Preventing Ovarian Cancer: Living With Consequences

"The ovaries don't just grow egg cells; they pump out a hormone cocktail that maintains the health of virtually every organ system, from the heart to the bones to the brain."

— Rachel E. Gross, Vagina Obscura

When I was first diagnosed with Lynch syndrome, I understood the urgency of removing my ovaries to reduce my cancer risk — but I didn't fully grasp the long-term consequences that would follow. I made a medically necessary, life-saving choice. What I didn't expect was how profoundly it would impact the rest of my body and how it would affect my aging.

Lynch syndrome increases the risk of several cancers — particularly colorectal, endometrial, and ovarian. For individuals with specific gene variants, such as MLH1, MSH2, or MSH6, the recommended protocol often includes a hysterectomy and oophorectomy before natural menopause, typically in the late 30s or early 40s. That's what I did. One surgery, and just like that, I was in menopause.

But surgical menopause isn't a slow transition. There's no gentle decline. It's an abrupt hormonal crash. One day you have estrogen, the next you don't. Estrogen does more than regulate reproduction — it protects your bones, joints, brain, heart, and emotional well-being. When it's gone, your body feels the loss everywhere.

Lately, I've been dealing with osteoarthritis in both my hands and knees — fairly typical as we age, but the flare-ups can be debilitating. I also live with familial hypercholesterolemia (FH), a genetic disorder I inherited from my mother that causes dangerously high cholesterol and significantly increases the risk of early heart disease. Because of FH, I've always had to be vigilant about my cardiovascular health.

The loss of estrogen only compounded the issue. Recently, I developed high blood pressure and atherosclerosis. The abrupt hormonal crash that followed my oophorectomy likely accelerated the progression of these conditions. Estrogen had been acting as a protective buffer — and once it was gone, my arteries began to suffer.

We're finally starting to see a broader conversation about menopause, thanks to advocates like Dr. Louise Newsom and Dr. Mary Claire Haver. They're breaking the silence around hormone health, educating the public, and empowering women to understand their symptoms — and their options. I'm grateful for their work — menopausal women need visibility, education, and support.

But too often, that conversation centers on natural menopause — on women in their 50s easing out of fertility over time. What about those of us who didn't have time? What about the women thrown into menopause overnight due to genetic risk? Where are our voices?

As a previvor, I made an impossible choice. I said goodbye to my hormones, my fertility, and perfectly healthy organs in the name of staying alive. But I wasn't prepared for the ripple effects — on my joints, my heart, my energy, my sense of self. No one told me that estrogen was protecting more than just my reproductive system.

These days, I manage chronic pain, heart disease, and inflammation. I move my body every day — not because I'm motivated or inspired, but because I need to. I walk, I stretch, I strength train. I eat anti-inflammatory foods. I hydrate. I rest when I need to. I take my medications and keep every specialist appointment. I treat my health like a full-time job.

And I care for my mental health just as intentionally. Living with a genetic condition and chronic illness is exhausting. It wears on your joy. I've learned to build stillness into my day. I surround myself with music, nature, and quiet. I permit myself to grieve the body I used to have — and permission to love the one I'm in now.

Doctors still love to say, "This is just part of aging." But I know better. This isn't just aging — this is what happens when protective hormones are taken away too soon. I don't regret my surgery. I would make the same decision again. But I want better care for the women who come after me. I want them to know the whole picture — the risk of cancer, yes, but also the risk of what happens after prevention.

We need more research. More nuanced care. A place in the menopause conversation that includes younger women who went through it surgically and suddenly. We exist. We matter.

Despite all of it — the pain, the plaque, the fatigue — I'm still here, still showing up, and still moving forward. I'm beginning to believe that this is what strength looks like. Not pretending things are fine, but finding ways to thrive anyway.

If you've had your ovaries removed and now feel like your body is falling apart, please hear this: it's not just in your head. And it's not "just aging." You deserve answers. You deserve care. Please talk to your doctor, and know that you're not alone.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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