A place for endometriosis survivors & supporters, and all that goes with it.

Day 24: So here’s the story.

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I was so bloody tired from my cycle and my schedule that, despite having taken a nap on Sunday evening, when I finally went to bed for Monday I got out of bed around 1 p.m. (The glory that is a 4 p.m. work time!) I’d woken up around 9 a.m. to find that I had bled at least 22 mL in the last few hours, which I don’t think is that much, but it seemed like a lot for the time span. And I felt so drained. Very thankful for the craving that forced me to put some Winn-Dixie kielbasa in my freezer for when I really need the protein.

Frida Kahlo's 'At Henry Ford Hospital', 1932

And I am going to summarize my Monday because I’m not sure I want to get into all the gory details anymore:

-Went to work.

-Made a good catch on a factual/contact error in a story. Yay me. Starting to feel an internal struggle of knowing I’m in pain but it’s not severe pain but I still know I won’t be able to stop it. It’s going to be one of *those* nights.

-Wasn’t in an exceptional amount of pain and didn’t even take so much pain meds. But I was wholly distracted. Short stories took me the whole hour to read and I didn’t know what I was reading. I was getting tense and restless and confused because for the life of me, I could not concentrate on anything. Heating pad — worthless. Percocet — not even wanted. There’s a difference between being in pain and wanting a reliever and being in pain and careening toward Explosion Canyon because you know the pain reliever won’t relieve shit and the hot pads aren’t helping and basically there is nothing anyone can do to help you out, so what the fuck are you supposed to do with yourself now except soldier on?

-Soldiering on doesn’t work. I’m scrambling around every department looking for peppermint, peppermint for GOD’S SAKE somebody needs to dig a lint-covered old peppermint out of the bottom of their purse before this uterus-controlled woman throws up the very few things she’s been able to stomach in your desk. One of the Sports reporters goes out and buys me a bag of starlight mints and I am grateful. However, someone had come over a few minutes prior and asked if Maalox would help and I yelled at him that I was not pregnant. Embarrassed (both of us).

-It gets to be about 9:15 and I am internally panicked and pacing and just can’t see straight. I have a story to finish by 9:20 and I can’t understand the words on the screen in front of me. Page proofs get dropped on the desk in front of me and I start to cry — a very inappropriate reaction. My editor pulls me up by the shoulders and gets me away from my desk, he’ll take care of the proof, just go home. I march off; my coworkers say “she’s going home,” I say “I’m taking a break.”

-Break consists of me laying on the ground in a small back hallway, on my side and slightly curled, and crying. I am quickly found by another coworker, who steps over me and settles on the floor next to me and doesn’t say a lot for a while, but lets me cry and talk at my own schedule.

I can’t remember the last time I actually let myself cry. I don’t cry. It’s not OK for me to cry. It’s weak. And it’s been that way so long that it’s hard for me to do now — but once the crumble begins, it’s a real mourning.

-I talk and cry with my coworker. She listens carefully and patiently as I expel hopes and fears and Private Stories About Chanel that Nobody Wants to Hear. She shares a few things too and we even have a few laughs as my uterus claws against my insides like Rosemary’s baby. I rock and sit up and lay back down and get up again. No luck on the comfortable position. It’s decided that I won’t get much help from the E.R., so I should just go home.

-Waddling back to my desk, I see it’s been an hour. So much for “just a break.” Two coworkers escort me out — one drives my car and me home, the other follows behind. They walk me by the hand to my living room and don’t leave until they see me take off my shoes and sit on the couch with a blanket. (Good friends, good coworkers.) It’s not that I’m in danger of fainting, but that I’m so fucking tired as well as physically and emotionally drained. I’m glad I didn’t fight harder to drive myself home.

Everyone needs support now and then.

I took some meds, went to bed, had dreams full of heartache, didn’t do anything that didn’t have to be done today. Even things that did need doing are gone by the wayside. I am appalled at the amount of bleeding I’m having, especially now that this is my fifth day, and cannot believe the embarrassment I wrought for myself on the job last night. Today is going to be awkward and tiring and a bit intimidating.

I guess the theme of last night, which was repeated by several coworkers and myself (in my own thoughts), would have to be “You can’t live like this any more.”

So embarrassed that I couldn’t get through the night. And this left side of my pelvis just won’t shut up. SHUT THE FUCK UP, LEFT OVARY! You never have anything worth saying!

Honestly, ask yourself: Who would want a woman like me in their life?? I don’t even want me, and I am me.

I have a lot of thinking to do.


Author: endosucks

Endometriosis sucks. I'm here to help. on.fb.me/endosucks twitter.com/endosucks endosucks.wordpress.com

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