11 Party Ideas for After Your Girlfriend’s Hysterectomy

Last Updated on October 28, 2025 by Michael

Your girlfriend’s uterus just got yeeted into medical waste and you’re standing in the hospital gift shop holding a teddy bear that says “Get Well Soon” like some kind of idiot.

Nobody prepared you for this.

The surgeon explained the procedure using words like “laparoscopic” and “bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy” while you nodded along pretending you didn’t just google “where is the uterus exactly” in the bathroom. The nurses handed over pamphlets with titles like “Your Recovery Journey” featuring stock photos of women doing yoga on beaches. Your mom called with seventeen casserole recipes. Her mom called crying. Your buddy Dave texted “that sucks bro” with a thumbs up emoji.

Here’s what none of them will tell you: throw a party.

Not some sad whisper-fest with herbal tea and healing crystals. A real party. The kind that makes her forget her organs got rearranged like a medical Rubik’s cube.

1. Viking Funeral for Aunt Flo

That monthly terrorist is finally dead.

Twenty-eight years of surprise attacks. Twenty-eight years of white pants ruined, vacations destroyed, and perfectly good Saturday nights spent in the fetal position. Twenty-eight years of her crying at that ASPCA commercial with Sarah McLachlan while eating an entire sleeve of Oreos dipped in peanut butter.

Gone. Forever.

Build a boat out of tampon boxes. Those jumbo variety packs from Costco she’ll never need again. The ones she bought thinking she was being financially responsible but really just gave her anxiety about storage space. Fill it with every pad in the house. The overnight ones. The ones with wings. The ones without wings. That emergency tampon that’s been living in her purse since Obama’s first term.

Float it in the bathtub.

Write a eulogy: “Dearly beloved, we gather here to celebrate the demise of Aunt Flo, who visited monthly without invitation, stayed too long, ate all our chocolate, and never once offered to pay for the heating pad. She leaves behind nothing but medical debt and a drawer full of period underwear that can finally retire.”

Everyone wears red. Obviously. Except your girlfriend—she wears whatever the fuck she wants because she just had surgery and that’s basically a superpower now.

Serve red velvet cake with “See You Never, Bitch” written in that fancy frosting that costs extra but you’re getting it anyway because this is a celebration, dammit.

2. The Anti-Baby Shower

Baby showers are a special kind of hell.

Everyone sitting in a circle pretending to care about onesies. Playing games where you sniff melted candy bars in diapers. Watching pregnant women open their forty-seventh package of burp cloths while everyone makes that high-pitched “awwwww” sound that makes dogs uncomfortable.

Your girlfriend just opted out of that nightmare permanently. Time to celebrate accordingly.

Hang a banner: “CONGRATULATIONS! IT’S A HYSTERECTOMY!”

Play real games. “Pin the Vasectomy on the Boyfriend” (he’s already sweating). “Guess How Much College Would’ve Cost” (everyone drinks). “Name That Birth Control We’ll Never Need” (more drinking).

Make it rain condoms like confetti because they’re basically decorative now.

3. Hormone Hurricane Preparedness Party

Let’s talk about what’s coming.

The hormones are about to go absolutely batshit insane. Monday she’s fine. Tuesday she’s sobbing because she saw a duck wearing a little hat on TikTok. Wednesday she’s rage-cleaning the baseboards with a toothbrush at 3 AM. Thursday she wants a divorce because you breathed wrong. Friday she loves you more than life itself and also wants tacos.

Set up survival stations.

Rage Room: Bubble wrap on every surface. Goodwill plates for smashing. Print out photos of every relative who ever said “you’ll change your mind about kids” and make them dartboard targets. Provide safety goggles because lawsuits are expensive.

Cry Cave: The fancy tissues with lotion, not that sandpaper shit from the hospital. Queue up that video of the colorblind kid seeing color for the first time. The one where the dog waits for his owner every day for ten years. The soldier surprise homecomings. Just accept everyone’s leaving dehydrated and emotionally destroyed.

