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The Never-Ending Plague That Is Endometriosis: Part I

The Never-Ending Plague That Is Endometriosis: Part I

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I started my period when I was 12 years old. Sadly, I didn’t even know that I was on my period – even after “the talk,” which wasn’t very helpful. I found dark brown clumps sitting in my underwear after basketball practice. It wasn’t until I got home and told my parents that I was finally told (for the very first time) that I was having my period.

This is OK, I thought. I wasn’t that uncomfortable and even though I had seen my mother in a lot of pain, I thought it would be fine.

The next period (the real full-blown one) was a nightmare.

The bleeding was heavy and constant, like a faucet. The pain was awful, but I was told that it was normal. I’d take some Advil or I’d take a nap. I was told exercise would help, but nothing really did.

While I was in Catholic school they wouldn’t allow students to bring pocketbooks or anything similar to the bathrooms. So on really heavy days, I had to get creative. I started wearing a heavy flow tampon, with three-to-four heavy, overnight pads layered on top of each other. This way, I could go to the bathroom and peel them off in layers. Then, I would hide one in my pocket. (This was just to get through the six-hour school day.)

As time went on, the pain got worse.

By the eighth grade, I had realized that wearing “comfortable” pants (baggy sweatpants) to school would only make me uncomfortable. Whenever I stood up, I felt as though I was wetting myself. I soon realized if I wanted that feeling to subside, I would need to wear regular-fitting jeans (even though I was bloated beyond belief).

My periods eventually caused more aggressive symptoms, like diarrhea and dark blood clots. I also experienced vomiting during the first few days of my period. By this time, I had already been to the ER (at least once), but everyone told me it was normal.

I went to see my general practitioner because my hair was falling out and I was gaining weight. They didn’t think any of this was a problem. By the time I was in ninth grade, the ER staff and I were pretty familiar with one another. I was even seen by a specialist for gastroenterology – I was tested for lactose intolerance and given a lower GI. 

Interestingly enough, when I was six months old my colon/large intestine telescoped into itself – this is called intussusception. They had to remove six inches of my large intestine and fuse me back together. While they were in there, they took out my appendix, for good measure.

It wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school that I received some kind of an answer.

An ultrasound revealed a cyst on my ovary. Boston’s Children’s Hospital sent me to their head of gynecology to monitor and treat the cyst. After listening to my grocery list of symptoms, he said: “I think you have Endometriosis.”

He prescribed regular birth control pills, but after a few weeks of misery, he scheduled my first laparoscopy.

The laparoscopy was successful; they found it! I did, in fact, have Endometriosis. I was also sad, though. While it was nice and oddly comforting to finally have a name attached to it, it was also depressing. I cried (and sometimes still do) after we discussed the never-ending plague that is Endometriosis. 

To be continued. . . 

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