I had taken the day before the operation off work, and left everything that I needed prepared. I had dedicated time for myself, to tidy myself up and therefore feel more comfortable after the operation. I had shaved my legs, pubic area and moustache, I tidied up my eyebrows, I cut my fringe and gave myself a good shower with a Kessa exfoliating glove. My bag had been packed for days. We ate early and I went to sleep calm, guaranteeing myself rest with a couple of Valerians because I never know!

The day of the operation I woke up happy and really motivated. I had had a good rest. During that week I received lots of messages of love and support, so I also woke up with the feeling of being accompanied. Although it sounds a bit strange, I dare to say it was a day that I enjoyed. It was a day full of awareness, of savouring what was happening to me in each moment. I had to have a light breakfast before 7 o’clock, toast with butter and a cup of tea. The time in the house before leaving went very quickly. After my shower, I looked at my belly in the mirror and thought that an irreversible change was about to happen. My belly. Smooth. With the pubic area shaved. It was beautiful. My period still hadn’t come. I touched my belly and felt the lump of fibroids under the tissue. I thought “tomorrow you won’t be there anymore” and what I understood after forming this thought surprised me. I released that the apprehension I had felt when touching the lump in the first few weeks after the results of the last scans, had transformed somehow into something like an attachment. That lump was me, part of myself, of my body, of my identity and history. And it would be removed in a few hours. Around 10 o’clock I had already spoken with my parents and I was ready to go. I said goodbye to Juanpe like someone who was celebrating something, a victory perhaps. I jumped, clapped and smiled saying – Yesss! I’m having the operation! – and we hugged for a while. – I love you so much, I am going to be fine – I told him. I also joked about how good ignorance can be at times like this, because to me it seems that in these situations, when you have no idea what to expect, it's easier to be positive.

I left home with my bag on the way to hospital. I live very close, although it is very uphill. I didn’t want to arrive sweaty from the walk, so I left with more time than usual, and I walked calmly. Juanpe couldn’t come with me because of the safety measures due to the pandemic. Nor could he visit me whilst I was there. He only had a phone number to call to ask for information. Then, when I woke up, we would be able to speak via mobile directly. Before the operation I had been in quarantine for two weeks without leaving home and I also had a COVID-19 PCR test as part of the pre-operation protocol.

I showed up at the reception of the hospital’s Theatre Admission Unit, there was hardly anyone there. It didn’t take long for them to come and find me and take me to a cubicle, one of those that have walls made from curtains and give a false sense of privacy. I sat in a seat that was there and to be honest I got sleepy. I closed my eyes. I napped until a nurse came in.

There, in the cubicle, I received various visits. There were a few nurses and they asked me for a urine sample, took my blood pressure and gave me a very long questionnaire highlighting if I had allergies. And every time that someone new came to see me they asked again about any allergies. One of the nurses gave me a hospital gown, elasticated gauze knickers and some long compression socks that I had to put on before going to the operating theatre. While I was in the cubicle, I had two amazing encounters: the first, with my cubicle neighbour; and the second, with the anaesthetist.

I accidentally created a bond of complicity with my cubicle neighbour. She was anaemic and I had been too for many years of my life. We talked on various occasions, almost secretly, as if it weren’t allowed. One of the times while we were talking, a nurse arrived who, without saying anything, gave us a clear telling off with her gaze. My neighbour and I laughed about that afterwards, as if we were two schoolgirls. When I left my cubicle to go to the operating theatre, she too walked to the hallway to wish me luck. I would have liked to give her a hug.

The anaesthetist came to see me to explain what her job would be during the operation. She was young, with short hair and very bright eyes. With the use of masks during the pandemic, I had realised how much eyes and their expressions say. The anaesthetist instilled a mixture of strength and freshness. While listening to her explain the possible types of incision and the pain they would produce, I realised that she was doing a conscious dialogue exercise with me, a perfect exercise of compassionate and empathetic communication, like those that I try to do at work with my students. She gave me lots of confidence. It made me happy.

After the anaesthetist, a doctor came who I later found out had lots of experience with fibroids and that he would participate as a specialist in the operation to assist the surgeon. He seemed very shy as if he didn’t want to speak out too much or take responsibility since he only told me his name, that he was going to be involved and that if I had any questions I should ask the surgeon, who was one of the last to come. When seeing her and realising that it was the gynaecologist who had been treating me, I felt a sense of relief. When we had the last appointment with her, she didn’t make it clear to us whether she would be the one to operate on me or if it would be another of the department’s specialists. This woman had been, to my criteria, very professional in how she handled my case, exhaustive, clear, motivated to delve into the problem and find the best solution for me. A couple of years before, I had seen another doctor who during the consultation only seemed to want to get out the scalpel, which then made me reject the idea of facing up to an operation (The click). Unbelievable. After reviewing the documents with the surgeon and giving my consent for the operation, I gave her Juanpe’s telephone number and asked her to please call him when they had finished the operation. She told me she would and left the cubicle. The next time I saw her was after waking up from the anaesthesia.

Now I don’t quite remember who, but I told someone that I would like to see what they removed, that it was important to me. But if I had to take a guess, I would say I told the anaesthetist. I wanted to know what my fibroids were like. Perhaps out of curiosity from my scientific training, perhaps out of hope that this way I could understand them and make what was happening more real. Perhaps simply to make peace with myself and I don’t know, ask myself forgiveness.

A short while after, some time after 1 o’clock, a new nurse came to find me, very smiley and nice. We put my mobile phone, ID card and keys in an envelope that they would keep in a safer place than in the bag with the rest of my clothes. I had to ask for it when they took me to the ward after the operation. The nurse asked me to put on the gown I had brought from home and finally took me to the operating theatre.

Here we go. Everything is going to be fine. I told myself inside with a smile.