I had grand intentions with this blog, and life happened. Or it didn't, really. There isn't much interesting happening in my world, and while I love every minute of my life, I just can't imagine that it's that interesting to anyone else. We're not traveling the world, we don't have children who do cute things, I'm not crafting as much as I want to, and we're not even being all too adventurous in our kitchen. We've been working...a lot... a lot, a lot... And we binge watch Netflix when we're at home. No judging. You know you do, too.
I came back to the blog today in search of some sort of therapeutic, cathartic release, I think. Or maybe someone who is going through some of these same things will read it and know she isn't alone in the world. Or maybe those of you who do know what's going on will get a chance to hear me say something other than "I'm good. We'll be good."
It was never my intention to be negative here, so stop reading if you're only looking for the good things in my life. This isn't one of them. It is, though, what we're going through right now. It's real life, man.
When I was still teaching, my periods were growing increasingly uncomfortable. I was feeling like I needed to stay home from work for a day or two just because I felt wonky, and I hurt way more than I ever have. I ignored it, like you do, because who wants to talk about how horrific their periods have gotten? And who wants to call in because they have cramps? If there's one thing I've never been, it's an over-sharer. Yuck. I'm getting used to it now, though, and I think it's time to stop avoiding talking about something that affects so many people because it makes some of us uncomfortable.
One day, I woke up and went to the bathroom to pee, and as soon as I sat down, I thought I was going to pass out. The pain was...unbelievable; I felt pain from my feet to my ears. Adrenaline kicked in and allowed me to get to my phone and back to the bed so I could call someone, anyone to come over before I died alone in my jammies and in my mess of a house. Brian was at work, and I knew my mom wasn't quite there yet; she would still be getting ready or finishing her coffee. Sometimes you just need your mom, you know? I'm sure she was terrified at the sound of my voice, and she came to get me. Off to the ER.
A couple of doses of morphine, a catheter, and an ultrasound later, I was diagnosed with rupturing ovarian cysts and was told to follow up with my OB. Over the next few weeks (while I was in the process of preparing for my state counseling certification and applying for a new job), we ran more and more tests. I had two MRIs, numerous ultrasounds, and loads of painkillers. Initially, you have to wait to see what happens with this kind of thing. Will it happen again? Was it a one time thing? Some scans show lots of cysts, and some show nothing. It's unbelievable how tough it is to get a clear picture of what's happening to your body, and it's frustrating. My doctor was phenomenal, but not all of the physicians I saw were so great. I went back to the ER multiple times and was told that I was having gastrointestinal issues, I waited all night once for an ultrasound tech to tell me that I would never have children, and once that I was just cramping. I was sent home with ibuprofen.
While my doctor was incredible, those trips to the emergency room made me feel like a complete idiot. I've never been so humiliated as I was when I sat there and listened to a doctor tell me that "your period can be painful". I knew what was happening to me, and I knew that it wasn't okay, but there was nothing I could do but ask for something to help me with the amount of pain I was in, and when I felt that someone was being condescending, I would often get angry at first but then second-guess myself. Was I being unreasonable? Am I just a wuss?
After ER visit number 3 or 4, my doctor rushed to surgery. It was now or next week, she said. I was, after surgery, diagnosed with Stage IV Endometriosis. I still didn't really understand; I guess I still don't really understand. I have a way messed up reproductive system. My doctor got the cysts she could and drained what she couldn't remove safely. We were through step one.
After surgery, the end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013 were spent in a medically induced menopause. I had Lupron injections monthly. I freaked out before this part of my treatment started. I read stories about Lupron, and found nothing but horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE, stories of ruined relationships and miserable women forced into menopause by medicine. I didn't feel that I had a choice, though, if we were going to have children, and I trusted my doctor completely. The Lupron really wasn't bad for me. Sure, I had hot flashes, and maybe I got a little moody, but I was pain-free. For six months. It. Was. Incredible.
The idea was to have surgery, do the menopaus-y thing, and have kids naturally. Then, I'd have to have a hysterectomy because this Endometriosis thing? It's a life sentence. I had my last injection in March of 2013, and my doctor felt sure that all of this bought me a few years.
In May, I was back in the ER.
In June, I was referred to a specialist.
On Thursday, I had surgery number two.
We're starting the IVF process very soon. With each visit to the doctor, and every time I have a scan or a surgery, the news seems to change. Most often, things become more urgent. I'll know more soon?
I've never been the kind of girl whose biggest wish is to be a mother, so it's hard to say that it's soul-crushing news to hear that if that's in the cards for you, it will be extraordinarily difficult and expensive. But it still is. It's anxiety-inducing, heart-wrenching, stomach-achy news. It's hard to have a conversation with your husband about whether or not he wants to try to have biological children and hope that he is being honest with you and not just sparing your feelings because he loves you. It hurts to hear that the one thing your body is supposed to do just isn't possible without scientific intervention. It's not a decision you want to make. It's not one you want made for you, either. It feels easier to give up. It feels lonely.
Maybe you're going through the same thing? Maybe you know someone who is? It isn't just a disease that affects those who have it. It affects mothers, siblings, fathers, husbands, boyfriends, and friends of those who do. It's hard to know what to say when she has a bad day or feels overwhelmed by what's happening to her life, about what could happen. You do more than you know when you're supportive and loving and laugh at her jokes about her hostile ovaries. You make things better for a little while for her when she's feeling like her spirit isn't as bright or when her hopes aren't up by just lending a sympathetic ear. You make things better when you bring her fizzies after surgery.
I'm not the only one who has gone through this, I know. I'm not the last. My case isn't the worst. I haven't been told that I will never have children. I'm just sharing my experience with the hope that it might make me feel a little bit better. I'm giving this a fighting chance because I think I'll be a pretty kickass mom.
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