the testicles occurs just as frequently in men as ovarian cancer occurs in women, and it is just as deadly. . . .
Okay, okay, I'll get off my soapbox now. Guess you can see I feel pretty strongly about the subject. So does my husband. It was a major learning experience for him, too. Just ask him!
Don't procrastinate. Contact HERS today at (610) 667-7757, or else click onto the link to HERS web site below: