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I Had a Hysterectomy at 26. I Promise I am More than OK

Written by Cass Mensah
Art by Gem Rosenberg

I had a hysterectomy at twenty-six years old, and most people that I told panicked. Unsure how to respond but deeply uncomfortable with the silence hanging between us, they would blurt out platitudes.

" You can always adopt!"
"Have you thought about freezing your eggs?"

I understand the impulse. As a straight-passing woman, my acquaintances, co-workers, and that dentist who asked if I had any recent surgeries as he shoved metal tools in my mouth, all assume that I've dreamed of having 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. I'm not surprised that my hysterectomy elicits anxiety. Nothing ruins small talk like a missing uterus.

I knew, and was initially embarrassed to admit, that my imminent infertility would free me from many of the dangers of living in a post-Roe world.

During a laparoscopic surgery, my gynecological surgeon noticed an (ultimately benign) abnormal growth on my appendix and performed an emergency appendectomy. While this change in plans prevented her from excising the tissue causing me immense pain, she did see enough to deduce that I likely have endometriosis and that my uterus was— and this is my paraphrasing—fucked.

Her actual words were that my uterus was "enlarged, misshapen and boggy." By "boggy," she meant that so much blood pooled in my uterus that when she pressed her surgical tools against it, the tools left an indentation. The state of my uterus indicated that I had a disease called adenomyosis. Essentially, my uterine lining shed each month but could not fully escape my body as it was stuck within the muscle lining of my uterus. A hysterectomy "cures" adenomyosis the same way amputating a foot would stop it from itching.

A month before my hysterectomy, the Supreme Court announced it would hear arguments for Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization. I was working in Washington, D.C. as an attorney at a women's rights organization. We knew that the conservative panel of judges agreed to hear this case so they could overturn the constitutional right to abortion. We knew that by overturning Roe v. Wade, more domestic violence survivors would be trapped in their homes. More pregnant people would die due to ectopic pregnancies. More people in prisons for aiding and abetting reproductive health care.

Hysterectomy as respite. Hysterectomy as safety. Hysterectomy as freedom.

But, instead of mourning my infertility, I threw myself a hysterectomy shower. I knew, and was initially embarrassed to admit, that my imminent infertility would free me from many of the dangers of living in a post-Roe world.

If you ever find yourself online shopping for a uterus-shaped pinata, chances are, your real organ has not been good to you.

To end the night, I stood in the middle of my living room, encircled by my community, and smashed open a bright pink uterus-shaped pinata with googly eyes and a cartoonish smile. Individually wrapped candy and 100% cotton tampons spilled out of the uterus' broken smile and onto the rug. My friends cheered. The dog howled. I could not control my laughter.

About the Author

Cass Mensah is a chronically ill civil rights attorney currently writing a collection of essays about her disabled body. Most days, she can be found on her couch watching horror movies with her husband, or at her local pottery studio making mediocre mugs. Find her here: @mensahsays

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