Photo by RDNE Stock project

When I got sick with Brucellosis et al, I did a bunch of tests to show that it was indeed bacterial infections screwing me over. Doctors needed all the proofsss. And even then, some of them- (assholes!)- shrugged at the fact that my spleen was enlarged, and I did have some kidney damage. Those things mean nothing; obviously.

The tests also showed that I had a fibroid in my uterus. 

Good to know, but that wasn’t the current issue I was trying to deal with. Or was it?

I go on and on with feeling ok and then then terrible- almost up and then way back down again; with no real follow up care because I don’t have like a primary care doctor or a cohesive team of specialists looking out for my health and well-being. I’m just fucking winging it- during a pandemic- as you do in third world settings. 

So I had to be the one to get blood work on my own and figure out for myself that I’m anemic. Often. 

And then I start feeling this pressure and pain in my left side. I knew instantly it was that frelling tumor. 

So I hit up a gynecologist. We see that the fibroid had pretty much doubled in size since last it was seen. The doc tells me just take it all out. Like hey- if that uterus offends, pluck it the fuck on out of there! 

I can keep my ovaries and continue suffering the subtle devastation of hormone fluctuation sensitivity; I’m just not going to have kids in any conventional way. 


It took me years to make this thing inside me and it’s not even treated like a pearl. It’s not precious. It is studied for cancer and thrown away. 

Good for nothing.

How it is that it has so little value? Because it is so common? Because it is a soulless mass of flesh that causes nothing but pain? Yet some of those walk(ed) the earth with names that will be remembered by history…

But this was a thing that I made! And, like that cancer I grew, I don’t even know how I have had the energy and extra materials to make it!

Along with this growth being yeeted, I am having an organ removed. I might be lousy at being a ‘woman’ (whatever that is), but I can’t help but be kind of attached to my organs- even if my relationship with them is complicated. I would enjoy not suffering things every month, but psychologically, I don’t need more parts taken away from me. I don’t need to be made lesser than I already feel I am. 

Published by AserehT tm

Make good art. Or else.