I was thirty-three when I discovered I had a fibroid tumor. I heard the word “tumor” and got scared. I was anemic and bleeding heavily. The ob/gyn ordered a series of three Lupron injections to control the bleeding and shrink the fibroid prior to surgery. I naively asked the nurse what the side effects of this shot would be. “You’ll maybe have some minor menopause symptoms like hot flashes.” “Hmmmm…hot flashes vs. bleeding,” I thought. “I can live with a few hot flashes. Nothing to it.” I didn’t do anymore research. Even after I received that first memorable shot of liquid fire in my butt, I didn’t think twice. If something burns like that, it can’t be good. I later learned that Lupron is also given to men with prostate cancer, so the drug has chemo-type side effects. They didn’t mention that at the clinic. Fibroids are not cancerous 99% of the time and I don’t like the word “tumor” to describe them.

I had the shots and surgery. The doctor removed 2/3 of the tumor and said the Lupron didn’t shrink the fibroid at all. I was informed to schedule a second surgery in a few weeks to remove the rest. It didn’t work out that way. After I came home, strange things began to happen. I began to experience those “minor” side effects the nurse talked about. Hot flashes, a persistent nausea and chills set in. I developed terrible acne on my chin and noticed more hair on my pillow than usual. I was tired most of the time. I woke up with bone-crushing fatigue and struggled through the day like I was pulling myself through quicksand.

The strangest thing was what happened to me emotionally. My mind was so foggy I couldn’t think. I began to have panic attacks. I lay on my sofa and kept my routine simple and quiet. My son Jack 3 and we spent days watching Blue’s Clue’s and Little Bear reruns. I couldn’t watch television programs that excited or upset me. Once, I had a panic attack watching George Clooney on ER and not in a good heart-fluttering-isn’t-he-cute-kind of panic. Any extreme in emotion triggered a hot flash or panic attack. If the phone rang, I jumped a mile. What was happening to me? I was falling into a large hole and could not climb out. I used to be in control. I couldn’t put my feelings into words. I felt so weak I could barely take a shower or make meals. I cried every day and wanted to be left alone. I am amazed that my husband Ted didn’t leave. My heart was breaking. “What a way to end a century,” I thought as I laid on the sofa on New Year’s Eve 1999.