They gave you a date. They told you the fibroid comes out and the uterus goes with it. You have had your children, so nobody expected you to mind.
Asking me costs you a message. You keep your date.
A fibroid is fed by blood, down one road. I go in at the groin, the same way a heart doctor goes in to place a stent, and follow that road to its end. Then I let through grains a little larger than a blood cell, until the road closes. It suffocates, and it shrinks. Written down it is uterine fibroid embolization. Say that to your gynaecologist and you will be understood.
Your uterus stays where it is. So do the small ones, and that matters more than it sounds. Cut out the big fibroid and the small ones grow into its place. Closing the road closes it to all of them, on the same afternoon.
What it costs you
It shrinks. It does not leave. For some women it wakes years later and they come to an operation in the end, and I cannot tell you today which woman you are.
If you were still hoping for a pregnancy I would not start you here. I would send you to a surgeon who takes the fibroid and leaves the uterus, and I would tell you that in the room.
An hour and a half, sometimes two. You stay the night and go home in the morning.
The first day hurts, and I am not going to tell you otherwise. For two or three days most women feel as though they have flu.
Most are back at work inside the week. Bring your ultrasound.
A woman called the programme with surgery booked in ten days, like yours, and asked me for something I had to refuse her. Watch me say no.
Ask me about fibroids on WhatsAppIt comes to my phone. I read it myself.