Hot Flash Arctic: Industrial fans arranged like you’re interrogating someone for state secrets. Ice packs in crown shapes because if she’s gonna sweat through everything she owns, might as well be royalty. A kiddie pool full of ice. Someone will suggest she just live in the freezer. Honestly? Valid.

Confusion Corner: Nobody knows what’s happening here. That’s the point. Everyone just stands around looking bewildered together. She fits right in.

4. Eviction Party for the Worst Tenant Ever

Think about this rationally.

Her uterus was basically that roommate who never cleaned, made weird noises at night, leaked everywhere, threw monthly ragers nobody wanted to attend, and then had the audacity to cause problems when trying to leave. Worst. Roommate. Ever.

Apartment-themed everything. But make it stupid.

Drinks in red Solo cups labeled “studio apartment.” Cheese plate called “luxury amenities” even though it’s just kraft singles arranged fancy. Crackers are “utilities included” which is a lie because utilities are never included and everyone knows it.

Party game: “Guess the Organ Weight.” Everyone writes down their guess. Google the actual weight of a uterus. Watch everyone’s face when they realize it’s the size of a pear but caused hurricane-level damage monthly. Award the winner a ham because apparently that’s the same weight and equally useless at this point.

Someone will make a “no womb at the inn” joke. Let them. They’ve been waiting.

5. Sweatpants Formal Gala

Dress code: Elastic waistbands only. Zippers are banned. Buttons are criminal.

This isn’t giving up. This is evolution.

Red carpet entrance but it’s just that fuzzy bathrobe she’s been living in. Everyone arrives in their finest terrible loungewear. Someone absolutely shows up in those velour tracksuits from 2003 with “JUICY” bedazzled across the ass. Another person’s wearing Christmas pajamas in July. There’s definitely Crocs involved. With socks.

Perfect.

Award categories that matter:

• “Most Holes But Still Wearing It”
• “Stain or Design Pattern? Nobody Knows”
• “Elastic That Should Be Dead But Refuses to Quit”
• “Most Obviously Stolen from an Ex”

Build a blanket fort. Not some half-assed couch cushion situation. An architectural marvel. Load-bearing blankets. Fairy lights from that Pinterest board she made three years ago. Label different rooms with that label maker you bought and used once. The kitchen is wherever the snacks are.

Password for entry? Flash your elastic waistband like it’s VIP credentials at Coachella.

6. Medical Bill Bankruptcy Ball

The bills are coming. They’re going to look like someone fell asleep on the number pad.

$47,000 for “operating room time.” $1,200 for “miscellaneous supplies” which was literally gauze. $800 for “pharmacy” which was two Tylenol. $3,000 for “anesthesia” per some doctor she’s never met who apparently walked past the OR and gets a cut.

Everyone brings their worst medical bill story. Read them out loud like devastating poetry. “$950 for ‘skin-to-skin contact’—they charged her to hold her own baby.” “$400 for ’emotional support’—it was a box of tissues.”

Start a betting pool. How many separate bills? (Minimum 73.) How many different billing departments? (All of them.) How many will insurance actually cover? (LOL.)

Burn copies of bills in a metal trash can in the backyard. Make s’mores over the flames of the American healthcare system. Call it “Eating the Rich” even though you’re the ones getting eaten. Someone will cry. Probably about the bills, possibly about the s’mores.

7. Anesthesia Confessions Stand-Up Night

She said some shit while going under. The nurses have a group chat about it.

Everyone tells their best “high on medical drugs” story. That wisdom teeth situation where someone tried to fight the dentist for “stealing my bones.” The colonoscopy prep that made someone propose to a particularly supportive nurse. That appendectomy where someone insisted the surgeon looked like “Jesus but with better insurance.”

Your girlfriend judges while still kind of high, making her the only qualified judge.

Topics that kill:

• “Why are hospital gowns designed by someone who hates humans?”
• “The IV pole: my new best friend and life partner”
• “I rated my pain a 6 but it was definitely a 9, why do we lie?”
• “That surgical marker is definitely permanent, right?”

