My Mom Had a Complete Hysterectomy—Here’s What I Learned
It was July 2023. My mom went to her regular doctor’s appointment to check on her back and hip pain. When she came back home, pain and fear filled her eyes.
“During my appointment, the doctor had to check to see if I had cancer in my uterus,” she told us. I interrupted, giving her a hug, telling her everything would be OK and to put this in God’s hands. Her phone rang, and after the call, she felt a sigh of relief. “The doctor said three masses need to be removed; I have to get a hysterectomy.”
When my mom told me she was getting a hysterectomy, I didn’t know how to feel. At first, it sounded clinical, almost detached—just a medical procedure. But as the days passed and I learned more, the reality sank in. This wasn’t just a procedure; it was a pivotal moment in her life. And, by extension, in mine.
Growing up, my mom was always the epitome of strength. She’d juggle work, family and pretty much every part of our lives, all while dealing with her back pain. When she was little, she had been hit by a car. She never let it affect her, always putting the needs of others before her own. But she had been in pain for years—the kind of pain that disrupted her daily life—and we just adjusted our lives around it as necessary.
After all the years of exhausting treatments, physical therapy and other injections, her doctors recommended a complete hysterectomy to remove the masses and alleviate her pain. It was a difficult decision, but one that ultimately promised her a better quality of life.
The weeks leading up to the surgery were tense. My mom tried to play it cool, brushing off our concerns with her usual humor. But I could see the cracks in her armor. The thought of losing a part of herself, even if it was causing her pain, weighed heavily on her. For her, the hysterectomy symbolized more than just physical healing. It marked the end of an era—the part of her life defined by motherhood, fertility and the biological ties that had shaped so much of her identity.
I spent hours and days researching hysterectomies. I learned about the different types of procedures, recovery process and emotional toll it could take on women. But no amount of research could prepare me for the wave of emotions seeing my mom go through another surgery. She always looks fragile whenever she’s in pain. My family lives in Maryland, and I live in New York. Every time I see her or speak to her on the phone, it breaks something inside me that I am not there with her.
The day of her surgery, I found myself unable to focus on anything else. I had to work because the weight of worry and uncertainty was overwhelming. I wanted to be there for her in any way I could, but I had thoughts of what would happen next. The procedure took more than six hours, and my dad went off, trying to figure out why it was taking forever. It took a few people to calm him down, and he broke down crying because he felt like he lost his wife. My mom called me the following night to let me know she had a successful surgery.
The very next day, on a seemingly casual workday, I was called into a meeting with HR and my manager. They informed me that I was being let go due to restructuring and not meeting metrics. It felt like a double blow—grappling with my mom’s recovery while suddenly facing my own professional uncertainty. That same year, I was let go from another job. And those were three losses in my book.
Yet, in the days and weeks that followed, my mom showed me what resilience truly looks like. Recovery wasn’t easy. She was in the hospital for another week. There were moments of frustration, pain and doubt. But there were also moments of laughter and hope. My mom’s strength wasn’t in her ability to hide her pain but in her willingness to face it head-on, to let herself heal without apology.
Watching her go through this journey taught me so much about what it means to care for yourself. For years, my mom had put her needs on the back burner, prioritizing everyone else over her own well-being. This surgery forced her to put herself first, to listen to her body and honor what it needed. It was a lesson I knew I needed to take to heart.
My mom’s hysterectomy reminded me that our bodies carry histories, struggles and triumphs. My mom’s decision to undergo the surgery was not a loss but a reclamation—a way of taking back control and choosing a life defined by comfort and joy rather than pain.
Today, my mom is thriving. While she still suffers pain, she’s putting herself first, which is amazing because I always remind her to think about herself first since her kids are grown now.
This experience brought us closer in ways I hadn’t anticipated. It opened up conversations about vulnerability, strength, resilience and self-care. My mom’s hysterectomy was not just a medical procedure; it was a turning point for her and me. It taught me that healing and rediscovery are a form of strength and that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is to let go and listen to your body. Through her journey, I also learned the importance of advocating for your health and listening to your body, a lesson I’ll carry with me forever.
