A few weeks ago, I found out that I have a genetic disorder that puts me at markedly higher risk for reproductive and colon cancers. As a result, 10 years earlier than someone without this disorder, I have to start getting colonoscopies. I also have a hunch that really invasive pap smears are in my future. Instead of once every 5-10 years for colonoscopies, I have to get one every one to two years. Also, I may be a candidate for a hysterectomy. I'll know more when I go to the doctor about it in November, but that's the preview that the genetic counselor I've been seeing gave to me.
Except, probably not. If I'm given the option between keeping my baby box and not, I'd opt not if given the option. Except I probably won't be given the option because I'm still of childbearing age. It is of literally no consequence to me whatsoever whether or not I have a uterus, but if I say that to a doctor, that likely won't matter. Unless I see a childfree-friendly doctor, the decision about this isn't actually going to be mine about when I get to make this decision if I'm ever a candidate for it, which I will be one day.
Do you know the one thing, the one thing that fills me absolutely so full of rage that I am almost blinded by it? That if I want to have any kind of reproductive surgery - salpingectomy, hysterectomy, whatever it is, even if there's a health risk for me to not do it, I have to get my husband's permission, and even then, if the doctor doesn't feel comfortable doing it, then it won't happen.
My risk of uterine cancer is double what it would be if I didn't have this disorder. My risk of ovarian cancer is nearly doubled. My risk of colorectal cancer is more than doubled. But let's make sure that I can have those kids that I've never wanted, and that my husband gives me his permission first before my decision about my body for my own health and safety can be honored, and then only maybe.
This chafes my ass for two reasons: First, it's patriarchal bullshit, through and through. Absolutely. Second, what happened to the Hippocratic oath? First, do no harm? How does it benefit me to keep my baby box, especially if doing so could cause me a marked amount of suffering in the future? And, why does that decision about my body actually rest with my spouse and my doctor? Why isn't that decision mine?
I go back to patriarchal bullshit. I'm trying not to get preemptively mad about it, but I'm finding it difficult. Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe the doctor that I see will be more childfree-friendly. Maybe they won't see it as a huge worry right now and thrusting myself into menopause at 40 won't be the best idea (though it would not be entirely unwelcome, I'll tell you that) for reasons that I haven't thought of, and I'm sure there are several. Who knows. I'll continue to stew about it until mid-November, which is when my first appointment is.
I will say, though, thank goodness for finding this out early before anything happens. I'm surprisingly chill about it, but I think it's more about the fact that I literally can't do anything about it - it's written in my genes - so why panic? I'm sure the panic will set in when I have to have a colonoscopy for the first time (I've heard that it's a colossally unpleasant experience) or any other number of medical procedures that I may have to have as a result of this diagnosis.
You know what I keep thinking about that, though? It won't be chemo. There's certainly something to be said about that.
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