Or, Don’t Mess with a Surgically-Menopaused Woman

A few months back, I texted an out-of-state friend from over 25 years ago who had given me some helpful advice for my medical issues that led to my recent hysterectomy. This friend is a gynecological specialist in endometriosis who helped me during a particularly awful and bloody day this past Christmas where I was hemorrhaging due to undiagnosed and untreated adenomyosis.

You know — the woman with the issue of blood who touched the hem of Jesus’ robe? I totally get her. Probably was adenomyosis, or something similar. The hemorrhaging is non-stop, messy and life-threatening.

But, I cannot imagine also having to suffer unceasing shame due to Levitical law:

Leviticus 15: 19-23

“When a woman has her regular flow of blood, the impurity of her monthly period will last seven days, and anyone who touches her will be unclean till evening. Anything she lies on during her period will be unclean, and anything she sits on will be unclean. Anyone who touches her bed will be unclean; they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening. Anyone who touches anything she sits on will be unclean; they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening. Whether it is the bed or anything she was sitting on, when anyone touches it, they will be unclean till evening.”

Women have been badasses for millennia — suffering FOR BEING A WOMAN and surviving under the patriarchal rules imposed upon us, especially by TheoBros.

Well, gynecologists sometimes become TheoBros — unbeknownst to me, my friend who I knew as a thoughtful Christian gynecological specialist 25 years ago now lived as a part-time TheoBro.

Because I was unable to reach my local doctor quickly and recalling my friend’s specialization, I called him in desperation that Christmas day. He gave me insight into my issues, helping to ease my fears, until my gynecologist was able to call in some medications to stabilize me.

The bleeding thankfully stopped later that night and was stabilized until I received my total hysterectomy about a month later.

Weeks after the hysterectomy, after writing some thank you notes to others who had given me gifts as
support for the hysterectomy, my husband, Aaron, suggested that I write this out-of-
state gynecologist friend a thank you card as well. The friend had only given helpful advice but I
thought that it would be kind to send him some appreciation for his insight and support.

I sent him a text asking for his address so that I could send him a thank you card — I wanted him to understand why I was asking for his address.

He sent me his address and I thanked him again. After writing the card, I put it in an envelope, stuck a stamp on it and put it in our mailbox before Aaron and I headed out on our evening walk.

After our walk, I checked my phone before heading up for my shower. In my texts, I noticed a five paragraph-long text from my gynecologist friend with the beginning lines reading,

“I wanted to let you know that I’ve been disappointed in your recent posts [on social media]…..”

Honestly, I didn’t read the whole text before my shower because I wanted to enjoy my shower. As I showered, I realized that I needed to have Aaron read the whole text before I did because I could sense my anger rising.

I skimmed the text quickly as I took my phone to Aaron because I could not honestly read the whole thing — why? Because I’m healing from this hysterectomy and my mental, physical and emotional bodies were not able to really process this rebuke.

This former friend and gynecological professional primarily chastised me for the tenor of my recent posts about politics.

His message to me?

That I am in the wrong because I let my emotions lead in my posts instead of trusting God with our nation. He assured me that he was no Trump fan but that he has to interact with many Trump supporters which required him to be able to be equanimous and to trust God with the uncertainties.

Basically — the message was,

“God’s got this, and you have sinned by not trusting God and instead posting in anger and bitterness.”

Okay.

I did not have energy in my recovery state FROM MY TOTAL HYSTERECTOMY DUE TO SEVERE, CHRONIC ADENOMYOSIS to confront a “friend” that had not interacted with me in over 25 years. So, I wrote,

“Thank you for your ideas”

and summarily removed him as a friend on Facebook so he would not be subject to my vitriol for the actions of the current administration and this country.

Aaron and I finished our lovely evening and I tried to to sleep — but I realized that this was hard.

The phrase,

“I am disappointed”

kept ringing through my head as I lay in bed.

Disappointed.

Why was HE disappointed? When had he reached out in friendship — all throughout the years? When had he connected with our family after we lost our son 23 years ago? Where was he when our family nearly dissolved after that? Where was his support when I continued to believe in God even after the implosion in my heart?

Where was he as we raised all of our five remaining sons through moves, adolescent challenges,
marriage woes, financial scares, professional growths and spiritual transformations?
Where was he when we led several Bible studies, parenting support groups, and served in multiple churches? Where was he when I leaned into God after my heart was ripped from my spiritual body over and over again?

Where was he as I plodded through the last several years in my path toward becoming a licensed professional counselor in my early 50s? After bearing and raising six children?

Where has he been as I have wondered daily for the past two years if my husband, a federal worker, would continue to have a job in these frightening times for federal workers?

When he and his wife (who was my mom friend 25 years ago) divorced, I did not ask questions or sit in judgment on either of them. I had questions but I did not know him or her well enough anymore because we had not lived in the same city for over 25 years.

Why did he feel the freedom — or the responsibility — to tell me that he was disappointed in my actions?

Not only had we not been close at all, but also, he should have known, as a gynecological specialist who had performed many surgeries, that I was in a vulnerable state at this time of my recovery — yet he chose this time to spiritually chastise me.

How could someone think that was spiritually wise or professionally supportive?

He was disappointed in my actions.

I looked him up to see if he was involved in a church that may have influenced his choices because at the time we had known him, he was not very spiritually conservative. He was kind of a questioner.

That was then.

Now, he is the chairman of the board of elders of a very conservative church in a very conservative Evangelical community in the Midwest where we had once lived. The church has no women in pastoral leadership, is not affirming — not even close — and employs pastors who serve as “counselors” because they have taken counseling courses at their Bible college — oh, and they all attended the same Bible college.

One of his pastor’s blog posts sanctified his pastoral criticisms and judgments of others saying that because his criticism originated in Godly and Biblical wisdom, it was not criticism but instead Godly instruction.

Now, I understood.

My friend’s condemnation of me and my actions came from that same spirit: a spirit of self-righteousness that was borne of being a “successful” man placed in authority in his church. He pointed to several proof-texted Bible verses to support his condemnations of my actions, just in case I wanted to debate him — which I didn’t.

He wanted me to know that he was trusting God by his public silence and that I needed to be rebuked for my loud and angry public stances.

He wanted me to know that because he could highlight the origin of the word “zealous” in Greek, he could further accuse me of wrongdoing, saying that I was not aligning with true fervor for the work of God.

He needed me to know all of this.

And he needed me to know all of this DURING MY RECOVERY FROM MY TOTAL ABDOMINAL HYSTERECTOMY and my emotional plunge into surgical menopause.

He needed me to know that I was wrong.

And he was right.

And all this after I simply asked for his address to send him a thank you card for his advice as a women’s health professional.

No, friend,

TheoBro,

I am disappointed in you.