“You can’t be serious?” Spilled out of my mouth after the doctor told me my options. Her response, “Yes, those are your options. In fact, option two worked wonders for me; it should work for you, too.” I looked her square in the eye and said, “So, you are saying my only options for relief are an ablation, or antidepressants or to go back to birth control that I haven’t needed for the past 27 years.” She said, “Well, yes, it just depends on which one of your symptoms you want to take care of the most.”

I left the office in a flurry, swept up in an emotional tidal wave. I was ticked off, a bit floored, very frustrated and defeated. I didn’t understand how the options given to me were all that I had to choose from. None of them felt right for me because none seemed likely to lead to my healing or thriving. They didn’t feel right, so I went back to suffering with what I thought was my new normal: pain, cramping, hot flashes, and hiding extra clothes in my car and office for the times that I would desperately need them because I couldn’t predict or control what my 49-year-old body was doing.

Ultrasound sound evidence shows that more than 80% African American women will have uterine fibroids by the age of 50.

Nine months later, after a particularly painful and trauma-inducing experience of menorrhagia, I had had enough. I was sick of having to throw away clothing that my body managed to ruin on a regular basis, and I was fed up with trying to make it through the cramping and crazy emotions, forgetfulness, and hemorrhaging that I was experiencing.

In my frustration, I decided to text a group of older female friends who have shared their wisdom with me over the last 25 years. I desperately hoped that one of them would be able to tell me what to do or who to see to get some relief. These were the ladies who knew things and if they didn’t know something, they knew who to talk to get in the know.

Within 2 minutes, three of them texted back with the same message. This lovely group of white friends had knowledge and understanding that I didn’t have and they gave me access to it. They directed me to the women’s specialty health clinic in our town. Each of the ladies was personally familiar with the clinic’s all-female medical professionals.

It took me less than two weeks to get a referral and an appointment with the clinic. At my first visit, I wasn’t ushered into a sterile room or to a medical bed covered in paper. I was invited to sit in a warm room with comfortable furniture, dim lights and a box of tissues to catch my tears as I shared the last few years of physical pain. The doctor listened to my stories and my frustration and asked me questions. I felt seen, heard and cared for. She shared that she was a little perplexed by the fact that I had not had any recent imaging, given my history with endometriosis and so she scheduled me for imaging.

A few weeks and one painful ultrasound later, the doctor called me with the imaging results as I was standing in the produce aisle of my local grocery store. “Kate, I have never seen an ultrasound quite like yours. You are filled with the equivalent of a small watermelon’s worth of fibroids. They have been the cause of your pain and bleeding.” My eyes flew to the watermelon a few aisles over and so I walked to them in a daze, trying to sort out how something that size could be taking up space within me. I stood in the produce aisle, speechless as she went on to say that I would be referred to a surgeon and in a few months, my life would change.
She was absolutely right. My life did change. The watermelon was removed and I experienced the freedom I had hoped for, thanks to a women’s clinic and the knowledge of a few older women who know who to send me to.

Ultrasound sound evidence shows that more than 80% African American women will have uterine fibroids by the age of 50. Fibroids are more common in African Americans compared with women of other races and thus can present major health problems among African American women. Fibroids develop at earlier ages and are more symptomatic; African American women have higher rates of surgery for fibroids. (1)

I wish I had known about the statistics and information on fibroids earlier; perhaps this knowledge could have helped me seek assistance sooner.

A few weeks after my surgery, I couldn’t contain my joy; the relief was immediate. The bleeding, bloating, and pain were gone. So, I did what any 48-year-old woman does when she is happy: I shared a bit of my story on social media. To my surprise, my inbox quickly filled up with messages. Woman after woman asked the same questions: “Where did you go for help? Who listened to you? Do you think they will listen to me, too? Will you share the name of the clinic with me?”

I answered every question I could and shared the insights I had gained. One friend had the same surgery I did after discovering she also had significant fibroids, while another is scheduled for her surgery next month. My surgery brought me relief from the pain caused by fibroids, but the true gift has been being part of a sisterhood that shares experiences, helping each other move from suffering to freedom.

What began as years of pain and frustration became a supportive community of women who listen and support one another by sharing information. I often reflect on how close I was to accepting suffering as my “new normal” until a few text messages and wise friends changed everything. My story goes beyond surgery—it’s about the power of connection. By sharing our stories, we help others find their way to freedom, which is a form of healing.

References
Eltoukhi, H. M., Modi, M.N., Weston, M., & Armstrong, A.Y. (2013). The Health Disparities of Uterine Fibroids for African American Women: A Public Health Issue. American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology, 210(3)(194). Retrieved 10 15, 2025, from https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ajog.2013.08.008