Words by Haylee Hackenberg // photo by Natalia Blauth
Shortly after I turned 40, I had a hysterectomy. After 28 years of symptoms, I had finally received a diagnosis of adenomyosis. If endometriosis is the d-list celeb of the medical world, adenomyosis is the d-list celeb’s long-lost cousin shilling their story to That’s Life magazine. For those uninitiated, adenomyosis is when endometrial tissue, the stuff that should line your uterus, decides, against all logic, that it wants to grow inside the muscular wall of your uterus instead. The symptoms are fun: heavy, prolonged, painful periods, chronic pelvic pain, painful sex, a bloated, heavy-feeling abdomen, frequent urination, fatigue from iron-deficiency anemia, and more.
After a lifetime of vacillating between ‘what’s wrong with me?’ and ‘I guess this is just how I feel’, I was equal parts relieved and distressed. I had been snidely yapping about how weird it was that I could always just feel the bones in my legs, and mainlining so much Nurofen, I gave myself esophagitis. Yet STILL, I thought this was normal. When I joked to my long-suffering GP that this getting older stuff sucked and having three kids meant I was always exhausted and in pain, she put her pen down. No doubt exasperated that I’d waited until the last 30 seconds of our appointment to dump this on her, she asked me to explain. It turns out, chronic anemia and extreme pain are NOT ‘just part of turning 40’. My uterus had doubled in size, and the extra tissue seared itself into my insides, bleeding every month alongside my normal cycle. This explained why regular iron infusions barely even hit the sides.
After a surgical consult, I was informed that there was, in fact, no way to cure adenomyosis without removing my uterus. I was surprised at how this affected me. I definitely did not want any more children, and definitely wanted to be rid of the pain and exhaustion, but it felt like a strange betrayal. Aside from the general risks of surgery, I felt a burst of affection for my dodgy uterus. Sure, it caused a lot of pain and was basically ruining my life, but it housed my children. And they’re pretty darn great.
The pain post-surgery was intense, and my nervous system, accustomed to decades of discomfort, is still catching up. Every night I tense in bed, expecting the familiar leg pain. But slowly, I’m learning to relax, to remind myself: there is no pain.
I’m sharing this because it took me decades of pain, frustration, and stubbornly asking questions to finally get answers. Listening to your body, trusting your instincts, and pushing for what you need is exhausting but absolutely worth it. That freedom from pain, the relief of finally being heard and understood, is worth every scar, every Nurofen-induced ulcer, and every night spent retraining your nervous system to relax.
We need to take women seriously, pay attention to what our bodies are telling us, and push for answers. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. I know you’re exhausted. You shouldn’t have to fight this hard just to be heard, to have someone take your pain seriously. Your body deserves better, and so do you. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that listening to yourself, asking the awkward questions, insisting on answers, and refusing to let your pain be dismissed is worth it. It’s messy, it’s frustrating, it’s exhausting, but it’s how you reclaim some sense of control, some sense of freedom. So keep asking, keep pushing, and trust that your body knows more than anyone who’s ever told you to “just deal with it.”
