Guess Who's Back?

Guess who's back? 

Not an old friend. Not a tax refund. Not even my motivation to fold laundry. 

Fibroids. 

Again. 

Recently, during what I thought would be another routine step in my fertility journey, I found out that my fibroids have returned and have once again decided they would like to take over my uterus. 

This isn't my first rodeo. I've already undergone two myomectomies to remove fibroids, spent years managing symptoms, adjusted my diet, worked to reduce stress, and even taken medication in hopes of keeping them from coming back. 

Apparently, they missed me. 

This time, my doctor didn't tell me exactly how many had returned. Instead, she focused on the largest one. 

Seven centimeters. 

You see that?

That's a 7 cm fibroid trying to take over my uterus with its other little friends. 

How big is 7 centimeters, you ask? 

Think about the size of a peach or a small orange. To put it into another perspective, it's roughly the size of a fetus around 14 weeks into pregnancy. 

Yep. 

That's mine. 

And I'm not sticking beside them. 

I literally told myself after my last surgery that if these annoying, benign tumors ever came back... off with her head. 

And by her, I mean my uterus. 

It's a bold statement, I know. But after years of surgeries, medications, lifestyle changes, and constantly wondering what my body will do next, you start negotiating with yourself in ways you never imagined. 

Of course, no one, especially those of us in our reproductive years, wants to think about losing the ability to carry children. 

Especially those of us who've always dreamed of that moment. 

The moment when the pregnancy test finally has two lines. 

The moment you hear your baby's heartbeat for the very first time. 

The moment you've spent years praying for finally becomes your reality. 

That's why this diagnosis hit differently. 

Because for me, this isn't just about another fibroid. 

It's about another obstacle standing between me and a dream I've been fighting to hold onto. 

Ironically, I found out during what I thought would be another routine transvaginal ultrasound, one of many standard exams I've had throughout my fertility journey. During the ultrasound, the technician paused and asked, 

"Have you been having heavy periods?" 

I answered, "Yes." 

Because I had. 

Over the last several months, my periods had become noticeably heavier. What used to last three to four days had stretched longer. Cramping had become part of the experience again after years without it. 

Deep down, I think I already knew. 

The ultrasound findings were later confirmed during a procedure called a hysterosalpingogram (HSG). An HSG is an imaging test where contrast dye is gently inserted through the cervix while X-rays are taken to evaluate the shape of the uterus and determine whether the fallopian tubes are open. It's a standard part of many fertility evaluations because it helps identify abnormalities inside the uterus that could interfere with pregnancy. 

Unfortunately... 

It confirmed exactly what I feared. 

After reviewing everything, my fertility specialist recommended yet another myomectomy, a surgical procedure to remove fibroids while preserving the uterus. It's a necessary step before we can move forward with any additional fertility treatment. 

Fibroids don't just cause heavy periods and pain. Depending on their size and location, they can interfere with implantation, distort the uterine cavity, contribute to infertility, and increase the risk of miscarriage. Sadly, those aren't realities I'm reading about in a medical journal. They're chapters of my own story. Miscarriage is a heartbreak I'm not a stranger to, making this recommendation feel even heavier than the last. 

Again. 

When I had my last surgery, I promised myself I wouldn't do this another time. 

Not because surgery scares me. 

Because the emotional exhaustion of fighting something that keeps coming back is overwhelming. 

You start asking yourself questions no one should have to answer. 

"How many surgeries is enough?" 

"When do I stop trying to save my uterus?" 

"When do I choose peace over possibility?" 

Those aren't easy questions. 

Especially when you've spent years dreaming about carrying your own child. 

For Black women, this story is painfully familiar. 

Fibroids disproportionately affect Black women, who develop them younger, often experience more severe symptoms, and are more likely to require surgery than our non-Black counterparts. In fact, nearly 80% of Black women will develop fibroids during their lifetime. 

When you add my family history of endometriosis, fibroids, cervical cancer, and ovarian cancer, the decision before me feels even heavier. 

It's no longer just about fertility. 

It's about my future health. 

My quality of life. 

My body. 

Fibroids are often discussed as if they're simply "noncancerous tumors." 

Technically, that's true. 

But that definition doesn't come close to describing what they can steal. 

They steal comfort. 

They steal energy. 

They steal confidence. 

They steal plans. 

They steal hope. 

They steal pieces of your identity. 

They steal your sex life. 

The fear of pain becomes its own barrier. Something that should bring closeness can instead bring anxiety because you're wondering whether this "noncancerous tumor" is going to remind you it's there. No one talks enough about how fibroids can impact intimacy, diminish your desire, and leave you anticipating pain instead of connection. 

Then there are the periods. 

The heavy bleeding. 

The days that seem to never end. 

The fatigue. 

The cramping. 

And the blood clots. 

I've gotten so used to passing them that I jokingly say I'm "giving birth" every month. I would show you a picture, but trust me...it's far too graphic. Just know they aren't small. They are yet another monthly reminder that fibroids are anything but "just benign." 

Fibroids are debilitating. 

They don't just take over your uterus. 

They take over your mind. 

I've fought so hard to keep them away. I've managed stress, changed my diet, taken medication, advocated for myself, trusted my doctors, and done everything I was supposed to do. 

And somehow... 

They still fought their way back to a place they clearly believe is home. 

As difficult as this news has been, it reminded me of something important. 

Our bodies whisper before they scream. 

The heavier periods. 

The longer cycles. 

The cramping that wasn't there before. 

The clots. 

Those weren't inconveniences. 

They were messages. 

So if you're reading this and something feels different, listen to your body. 

Ask questions. 

Find a provider who listens. 

Get the ultrasound. 

Request the referral. 

Advocate for yourself. 

Whether you decide to manage your fibroids, remove them, or eventually remove the place they call home, know that the decision belongs to you. 

There isn't one right answer. 

There's only the answer that's right for your body, your life, and your future. 

As for me... 

I'm still processing. 

I'm still grieving. 

I'm still hopeful. 

I have a difficult decision ahead of me. One that weighs my dreams of carrying my own child against the reality of protecting my long-term health. I don't know exactly what that decision will be yet, but I do know this: 

Fibroids may have come back. 

But so did I. 

This story isn't over yet. 

And whatever comes next, I'll face it the same way I always have: with faith, resilience, and the hope that by sharing my story, another woman will recognize herself in these words and realize she doesn't have to navigate this journey alone. 

Additional Resources about Fibroids:

Black Women's Health Imperative

Society for Women's Health Research