In this powerful New Series, writer and advocate Cecilia Kamuputa opens up about her deeply personal journey through adenomyosis and total abdominal hysterectomy, shedding light on the realities of women’s health, delayed diagnosis, and the strength it takes to reclaim one’s body and voice.

PART ONE: At 20, I had my first child, a girl we named Tanaka. At 31 I had my second, a fireball we named Yamikani. At 36, I had my uterus removed, taking away my ability to have any more children. 

Adenomyosis. A term I first heard of in 2021, after struggling with crippling heavy and lengthy periods from as far back as 2018. After years of visiting my GP and being told that I had hormonal imbalance, then getting loads and loads of Norethisterone tablets prescribed for me. These were hormonal pills that were supposed to help control ovulation and menstruation. 

For a while, they managed the heavy bleeding and relieved the pain but they came with headaches, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, pelvic pain. But that was better than bleeding right? Especially considering that I was already anemic. Till they stopped working. And the bleeding came back with a vengeance, even when I took the little white pills three times a day. 

The amount of money I sank in sanitary wear was a lot. I always had to have heavy pads with and on me. And dress choices were limited too, cause the heavy perpetual bleeding meant accidents could happen at any given moment. Dark coloured clothing always. And all this while I thought  it was hormonal imbalance, till the GP referred me to a gynecologist who performed an intra-vaginal scan. 

I sat in the gynecologist’s office after 8 pm on a weekday, reeling from what he was telling me. I had a condition that was affecting the lining of my uterus and I had two options. A 500 dollar injection that would ease the symptoms for 6 months, while at the same time weakening my bones, or a hysterectomy pegged north of $3000. With my limited finances, both options were beyond my reach.

For a full year I struggled. Grew paler and leaner by day, oscillating from anger, to denial to helplessness. As if the heavy bleeding and weight loss did not kick me in the teeth, I developed horrible acne. I scrubbed, washed and re-scrubbed my face, exacerbating the problem. Yet I didn’t stop taking the pills. 

Then the cramps got worse to something akin to labor pains, then the back aches, leg pain and weakness and muscle cramping. Tramadol, Tramol P, Cocodamol became like candy to me, till they stopped working. 

After reaching out to colleagues and acquaintances on social networks, I found myself at Harare Hospital. Armed with the referral letter from my GP, I thought it was going to be a quick in and out. Boy was I wrong. Harare Hospital as an institution will test your patience. What I saw and endured while in the queues shook me. I had arrived at the  Hospital at 7 in the morning and only managed to get an audience of the gynecologist after 8 pm. 

From morning I’d endured queues for payments, COVID testing, seeing the outpatient doctor, payment for tests and scans till the sun went down. I was drained yet hoped for a different diagnosis. The radiologist snatched my hope. I had Adenomyosis. And the gynecologist confirmed it. And he gave me one option; hysterectomy. But the way he talked to me was reassuring, telling me that it was a normal procedure and that I’d be back on my feet in no time. And that it was cheaper. I felt hope blooming again in  my chest. 

What he didn’t tell me to my satisfaction was what had caused this condition. He only said there COULD be various causes, but they couldn’t really tell. What made me frustrated was the little research and information on Adenomyosis for a condition that seemed to be prevalent in African and African American women of child bearing age. 

After I found myself home from the hospital in the dead of the night, I buried myself in any information I could latch onto. I read myself into a frenzy with internet medical sites giving  the craziest worst case scenarios… To Be Continued.