So, it’s 10pm on a Tuesday night and I’ve just finished watching SBS’s Insight episode (watch it here) on Endometriosis. Less than five minutes in, my chest was tight, my mouth was dry and my head was racing.
Hearing stories from other women who have been dismissed, misunderstood and ignored for years sent me back to 2013/14, before I had learnt to manage my symptoms well. I had been experiencing level 6-7 pain every day for a few years now.
As I watched Insight, one memory jumped in front of me, waving its arms, demanding my attention. What better way to process this loud and intrusive memory than to share it by telling Another Endometriosis Story?
I was living in a granny flat with my mum, under my aunties house. My mum was out for the night, I had the place to myself. I decided to have a shower before going to bed. My body started to relax as the warm water was cascading down and I could smell the sweet fragrance of my strawberry body wash…
BAM. OUCH! FAR OUT!!!
I hit the shower floor as my pelvis was stung with a sharp, intense pain.
I’m not sure how long I lay curled up on the shower floor, the water now feeling like small bullets hitting my back before I was able to reach the tap to turn it off. Somehow, I managed to wrap myself in a towel and attempted to get into my bed – I limped about 5 steps before I collapsed to the floor again, wearing nothing but a towel.
My aunty and uncle were home upstairs. I cried out ‘help’ as I yelled in agony. Surely someone would hear me or come downstairs to use the laundry. Surely. This continued what felt like an eternity. No one was coming downstairs.
I finally noticed my phone on the floor, about 5 meters away from me. I curled into child’s pose, closed my eyes and did some deep breathing, preparing my body to be dragged across the floor with the little strength I had. I may have added carpet burn to the mix, but I had my phone. I called my aunties home number – my uncle answered, ran downstairs and yelled for my aunty. He phoned for an ambulance while she dressed me. Together they lifted me from the floor and manoeuvred me to the bed.
We waited until that glorious green whistle was in my hand and the methoxyflurane powder was in my lungs, numbing the pain (not completely, but enough). My aunty and I managed to explain my medical history, that I had Endometriosis and PCOS – but as is with many of us EndoSisters, that probably caused more harm than good. You know, those painful periods – suck it up. It’s just hysteria or hormones.
That night I lay in A&E being injected with morphine, crying and unable to sleep because the pain wouldn’t relinquish. Eventually, I insisted my aunty go home and get some rest. In her absence, the nurses tried to ignore me and any interaction I did have, I was labelled a liar, a drug addict and a drama queen. I was told that if I stopped crying I would experience pain relief. The crying stopped, the pain didn’t.
The sun eventually rose and I was beyond exhausted, completely drained. Surprise, Surprise – my blood tests showed nothing, I was a perfect bill of health. The registrar on duty and I briefly chatted before discharging me with some tramadol and a ‘good luck.’ No pain clinic referral, no gyno consult, no GP letter, no ultrasound – nothing. Just a painkiller that interacted dangerously with my other medications and a token pleasantry.
I wish I could say this is my only traumatic endo-pain-flare-up story, but it’s not. It wasn’t the first time and it’s definitely not the last. In Australia, we grow up learning that doctors and nurses are safe people and that hospital is a safe place to go when you’re not well. Sadly, healthcare professionals can sometimes be the worst perpetrators* in stories where women are demoralised, dehumanised, undermined, ignored and accused of lying about their pain. Sadly, our hospitals are not trained and equipped to treat chronic pain ethically and effectively. Sadly, hundreds of thousands (I feel like this is a conservative number) of women with genealogical disease and pelvic pain are treated this way.
Sister, you are not alone in your physical pain, your wounded heart or your endo-story. They estimate there are 176 million of us worldwide. 1 in 10 women is a LOT and every time the media shines a light on Endometriosis, the world becomes a little less ignorant and grows a little more compassionate. So, Sister, please continue to tell this story we share.
Friends, please listen to our stories and believe our pain is real and don’t compare any of us to another individual. If you don’t understand; ask questions, listen well and continue to learn about this silent epidemic – because 1 in 10 women have Endo. So, if you know 10 women, you know Endometriosis.
*I know this is a bold statement – there are some wonderful, empathetic, humble and knowledgeable ones out there. I have an amazing healthcare team around me and I am forever grateful for them.