Secondary Conditions: Chronic Fatigue Syndrome

I’ve written a lot about endometriosis.  I’ve also written about some of the “side-effects ” people with endo often suffer, such as back pain, digestive issues, and gastritis.  Now I want to write a little series on other chronic conditions that often appear alongside endometriosis.  Today, it’s myalgic encephalitis (ME), better known as chronic fatigue syndrome, aka CF or CFS.

Like most chronic illnesses, chronic fatigue can be mildly described as a massive pain in the posterior.  It’s exactly what it sounds like – extreme exhaustion that varies from sporadic to constant.  Have you ever had glandular fever, and had that dreadful, bone-aching exhaustion that drives you back to bed, on the verge of tears from sheer tiredness, just two hours after a 16-hour sleep?  I’m told its much like that.  In fact, chronic fatigue can often develop after a bout of glandular fever.  In other words, to describe CF as mere constant tiredness is inaccurate.  It’s crushing.  It doesn’t get better with rest, and it gets worse with lack of rest.  My own bout of glandular fever has given me a healthy fear of chronic fatigue.  I’ve never felt so horrific and disconnected in all in my life, and I only had it for nine months.  CF can be limited in duration, but it can also last for years, or for a lifetime.  Anyone of any age can contract it, even children.

This exhaustion may be the only symptom sufferers endure, but others may experience headaches, dizziness, weakness, nausea, light-headedness, aching muscles, joint pain, sore throats and tender lymph nodes, as well as trouble remembering, concentrating, or forming sentences (brain fog).  Unfortunately, most of these are also symptoms of glandular fever or even influenza, so it is worth speaking to your doctor to rule those two out.  Glandular fever can be confirmed with a simple blood test.  Indeed, excluding other conditions, such as anaemia, is the only way to arrive at a CF diagnosis, as there is no one test to confirm that you have it.

There’s also no known reason as to why people develop it.  Like most of the illnesses I’ve discussed in this series, it appears to affect those of the XX persuasion more than the XYs.  Its onset it sometimes linked to physical stressors, such as infections, imbalanced gut flora, and hormones doing wacky things, as well as just plain stress.  However, we’ve yet to identify a single factor that guarantees you’ll get it, and having any or all of the above doesn’t mean you’re automatically going to.

As you can imagine, the impact of severe chronic fatigue is devastating.  It can totally prevent normal socialising, normal functioning – normal anything.  It leaves people without the strength or energy to do much more than maintain the physical functions, and I’m told even that can be a stretch on bad days.  Even those less severely impacted suffer the impacts on their work and social life, particularly as it can strike at any time of day.  For those whose friends or family suffer it, prepare to extend a lot of patience, sympathy, grace, and practical assistance wherever you can.

So, what’s the good news?  Unfortunately, it isn’t that there’s a cure.  There isn’t.  There’s also no one treatment.  Really, the news isn’t that good.  Treatments are largely changing lifestyle factors – ensuring a healthy diet, planning your day around periods you tend to have more or less energy, pacing yourself carefully, and practising good sleep hygiene, including avoiding caffeine or naps late in the day.  Gentle exercise may help some, but for those who suffer Post-Exertional Malaise (an increase in exhaustion after activity) will probably not benefit.  Symptoms such as headaches etc can be treated with painkillers.

The most important thing, as I understand it, is having support.  Supportive friends, a supportive workplace, but most of all, support from people who get it.  I think that’s true of most chronic illnesses – to have even just one person who knows what it’s like can be a huge relief.

Do you have chronic fatigue?  What was the trigger for you in developing it?  Do you have any coping strategies you can share?  Let me know in the comments.

 

Secondary Conditions: Fybromyalgia

I’ve written a lot about endometriosis.  I’ve also written about some of the “side-effects ” people with endo often suffer, such as back pain, digestive issues, and gastritis.  Now I want to write a little series on other chronic conditions that often appear alongside endometriosis.  Today, it’s fibromyalgia, aka fibro, FM, or FMS.

Before I carry on, I just want to apologise for this post being a little tardy – I’ve been very sick with a nasty, persistent cold and some rather bad flare-ups, so I haven’t had any energy to spare for writing this week.  I suspect there will just be one post next week as well, so bear with me for a bit whilst I recover.

