Last night I bought my last box of tampons—ever.

I cried with relief, happiness, exhaustion, and hope.

That box symbolized so much and when I stood in my bathroom last night holding it…

I’m probably the only person on planet earth to have an existential moment holding a box of generic brand tampons.

You guys, I am just so tired. 

Stevie is seven months old, and I’ve been bleeding at least six of them.

I don’t know what’s wrong, and neither do the doctors. It’s been an issue since 2001 when 12 year old Danica started a very regular 21 day cycle with 6 days of heavy bleeding. The 9 months I was pregnant with Reese is the longest I’ve ever gone without bleeding (I bled with SCH for Lone & Stevie’s pregnancies).

On and off since 17 I’ve been anemic and bleeding even on various forms of birth control and I’ve had all of the many (why so many?!!!!) side effects. Weight gain. Weight loss. Bloating. Breakouts. Mood swings. Depression. Low energy. Decreased sex drive. Increased sex drive. Migraines. Thyroid issues.

But whatever is wrong with my stupid uterus really broke after Stevie. I bled straight through 4 different types of birth control meant to stop it. Two types of pills, one of which I thought was going to straight up kill me, a Nexplanon, and finally an IUD which everyone raves about but my BODY EXPELLED WITHIN 2 WEEKS. My freaking uterus/cervix straight yeeted an IUD. How. They thought I was being dramatic when I called to say I thought it was falling out. I wasn’t.

I cried in the doctor’s office when they asked what I wanted to try next. They suggested another try at the IUD, another try at another pill pack, a uterine ablation (which is supposed to burn out the lining and stop you from bleeding, but many women still bleed. I 100% would be that b*tch), another try at the progesterone that made me a miserable, anxious, drowsy zombie for the whole month of June.

I knew what I wanted. I wanted it to be over.

I wanted to be myself again.

I wanted to be able to wear my garments again.

I wanted to be able to sleep without a backup pad.

I wanted to stop buying tampons (fun fact my cursed lady parts also reject any type of reusable period tools like cups or discs).

I wanted to be able to stand or walk stairs without dizzy tunnel vision.

I wanted to be able to work out again.

I wanted to have energy.

I wanted to wear normal clothes.

I wanted to stop creating murder scenes in my bathroom.

I wanted a hysterectomy so I could get my life back.

They said no and I cried the whole way home.

But every single person in my life from God to Ryan to my mom to my MIL to Instagram friends responded the same way: do it.

I got a second opinion and the doctor was so warm and understanding and when he said “Oh my goodness. This sounds awful. I am so sorry you’ve been dealing with this. Let’s help you. Let’s do it.” I burst into tears yet again.

I am so tired.

My life has been running on empty, but it wasn’t coronavirus that gutted me. It’s that I’ve been bleeding for 6+ months. Can’t wear normal clothes. Can’t exercise. Can’t stand for more than a few minutes. Can’t deal with life. Can’t find a menstrual cup that works. Can’t keep wearing tampons nonstop because TMI BUT IT’S WRECKING MY BUSINESS.

I am so tired.

On Tuesday I go in for a partial hysterectomy. They’re gonna leave my ovaries as long as there isn’t anything weird going on (my grandma died of ovarian cancer, another fun layer to this scary lasagna). I’ll bleed for a bit and then need to heal for a long time. I won’t be able to lift my Stevie until Christmas.

But this major surgery makes me cry with happiness and excitement and relief.

I’m getting a hysterectomy at age 31 with three tiny kids at home, in the midst of a pandemic. And it’s going to be 100% worth it.

Because I just bought my last box of tampons—ever.