By Molly Lee
The month of March marks Endometriosis awareness month. The gynaecological condition affects one in ten women in the UK. Unfortunately, I’m one of those people. There is no cure for Endometriosis – treatment consists of hormone management, pain killers and a laparoscopy (keyhole surgery to try and remove as much as possible). Here is my surgery experience.
My throat is dry, presumably from the breathing tube. My eyes are bleary from not having my glasses on and the bright lights. My nausea begins to kick in as the anaesthesia wears off.
I’m being wheeled back to my room, where my mum is on the phone to my dad, worried about how long I had been gone for.
“I’m okay. Mum, I’m okay,” I say, sounding high as a kite.
Mum smiles, relieved. But that is when the pain hits. It feels like my whole stomach is being ripped open by a maniac. I double over as tears stream down my face.
That was me waking up from an unexpectantly long surgery on Wednesday, November 24, 2023.
Ever since I was a pre-teen, I struggled severely with painful periods that would debilitate me for three quarters of the month. Countless pills, herbal remedies, stretches and breakdowns later, I found myself waiting for confirmation in my post-surgery recovery room at the hospital.
Confirmation of Endometriosis. The Big Bad Wolf in my not-so-fairytale life.
In the UK, one in ten women suffer from Endometriosis. On average, it takes eight years and ten months from first GP visit to receive a diagnosis (Endometriosis UK).
The not-so-funny thing is that at the age of 19, despite seven years of suffering, I wasn’t even supposed to have a gynaecology referral, let alone a diagnostic laparoscopy.
The wait for my surgery results was excruciatingly long – especially due to the amount of pain I was in, the lack of pain medication and the world’s driest cheese sandwich ever.
Yes, you read that right. I had the world’s driest cheese sandwich at hospital. Did I eat it? Some. I forced it down my even drier throat because I knew they wouldn’t discharge me until I had eaten something.
So down my throat the cheese sandwich went, along with four cups of tea.
My face truly lit up when the tea lady offered me a Lemon Drizzle cake. I was salivating at the thought of it. A moist, zingy cake to get me through the next few hours of waiting.
Shock horror. The cake was abysmally dry too.
After several hours of me ensuring I had ticked off everything on the list so I could be discharged in the evening, my gynaecologist’s interns entered my room.
Before they even started talking, I interrupted.
“You found it. You found Endo didn’t you? And let me guess it was near my pelvis?
“I knew it,” I said with as much of a smile I could manage.
I was right. Finally, after years and years, I had my told you so moment.
Surgery went relatively well, although much longer than average. They used diathermy to burn away the Endometriosis tissue, sewed me up with disposable stitches (thankfully) and I was able to go home.
I was proud. Not only that I was right after years of fighting, but for also not throwing up at all. Well, that pride didn’t last long.
I hobbled to dad’s car, ready to get some McDonalds and go home. The car vents were blasting heat at me, as dad didn’t want me to be cold. But then it hit me. The slight watering in your mouth as your body’s way of telling you that you needed to throw up.
Very indignantly, I threw the car door and threw up on a pavement outside someone’s house, crying out that I wasn’t drunk. I can’t go down that road without having flashbacks now.
Yes, I did still have McDonalds that night.
Now, that was far from the end of my surgery recovery. Three weeks was the estimated recovery time which meant three weeks of university via Microsoft Teams. More than three weeks of me being very aware of my own bellybutton (it’s best that you don’t ask why). And more than three weeks of frustration.
What made the whole recovery period worse was the timing. It was the festive season. I was unable to work part-time and was unable to do my usual Christmas preparation. My mum let me help put the Christmas decorations up, which is a first, and probably, the last. And by helping, I was simply unwrapping baubles while I was wrapped up in a blanket and dosed up on Paracetamol and Ibuprofen on the sofa.
I think the reason why I am writing this column is for two reasons.
- A laparoscopy is not the cure for Endometriosis. There is no cure. Did it help relieve my symptoms for a while? Yes. But I’m back on the waiting list to a gynaecology department at a different hospital. This is why research into the condition is so desperately needed and why Endometriosis awareness month is so important.
- I had a laparoscopy surgery at the age of 19. I’m thankful that my parents have taught me and helped me fight for my health. Not everyone has that, and that is why it can take so long for a diagnosis. 19 is a young age for a diagnosis, as many don’t receive one until their late 20s.
So, if you learn one thing from this. Fight. Not physically. But fight for your health. Make those phone calls to your GP and your hospital. Keep bugging them because you have every right to fight for your health.
You are not alone.
Photo by Tara Winstead: https://www.pexels.com/photo/yellow-ribbon-on-white-background-8385472/
