In just a couple of days, it will be one whole year since I was wheeled into surgery. My parting request to the surgical team was, “Please can I see what you take out of me?”
The nurse looked a little aghast. “You want us to give you your womb afterwards?”
“No, just a photo will do. Thank you.” I needed this photographic evidence to justify the extreme pain and discomfort I’d been trying to manage for the preceding years.
I needed proof that I wasn’t faking it or imagining it, or was simply too weak to endure it.
My life had shrunk in proportion to the growth of the tenacious fibroid in my uterus. At around 10cm or so, it was classed as ‘grapefruit-sized’ (in some people, fibroids grow as big as watermelons!). Its position meant constant back pain and pressure on my bladder. By the time I agreed to have surgery, the combination of these debilitating symptoms meant I was reluctant to leave my house, and I found it hard to even go for a walk around my neighbourhood.
Sex felt like a tricky place to visit, too.
While I knew I needed to do something to help relieve the pain and open my life back up again, I was initially very reluctant to have the surgery.
I didn’t have a good history of coping with general anaesthetics, and my body had already been through a lot. (I was missing my tonsils, adenoids, wisdom teeth, and gallbladder by this point.)
Even more concerning to me was whether I’d be able to access my eroticism – on the page as well as in the bedroom – after my uterus and accompanying organs were removed.
On the 23rd of September 2024, I had my uterus (plus its resident fibroid), fallopian tubes, and one ovary extracted through a ‘bikini line’ cut on my belly.
Over the following months, I watched as my ragged red wounds turned into fine white scars.
My body was healing, but it seemed my libido was not.
**
One of the ways that I’ve stayed connected to my sexual self – even in the midst of illness, burnout, bereavement, and more – is to write.
Whether it’s erotic stories – giving my imagination permission to play even if my body is reluctant – or journaling – here and on pages that are for my eyes only – one of my favourite prompts is “what if?”
What if a High Femme Mistress and a hungry Transboy met at a party? (Read the answer here)
What if masturbation is self-care? (Read my response to this here)
**
I’ve been exploring my current “libido situation” with the same curiosity.
What if this isn’t the end but an evolution?
What if I take the pressure off and focus on experiencing a variety of pleasures instead?
What if my eroticism is still there, it just needs to feel safe enough for me to feel it?
**
I wanted the photo of my evicted womb as ‘evidence’.
It turns out I’ve been collecting evidence of my eroticism for a long time.
Every story.
Every blog post.
Every book.
Every memory…
They’re all still there.
I could look at them with sadness – that’s no longer me; I’ve lost something significant.
Or I can choose to look at them with fondness – the younger me chose to enjoy her sexual self, I wonder what the present me will choose?
**
And here’s the truth:
Yesterday I chose to masturbate. (My sex toy died halfway through, and I laughed at the timing. Note to self: keep your toys charged up even if you’re not using them regularly!)
A few weeks ago, I wrote an erotic story and got turned on by the banter and behaviour of one of the side characters (a pansexual “all round snakey slut” called Cobra).
I know my capacity for passion and pleasure, and the ways they help me feel my playfulness and power, are still within me.
I know there are layers to healing.
I know that a year is really not that long at all and that as long as my desire for desire is alive, so am I.
**
I made a zine to support other queer folk.
Before my surgery, I looked and looked for information and support that would speak to my experiences as a queer dyke.
I found lots of useful cishet resources, and the trans community is creating some great content, but I struggled to find anyone talking about issues that affect me specifically as a queer person.
Things like being out in a healthcare setting, and understanding the implications for an erotic life that’s not focused on penis in vagina sex.
My zine is now out in the world, along with my Queer and Lesbian Hysterectomy video, and my Hysterectomy Healing and Recovery Journal.
One in five people with a uterus has a hysterectomy, so if you or anyone you know ever needs these resources, I hope you find them helpful.
(I have a dedicated page of Hysterectomy Resources on my website, here.)
**
I started this Substack as my “living experiment of desire in queer midlife”.
That mission remains – albeit with more uncertainty about where that experiment is leading me.
I’m curious about the ‘conditions’ that my sexual self now needs to emerge from her deep hiding place.
Safety is one.
Invitations without expectations are another.
Reminders that pleasure feels good are helpful too.
With that in mind, I’ve charged up all my sex toys.
I have my favourite lube (Sutil) in my bedside drawer.
I’ve reread my ‘personal evidence file’ of blogs and stories.
And there’s a new story inspired by a (so far, unmet) fantasy I’m looking forward to exploring…
**
Just a few weeks after my surgery, my curated anthology, Sex Meets Life, was published.
The stories and personal essays in this book – written by a diverse and talented group of authors – have given me a deeper insight into how we can navigate the twists and turns of our sexual lives alongside all the other life events we have to manage.
Whether it’s through illness, ageing, menopause, becoming a caregiver, having a sexual awakening, or embracing your true gender identity, these stories remind us that we can choose to reclaim desire and redefine intimacy (over and over again).
You can find out more about Sex Meets Life and get your copy here.
Plus, you’ll find bonus writing prompts to explore your stories with desire here.
**
I recently asked the authors in Sex Meets Life, “Where are you now?”
Today, I’m sharing an update from Lily Jenkins – a woman whose libido has soared in midlife.
In her fictional chapter, Lily introduces us to Louise: a woman who has entered midlife, whose children have left home, and whose career is going well. Her husband, however, won’t have sex with her. ‘Don’t You Want Me?’ is a fictional account where Louise reunites with an old flame.
Here’s what Lily told me:
I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since Sex Meets Life was released into the world! Since submitting my story, and with Anna’s encouragement, I have embraced my inner erotic author. I am writing on Substack – short stories and “erotic interludes” whenever I feel drawn to write. And I was invited to be a founding author for Theo Reads, a new platform for romance and erotic writers, which I still can’t get my head around. I still feel like I am playing in this space!
Writing in this genre has helped me to figure out my wants and desires as a woman entering the next phase of her life – intuitive, wise, hungry. It has helped me to begin opening my eyes to what I want going forward, and what I need to leave behind. And it’s fun! I am looking forward to seeing where this journey will take me next.
Thank you, Anna, for your ongoing support x x.
Find Lily’s Substack and read more of her erotic stories here
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