Stream of Consciousness: Day 1

Day 1: June 23, 2019

I'll preempt this post by letting my followers, of which there are none (yet), know that this is basically a word vomit of thoughts based around my deeply humbling and infuriating experience with endometriosis. I can say that my posts will have more of a focus as time goes on, but I am trying to be as open and candid as possible now so that perhaps one other person out there won't feel as alone as I do right now. If this post/blog reaches even one other woman, somewhere on this Earth, and provides some semblance of comfort knowing she is not alone in this pain, then that is the best possible outcome I could ask for. For now, please excuse my horrendous grammar and unfiltered stream of consciousness.

I call this day one, but really, it’s day one of writing about something that has affected me for more days than I can keep count. I remember sitting in the bathroom at my grandpa’s cottage on Lake Sunapee, on some day in the summer, with a “first period kit,” wondering how the hell I am supposed to get that up there. The cracked linoleum floor kept me company while I not-so-gently shoved a tiny tampon inside of my not-so-welcoming body. And so began my official journey into womanhood.

I can’t quite remember when I first realized that my periods weren’t “normal.” They started out heavy and painful, but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. Every month I’d bleed, every month I’d go through at least a package of super or super plus tampons, every month, I’d be miserable. I have seen so many doctors, gynecologists, specialists, nurse practitioners, and PAs at this point, that I’m not sure who finally told me there might something abnormal. Even then, all anyone could ever tell me was that I had “heavy periods.” No doctor even ordered an ultrasound or MRI to check for endometriosis until I was 23 years old. At that point, chronic pain had enmeshed itself into my daily routine. Now, at 29 years old, my pain has become almost unbearable.

I remember my mother once telling my that my grandmother had cramping in between her periods so bad, that childbirth was not even a big deal when it came. Mittelschmerz. That’s severe cramping between periods, also known as “painful ovulation.” When one faceless doctor told me this was what I was dealing with, it was almost a relief. Finally, a name to the demon in my belly. Pop two Aleve every eight hours starting two to three days before your period, doctor’s orders. Except my question to them was this: how can I take Aleve 2-3 days before my period, when I don’t even know when my next period is going to happen?

“Put it on your calendar. Keep track,” they told me.

Seeing no use in continuing the conversation with someone who clearly had their mind made up on a neat and tidy diagnosis, I walked out of the office with my shoulders sagging, morale lowered once again. I knew something wasn’t right with my body, but no one seemed to listen. No one, albeit my parents, has ever seemed to listen. Even they, however, cannot understand what this feels like. My body has become my enemy. Even now as I write this, searing pain in my left ovary present and accounted for, I am crying because no one understands me.

I am tired of being strong, of constantly toughing it out. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being in pain. Three weeks ago, a hemorrhagic cyst on my left ovary burst, causing excruciating pain below and around my belly button. Luckily, it wasn’t appendicitis. Just another day in my fucking wretched life of misery, of dealing with “lady problems.”

I am not suicidal, but I had thoughts today of how much easier life would be if I just didn’t have pain. If I hadn’t gained 40+ pounds in the last two years, largely due to a cornucopia of ever-changing medications and birth controls, stress, depression, chronic pain, chronic fatigue, and so on. Yes, I do feel sorry for myself. I’m exhausted with being told or expected to push through. I don’t want to get out of bed most of the time, let alone practice yoga (which I love), mountain bike (which I also love), or walk Indie. I feel useless. I feel unempowered. I feel hopeless. And I don’t feel like I have anyone who can help me, including me. I want to give up. I really do. I won't because I am stronger than this moment.