A year ago today, I walked out after an appointment I had such high hopes for. I had been referred to an obgyn within the practice where my primary care doctor is. I read the reviews about him, and I was hesitant, but I went.
I went with the support of my girlfriend.
I went with the support of my friends.
I went with the support of my parents.
I went with the support of my sister.
I went to this appointment with hope.
About ten minutes into the appointment, every thread of hope I was holding onto was gone.
Every hope I held onto was torn into shreds.
The day before, I had been in the emergency room, trying to make it another twenty four hours. I just had to hold onto this hope. I had to hold on. I told myself I had to.
When it became all too clear that this doctor was not going to help me in any way, I felt all this hope slip away.
He mentioned hysterectomy, but then refused to do the surgery. I was desperate for any relief. He said “yeah, we can do a hysterectomy, but I won’t do it.” He told me that I was “too young” and that the full hysterectomy would make my life worse. He told me that my breasts would sag because a hysterectomy would put my body into menopause.
He gave me no long term options. He threw a new prescription at me.
I walked into the hallway after the appointment, shaking, ready to break and asked him:
“Will you even consider doing a laparoscopy to treat endometriosis?”
His reply? “No, not at all.”
I walked out of that building with my sister, trying so hard to hold on. I was breaking down from the inside out.
No one cared. No one wanted to help me.
I was already passing time until the next time I had to go to the ER.
I was waiting for the moment where I passed out from bleeding so heavily for so long.
I was waiting for the next moment where the pain was so severe I threw up.
This had become my life.
I had been fighting for so long, and I didn’t want to live this way anymore.
365 days later . . .
I am still fighting.
I am counting down the next two weeks until I go in for a laparoscopy.
I fought for an entire year to get to where I am now.
I’ve had to cancel plans. I’ve been in and out of the ER. I’ve had doctor after doctor tell me they can’t help me. I’ve had a doctor who called me fat, and basically put up roadblock after roadblock, making it clear she had no intention to give me a long term plan.
I’ve watched my entire quality of life slip away.
With two weeks until surgery, it all still seems to surreal. It doesn’t seem like this is my life. It doesn’t seem like that I finally found a doctor who listened to me, who wants to help me live again. I sat on the exam table that morning, crying into a wad of tissue while she listened to me.
She gave me options.
She didn’t dismiss my pain and tell me that motrin and aleve would solve all the pain.
She listened. She cared.
With her and my surgical coordinator, I am getting ready for surgery.
I am exhausted. I’m in pain every single day. It has taken so much from me.
I’ve come an entire year with the support of my family, my friends. My girlfriend has been my number one support. She’s woken up to my texts when I can’t sleep because of the pain. She has seen me break down because of the pain. She has stood by my side when no one else was there.
She is the reason I am still standing tall today.
Without Molli, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
In two weeks, she will be be supporting me as I go into surgery. Something we have both been fighting for. When I couldn’t get up, she was there. On the nights I cried because of the pain, she was there. She even wrote a letter to my doctor, explaining how the disease has only gotten worse over the past year.
We are facing more than just surgery.
I am faced with over a month off. It wasn’t something we had expected. It wasn’t something we had planned. I know that I need this surgery, but I will admit that the thought of being off for that long is terrifying. I’m faced with the fact that I won’t be able to work. I’m faced with the fact that this will be a longer and harder recovery.
Yet, I found myself thinking today about what would have happened a year ago if someone had taken my pain seriously. I wonder about what kind of life I’d be living now. I wonder what my life would be like after having surgery before things got this bad.
I still need help. I still need support.
What may have happened a year ago may have changed things about where I am today.
I’ll never know.
In two weeks, I’ll wake up from surgery with a new outlook on life. I’ll wake up knowing that this surgery is happening. This surgery will help. I’ll walk through those hospital doors, knowing I fought long and hard for this day.
I’ll leave that hospital knowing I have a long, painful, exhausting and hard recovery ahead of me.
I still need your help. I still need your support. I am fighting daily.
Even if you cannot donate to the fund to help me get through being off work for so long, your support means the world to me. I can’t do this without you. Your love, support, encouragement helps. Even a dollar or five dollars helps. If you can’t donate, just knowing that I have your support is enough to keep me going for these next few weeks.