I was counting down the days until my IUD would be removed. My symptoms were getting exponentially worse by the day and it was becoming more difficult to function. On top of that, I was now aware of two large growths in my uterus that I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around. Despite them giving me the measurements of the benign tumors, I still couldn’t fully comprehend what was growing inside me. 

A sweet friend of mine, who knew everything that was going on, made the passing comment that I probably wasn’t even aware of how much pain I had been living with—how much pain had been normalized. I knew she was right.

***

Though my religion of origin was not one that rejected modern medicine and medical doctors, I learned early on that pain is not a reason to pause, rest, or get help. The need to power through is baked into society in general and compounded on by religion. Pain, exhaustion, stress, hardship…all of these were reasons to pray more, read the Bible, repent of your sins, and lean not on your own understanding. Moreover, when doctor appointments, medical procedures, or surgeries took place, God was given the glory for the success rather than doctors, medicine, and research advancements. How you responded during times of pain showed your commitment to and faith in God. Being in pain with a smile on your face meant you trusted God.

Life was all about suffering. The suffering we experienced on earth would make us long more for heaven. There was a certain allure to pain and suffering because it meant I was doing something right on earth and I could look forward to my reward in heaven. Looking back now, I want to slump my shoulders and hang my head as if I am carrying a heavy burden; I imagine that’s what it actually felt like back then–but this was not something I was able to acknowledge to myself or to others.

The term “suffering for Christ'' comes to mind—this was something I had prided myself on for the first three decades of my life. I can look back now and see that suffering was my way of life; I looked for ways to make things harder for myself (often subconsciously) so that I could prove my faithfulness. I worked dozens of hours over what I was being paid for because I was working at a church, I morphed myself into who others found desirable, I did over a dozen 40-day, liquids only fasts in order to prove that Jesus, not food, was how I sustained myself. I learned to become needless and voiceless because I believed my reward was in heaven. 

Part of my own therapeutic work has been learning how to identify and listen to my voice, meeting basic needs (which is far more difficult than it sounds!) and learning that suffering is not a goal to strive toward. 

As much as I thought I had rejected those beliefs around pain and suffering, I was coming to realize that it was still living in my body. During the interim week between finding out my results and getting my IUD removed, I started to consciously dip my toe back into the messages from my earlier years to see what was still left over.

The image from when I was younger of Jesus hanging on a cross, suffering and eventually dying for my sins began to haunt me. When I was young I believed that reflecting on that image was the most important thing I could do to prove that I loved Jesus and should be able to spend eternity in heaven. It was that image that would pop up in my mind thereafter when I was facing something overwhelming, scary or difficult. I would remember that Jesus suffered for me; I should have been able to endure suffering on earth for him.

When I was in a relationship with an abusive man, it was the message of the hope of suffering and the joy that walking through suffering can bring that kept me clinging to a man and relationship that was destroying me. At the time I still believed that life and relationships were to make me holy, not happy; suffering was a part of the package. I reasoned that the pain and suffering in my relationship with my partner was what made the good moments SO good. 

It took me months to recognize that relationships didn’t have to be filled with pain, but even after kicking him out of our home, the suffering continued. This time due to the impact of decades of unidentified abuse and trauma. It was exhausting.

I was experiencing immense suffering and extreme psychological and physiological symptoms that left myself and doctors baffled, left me tens of thousands of dollars poorer, and ultimately resulted in doctors and specialists shrugging their shoulders and telling me it was all in my head. I began to fear doctor’s appointments; going to one would put me back in my bed for the rest of the day because of how activating they were. I had to try and fight so hard for myself to be believed, but no matter how hard I–or my symptoms–screamed, my doctors had no answer. 

That spoiler alert I mentioned in the last episode…trauma…that is what was causing so many of my symptoms. But because we have a trauma UN-informed medical system with doctors and specialists who were not versed in how trauma presents in the body, my only course of action, until I learned about trauma for myself, was to learn how to live with my worsening conditions.

That was why, when my doctor sent me to get a transvaginal ultrasound done 10 years ago to help understand some of my pain, I silenced myself. Both the ultrasound tech and the doctor had already affirmed that “all women have fibroids” which meant that I shouldn’t take my pain seriously. And here’s the catch: the bigger of the two fibroids I have is on my left side of my uterus and the left side of my lower abdomen extends out further than the right side. It’s something I have noticed for a decade, but even that was something that was dismissed along with the experience of living in my body. 

