The Undying Hope: My Battle with Fibroids

My Fibroid Journey: Pain, Loss, Hope, and Holding On

It was 2009, one week before my birthday.

Just like I did every year, I went to see my OBGYN for my annual well-woman exam. Scheduling it around my birthday was my little trick to make sure I never forgot.

I expected the appointment to be routine.

It wasn't.

After my exam, I sat in the cold, sterile room while my doctor looked through my chart. I noticed his expression change. His brow tightened slightly, and suddenly, the room didn't feel quite as ordinary anymore.

"Do you ever feel pain or discomfort around your lower abdomen?" he asked.

"No," I replied, searching my memory for something I might have overlooked.

"Has your period changed? Has it become heavier?"

Again, I said no.

Then he looked at me with a seriousness I wasn't prepared for.

He explained that there appeared to be growths around my uterus and fallopian tubes. He wanted me to have an MRI.

Then I heard the word fibroids.

And somewhere in the conversation, I also heard the word surgery.

I had never imagined surgery being mentioned in relation to my body. Suddenly, I was being introduced to words like fibroids, MRI, uterus, and fallopian tubes in a completely different way.

My doctor reassured me.

"There is nothing to worry about."

I tried desperately to hold on to those words.

But when someone tells you there are unexpected growths inside your body, is it really possible not to worry?

At the time, I had no idea that this appointment would mark the beginning of a journey that would follow me for years.

When My Body Started Screaming

For a while, life continued.

Then, by 2015, my body started sending signals I could no longer ignore.

The cramps became stronger.

The pain became unbearable.

What had once been uncomfortable but manageable slowly turned into intense pain that arrived month after month, like an unwanted guest I knew would always return.

My periods became heavier. My energy disappeared. I developed anemia.

The fibroids I had almost pushed to the back of my mind came rushing back to the center of my life.

This time, surgery was recommended.

I was terrified.

But my fear wasn't only about the operation itself.

I worried about the scar.

I worried about my body.

Most of all, I worried about my future.

Would I still be able to carry a child one day?

That question consumed me.

In the middle of the fear and confusion, I made a decision. Before surgery, I went to a fertility clinic to preserve my eggs.

Everything happened so quickly.

I completed two IVF cycles, retrieved and stored my eggs, and then prepared myself for a myomectomy in June 2015.

I remember bracing myself for the worst.

Thankfully, the surgery went more smoothly than I expected. I had been told recovery could take two to three weeks, but somehow, by the fifth day, I was already finding my feet again.

I felt strong.

I felt hopeful.

I thought perhaps the hardest part was behind me.

I was wrong.

The Fibroids Came Back

By 2018, the fibroids had returned.

That was when I underwent my first hysteroscopy, a procedure used to look inside the uterus.

Complications followed.

Four months later, I needed another procedure.

Then another.

The following year brought more.

Hysteroscopies.

Laparoscopies.

Hospital rooms.

Recovery periods.

Hope.

Disappointment.

Repeat.

Over the course of my journey, I have undergone six hysteroscopies and three laparoscopic procedures.

Sometimes, even writing that number feels unreal.

There were moments when I felt as though my body had become a medical project—constantly examined, treated, opened, healed, and examined again.

But beneath every procedure and every diagnosis, I was still me.

A woman with dreams.

A wife.

A woman who still hoped to become a mother.

The Heartbreak I Wasn't Prepared For

When a new decade arrived, it brought new hope with it.

My husband and I decided it was time to try for a baby.

I can't fully describe the joy of discovering I was pregnant.

For a moment, everything felt worth it.

Every procedure.

Every injection.

Every painful period.

Every fear.

Then came the heartbreak.

Unsuccessful IVF attempts.

Miscarriages.

More than once, I lost my pregnancy at around two months.

There is a type of grief that comes with pregnancy loss that is difficult to put into words.

You don't only mourn what you lost.

You mourn the future you had already started imagining.

The little face you wondered about.

The life you quietly started making space for.

The version of yourself you thought you were finally about to become.

And I wasn't the only one hurting.

My husband carried the pain too.

He stood beside me through the procedures, the tears, the disappointment, and the moments when I struggled to understand why this kept happening to us.

Further tests revealed fluid and scarring in my uterus, possibly connected to the many procedures my body had endured.

The fluid would be drained.

Then it would return.

Again and again.

It felt exhausting.

Physically.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

But I Still Couldn't Let Go of Hope

The miscarriages wounded me deeply.

But they never completely took away my hope.

Through everything, the dream of motherhood remained a light inside me.

My husband, after watching me endure so much physically and emotionally, gently suggested surrogacy.

I understood why.

He wanted to protect me.

He had watched my body fight battle after battle.

But in my heart, I wasn't ready to let go of the possibility of carrying my own child.

Surrogacy was not something I rejected. It was simply an option I wanted to consider after I felt I had explored every other path available to me.

We still had preserved eggs.

And perhaps stubbornly, perhaps faithfully, I still believed in their potential.

I still believed in mine.

Learning to Live With the Unknown

Fibroids can affect women in very different ways. Some experience severe pain or heavy periods, while others may have few or no noticeable symptoms.

My journey has been long and painful.

There have been moments of fear.

Moments of anger.

Moments when I questioned my body.

Moments when I wondered how much more I could take.

But somehow, I kept moving forward.

Even now, every difficult period can remind me of everything my body has endured.

But it also reminds me of something else.

My body is still fighting.

And so am I.

I have learned that strength doesn't always look fearless.

Sometimes strength is crying in the bathroom and still getting up the next morning.

Sometimes it is walking into another doctor's appointment even though you are terrified of what you may hear.

Sometimes it is allowing yourself to hope again after your heart has already been broken.

And sometimes, strength is simply whispering to yourself:

Not yet doesn't mean never.

I believe deeply in God's timing.

"In God's time," I remind myself.

"With or without fibroids, our time will come."

I don't know exactly how my story will unfold.

But I know my story isn't over.

Finding Comfort Along the Way

Recently, I discovered something that has brought comfort during some of my most difficult days: soothing heat.

Anyone who has experienced painful periods or fibroid-related discomfort knows how desperately you sometimes search for anything that can help you feel a little more comfortable.

That experience became deeply personal to me.

It's one of the reasons period comfort means so much to me today.

Because sometimes, in the middle of a difficult journey, even a small moment of comfort can feel incredibly important.

You Are Not Alone

Have you experienced fibroids, painful periods, fertility challenges, or pregnancy loss?

How have you navigated your journey?

I'd truly love to hear your story.

Because one thing I've learned through all of this is that we are often carrying battles no one else can see.

And sometimes, simply knowing that another woman understands can make us feel a little less alone.

"Despite the Shadows, Light Will Shine Through" - Anonymous

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