The Good News

Confessions of an over-thinker and saying it anyway.

A quick content warning… I’ll be using biological, anatomical terms that might make some folks uncomfortable. Proceed as you wish.

This past Friday (4/17), I got really good news. I was on the 4th day of post-op recovery from having a hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy. Meaning, I had just had my uterus, cervix, both fallopian tubes, and both ovaries removed. (biological, anatomical words are over now).

This was my fourth surgery within the last four years. Along with gender-affirming and cancer surgeries, I’ve had rounds of chemo and radiation and lucked out by managing to catch a nasty case of West Nile virus as well. It’s been… a lot… on my body and my mind.

During the last 3.5 years I have spent a lot of time feeling good about my body. Much more time than ever before. It’s been a bit of a cruel irony that after 40 years of denying my own existence, the moment I decide to step into it fully, my body has been under what feels like a constant assault. For every moment of pure euphoria, there have been equal and often reactive moments of crushing disorientation and unbearable pain.

It has been a push and pull, a washing machine, a grind where one of my greatest lessons has been “don’t trust good news”.

So, on Friday, April 17th when my surgeon sent me a brief message through my online patient portal:

Subject: Message about your results

Body: Ash the surgical pathology report is all negative. I hope you are doing well!

It was like every cell in my body went to war with each other.

I was ecstatic. I had no idea how much I needed to hear that message. I was terrified. This is good! When things are good, the only thing that comes next is bad. I wanted to tell everyone I knew. I wanted to keep it a secret. I’ve learned too well that telling everyone your good news, then having to tell them the next round of bad news feels embarrassing…naive. Each time, making me smaller and smaller. More withdrawn.

A hysterectomy is a pretty routine procedure. So, why all the drama?

For a lot of transmasculine people and trans men, getting a hysterectomy is a necessary part of their gender transitions, if they are able to access the surgery. There’s privilege in receiving care that is being outlawed state-by-state and currently, many cannot have access to the care they need to survive. To be clear, that means that some, won’t survive the assault on trans healthcare.

At the moment, getting a hysterectomy is near the bottom of things I am interested in. But, my body has decided that it wants to be as trans as possible and is forcibly removing the parts that remind me of the biological aspects of my birth. When I had top surgery in 2022, while on the operating table, my surgeon found a tumor that no one expected to be there. I had breast cancer. That discovery, the fall out, treatment, and life since has been a path of devastating acceptance and growth. But if I hadn’t had gender-affirming top surgery, that tumor let me know that I was having some sort of top surgery, no matter what. Thanks again to my luck and privilege in accessing and affording gender-affirming care, we found the tumor early that day in 2022 and spared me from a far worse cancer fate. SCORE for gender-affirming care!

Now, at the end of 2025, I was having symptoms and pain that shouldn’t be happening. Some bleeding and pain after 3 years of testosterone therapy wasn’t normal. So, back to the oncologist I went. More tests and scans showed something new. Fibroids, and a mass on one of my ovaries. Those tests and scans also showed that the mass was probably not malignant. Certainty could come via surgery though. Three years later, my body is kicking out its biological parts again. How trans of me! 🏳️‍⚧️

While top surgery was the height of gender euphoria, hysterectomy sounded about as euphoric as the time I wore a dress to the junior prom and hated literally every single second of my life until I put my jeans, sneakers, and Bob Marley T-shirt on and went back to being myself at the end of the dance. I was not enthusiastic about the premise of this surgery.

After having cancer, I was also not about to mess around with some mass growing on a body part I didn’t need or want. My grandmother died of ovarian cancer. I’ve already had hormone positive breast cancer. I like a rush and some adrenaline, but this was not a gamble I was willing to take. So, there was only one option. Surgery. As soon as possible.

Surgery went well, I’m recovering and getting familiar with being uncomfortable again. Parts of post-op feel a bit like going through chemo. The “wake up in the morning and why does this feel like this, do I need to call a doctor?” feeling is one that’s all too familiar. The trauma of it being the first way I evaluate my day each morning feels like a raw nerve. But, generally, I’m feeling ok. After all of this, I know how to navigate this part.

What I didn’t know how to navigate was the good news. There’s no cancer! The mass? Not cancer! Pathology was clear!

This was the expected outcome. I knew going into surgery that my symptoms were not likely due to cancer. But after that top surgery surprise, there was a very persistent little thought, sitting in the back of my mind saying “what if…?”

So, I wanted to post my good news for the people who show an interest in the things I share about my life. As soon as I posted the good news, I immediately questioned doing so. I’m a classic over-thinker… I’m working on it. Still, I was worried that my post was insensitive. Maybe even inappropriate.

I started to spiral, quickly. When I shifted towards advocacy, I made a lot of new friends. Many of those new friends will not receive a message in their online patient portal that confirms they still do not have cancer. Instead, many of them will receive reports of metastatic disease progression. Hopefully it’s more “no progression” than “progression”. But I have a lot of friends who won’t get the message that I received.

That knowing weighs heavily on me. I love these friends. I love these people. It felt a bit tone deaf to be posting my happy “you don’t have cancer” message. Why would I rub this in their faces? How could I do that to these gorgeous, incredible, humans that I adore?

At the same time, cancer patients, survivors… whatever you want to call us, are not pathetic, weak people only existing for your sympathy. We are also not fierce warriors placed on pedestals we never asked to stand on. We are humans. Just people who have met extraordinary circumstances while often living pretty ordinary lives.

So, where’s the humanity in my own life if I don’t remember why I am here? Being trans means that much of the world today seems to want to violently squash me out of existence. Having cancer made me feel insignificant, broken, and less than human. Doing cancer and being trans at the same time… I have never felt more small, more unworthy, and more like an alien than I could possibly comprehend.

So much that when I receive good news, one of my first responses is fear and secrecy. I do no justice to myself or my peers in both the trans and cancer communities by living in fear and choosing to silence myself. By refusing to celebrate or at least share my relief when things are good. There’s no humanity in going quiet when my voice has power.

If we are talking about lessons, it isn’t “good things lead to bad things”. The lesson is to celebrate the good because it’s fleeting. Impermanent. It’s to remember that silence is the quickest path to erasure.

So, I hope my good news doesn’t cause another person pain or offend them. It’s the last thing I want. If it causes you pain and you are reading this, I am so sorry. I can imagine how conflicting that pain feels. I may not stand in your shoes but I can empathize. Your feelings and pain are justified and there’s space for that here too.

I worry that the biggest offense of all would be to remain small and silent and driven by fear so much that I forget to show up at all.

I got good news. And that’s good news. So, let’s enjoy it for a moment. Before it passes.

Trans joy is resistance. Trans rights are human rights. Gender-affirming care saves lives.