Though I no longer believed that my purpose in life was to suffer for Christ so that I could experience the glory and joy of eternity in heaven, the idea of suffering and pain as a part of the human condition was already so ingrained that it was not difficult to buy in to the ideas that my medical team was providing me—suffering and pain were just a part of life. If my doctors couldn’t figure out what was going on, it was my responsibility to learn how to deal with it on my own. 

***

Finally, the day came where my IUD would be removed. I was so excited that having to leave for the appointment at 6:45am was not an inconvenience. Once I arrived, I was called back quickly and ushered to my private room to await the nurse practitioner that would be taking that evil little copper T out of me. 

After a few minutes, my doctor’s nurse practitioner walked in and flipped her computer open, indicating that she wanted to discuss the fibroids first. Ahh, the fibroids. I had momentarily forgotten about them in anticipation of the IUD removal. She paused for a moment as she reviewed the notes my doctor left and shared that due to the size of the fibroids, birth control pills were not an option. I felt relieved to hear this and shared with her that I was not interested in being on hormonal birth control. She smiled and turned back to the notes, sharing that my doctor recommended removal of the fibroids and had a surgical consult referral ready if I was open to it.

I nodded my head and quickly told her that was the option I was most interested in. She glanced back at my chart briefly and I saw her eyes widen. I intuited that the nurse practitioner was looking at the dimensions of the fibroids–I was right. She asked me if I was aware of the size of them and I mumbled off the dimensions in millimeters (which…let’s be honest, who actually knows how big something is based on millimeters?!?) She indicated that those were, indeed the dimensions, but in order to give me a better idea as to the actual size, she used her hands to demonstrate.

Though I have never given birth to a child, I know how much someone needs to be dilated in order to give birth naturally. That was the size of the larger of the two fibroids. The size of a newborn’s head.

I could feel my cheeks beginning to get hot as understanding sunk in. My mind went in a million different directions at warp speed, piecing together bits of information, symptoms, and experiences from over the years like a puzzle. As if I was hearing someone call to me from a great distance, I heard the nurse practitioner say “treatment options”. I tried pulling my body back into the room because I knew what she was about to say was important, but I was struggling. 

She repeated that my doctor was recommending surgery–a myomectomy–and I nodded my head in agreement. She made a note of that in my chart but snapped her head up when I asked if, while I was having the surgery, I could have a tubal ligation (or in layman's terms: having my tubes tied).

She looked at me with a confused facial expression–as if she was trying to figure out if this was an emotional ask or if I meant it. I explained to her that I was over 40 and had made a decision years ago to not have children. My body’s poor response to birth control and the restrictive healthcare legislation in our state meant I needed to look at other options. She gave me an empathetic smile and assured me that if the surgeon she was referring me to wouldn’t do it, that my gynecologist would. I mechanically nodded…at least there was some relief.

***

Finally the nurse practitioner asked me to scoot to the end of the table, lay back and place my feet in the stirrups. She explained the procedure to me and told me what she needed me to do. On “three” I coughed and she pulled the copper devil out of me. As if she could read my mind she held the strings of the IUD and said “look, it’s out, I just wanted to show you!”

Even as I write this, my eyes are tearing up. I remember feeling my entire body begin to relax as I cemented that image in my mind. It was a powerful moment as it felt like my advocating for myself and my embodied experience of having an IUD had been taken seriously and believed. I let my body take in the image of the copper T dangling in front of me and assured my body it was gone. For a moment I forgot about the fibroids and exhaled a sigh of relief that no more foreign objects were in my body. I knew this was a step toward alleviating suffering. 

The nurse practitioner told me I could sit back up and explained that the referral for the surgeon would be sent over and I would be getting a call that day or the next. I thanked her and right before she was about to leave she turned back and said, “Oh, there is one more treatment option. You could get a hysterectomy to ensure that the fibroids never grow back…” She saw the glazed, teary look in my eyes and quickly added, “but don’t worry, it doesn’t sound like we’re at that place yet.”

As she shut the door I could feel my chest starting to tighten, my cheeks grew hot, and tears started to well up in my eyes. I got dressed as quickly as I could and ran back to my car—desperate to get inside and let out the wail that was aching to be heard. And for the first time in months, I started to cry. 

***

Stay tuned for the next episode of The “Glory” of Suffering. Episodes will drop every Tuesday: if you missed any of the episodes, they can be found here.