Record everything. She needs to know she told the anesthesiologist he had “dad hands but in a good way” and asked if he was single for her mom.

8. Spa Day But Everyone’s Winging It

Professional spas have licenses. Standards. People who know what “lymphatic drainage” means.

Yours has YouTube and confidence.

The ambiance is just whoever’s phone has the most battery playing “ocean sounds” that’s clearly just someone’s toilet running. The cucumber water is 90% cucumber, 10% water. Someone’s eating the face mask ingredients.

Nobody knows what they’re doing but everyone’s committed to the bit.

9. Binge-Watch Hostage Crisis

Pick the worst show in existence. Something with 900 episodes that should’ve ended 895 episodes ago. Something that jumped every shark in every ocean.

Rules:

• Pee breaks are group activities
• Build a conspiracy wall about background characters
• The delivery person becomes part of the squad
• Mandatory emotional investment in fictional relationships
• Sobbing is encouraged regardless of what’s happening on screen

By hour 47, someone’s written a dissertation about why two background characters who’ve never spoken are soulmates. Your girlfriend’s named every object in the room after characters. The pizza delivery guy knows everyone’s names and asks about the surgery.

This is friendship. This is dedication. This is concerning but nobody’s stopping now.

10. Extended Warranty Party

Her body just went through a factory recall. Parts were removed. Updates were installed.

Hand out certificates nobody asked for:

• “100,000 Mile Warranty” (ambitious)
• “Certified Pre-Owned” (rude but accurate)
• “Lemon Law Does Not Apply” (reassuring?)

Awards:

• “Best Pit Crew” (whoever brought the good snacks)
• “Worst Medical Advice” (essential oils person, every time)
• “Most Creative Misunderstanding of Female Anatomy” (there’s always one)

Everything’s deconstructed because that’s fancy now apparently. Deconstructed pizza (pile of ingredients). Deconstructed cake (flour in a bowl, eggs still in shells). Deconstructed party (everyone leaves immediately).

11. Chaos Tornado

Nothing about this party makes sense because nothing about life makes sense right now.

Breakfast at 11 PM. Everyone pretends it’s morning. Someone’s reading a newspaper from last week. The coffee’s Irish but nobody acknowledges it. Someone’s wearing sunglasses indoors. It’s dark outside. Nobody cares.

Musical chairs but there’s too many chairs. Everyone wins. Someone cries about it.

Piñata filled with batteries, sauce packets, and those tiny screwdrivers from when you bought glasses online. Everyone pretends this is normal and exciting.

Themes rotate every 20 minutes: Murder mystery (nobody dies). Wedding (whose?). Funeral (the uterus again). Bar mitzvah (nobody’s Jewish). Quinceanera (she’s 35).

The only rule? When she needs something, everyone responds immediately. She needs quiet? Instant silence. She needs to lie down? Everyone’s horizontal. She needs everyone gone? They vanish like they were never there.

Let’s Get Real for Exactly One Minute

This surgery isn’t just about removing body parts.

There’s identity crisis stuff. Hormone chaos that makes teenage puberty look organized. Grief over losing something she maybe didn’t even want. Relief that comes with guilt. That 3 AM spiral wondering if she’s “still a real woman” (she is, Jesus Christ).

Here’s the truth nobody wants to say: You’re going to fuck this up.

You’ll say the wrong thing. Buy the wrong ice cream. Invite the wrong people. Plan the wrong party. Make jokes when she needs serious. Be serious when she needs jokes.

That’s fine.

Actually helpful information:

• Two hours maximum or someone’s getting murdered
• Designate a party ender who’ll be the bad guy
• When she says she’s fine, she’s lying
• When she says GET OUT NOW, she’s not
• Her comfort wins over everything else, forever, the end

You know what? She just had organs removed. Her hormones are doing parkour. She’s dealing with more shit than most people handle in a decade.

The least you can do is throw a party that doesn’t suck.

Even if laughing hurts her stitches.

Especially then.