Of all the chronic conditions that people with endo often end up with, fibro is probably the one I fear the most.  The reason for that is that my endo pain is generally confined to my torso, and at worst may cause shooting pains in the legs.  Fibro is just pain everywhere.  All over.  Muscles, joints, bones, the whole shebang.  Imagine that – pain embedded in your skeleton.  It can be limited to just a few spots on the body, true, but it can also effect the whole body at once.  People who have fibro have described it to me as hellish, rendering them completely unable to move.

In addition to pain, it can cause such delightful symptoms as tingling, muscles that twitch, cramp or go suddenly weak, headaches, dizziness, generalised weakness, sensory overload, impaired concentration so bad you can hardly string a thought together (aka brain fog), insomnia, restless sleep, intolerance of hot or cold, stiffness, irregular periods, depression, bowel troubles, bladder issues and more.  Doesn’t it just sound like a hoot?

Of course, the best part is that, just like endometriosis, we don’t know what causes it, and there is no cure.  We do know that stress exacerbates it and there seems to be a link between onset and physical trauma, but not all physical traumas cause fibro and not all people who suffer from fibro have experienced a physical trauma.  We also know you’re more likely to suffer from it if you’re a woman (80-90% of sufferers are female).

Because of the wide variety of exciting symptoms, fibro can be difficult to diagnose.  There’s no conclusive test, even through surgery.  It’s mostly a case of ruling out other causes for pain.  Unfortunately, this can often result in delays of diagnosis for sufferers of fibro.

The treatment is also difficult.  Mostly, it’s lifestyle management, like identifying and avoiding triggers (difficult to do when triggers can be things like, well, moving).  Many doctors recommend physio and gentle exercise, such as water-based exercise, yoga, or tai chi.  It’s also recommended to eat well, avoid stress (lol) and get plenty of rest (extra lol). (I note that I am laughing at how they make that sound so easy, not the idea itself – lots of rest and minimising stress are important in battling any chronic condition). Unfortunately, some things that can cause flare-ups can’t be avoided, such as weather changes (yes, seriously), and travelling.

There are medical treatments as well.  Some people can get along well with panadol and ibuprofen, but others may need to resort to stronger drugs like pregabalin and gabapentin.  Like treatment for endo, it can get expensive quickly.

The connection between endo and adeno and endo and PCOS probably seemed quite logical, but why have I linked endo and fibro?  Well, because studies suggest people with endo are more likely to suffer from fibro.  We’re also more likely to get chronic fatigue, a condition we tend to have in common with fibro sufferers, and which I will be writing about next.

I live in deep admiration for people with fibro, especially those who also suffer from endometriosis.  I have a really hard time sometimes just dealing with one condition.  I know how deeply it impacts every aspect of my life, from my relationships to my job.  Fibro just seems like…what fresh hell is this?  I know how you get through it – you have to, and do you do – but I am in such awe of your strength and willpower.  Keep fighting, my friends.

Do any of my readers have fibro?  I would love it if you could share your experiences with diagnosis, treatments, and just life with fibro generally in the comments.

 

Secondary Conditions: Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome

I’ve written a lot about endometriosis.  I’ve also written about some of the “side-effects ” people with endo often suffer, such as back pain, digestive issues, and gastritis.  Now I want to write a little series on other chronic conditions that often appear alongside endometriosis.  Today, it’s polycystic ovarian syndrome, aka PCOS.

What is PCOS? Well, it’s a condition whereby the ovaries become enlarged and prone to cysts. Tiny little follicles grow on the ovaries, containing partially formed eggs that rarely grow to maturity or become fertile. The body produces too much insulin and androgen (a male hormone).

PCOS can cause weight gain, excessive hair growth on the body, hair loss on the scalp, depression, sleep apnea, acne, pain, infertility , increased likelihood of diabetes, and irregular periods.  It’s a nasty disease and the side effects (wrongly) carry a lot of social stigma.

Like adeno and endo, no one is really 100% sure what causes PCOS. It does appear to run in families and is more likely to effect women who are overweight, but neither of these is a guarantee of getting it, nor are slender people with no family history automatically exempt. What we do know is estimates suggest it could effect as many as 20% of people with ovaries of reproductive age, and often goes undiagnosed.

As with any disease where weight increase is both a symptom and increases the risk of either contracting the disease or exacerbating the symptoms, doctors will urge sufferers to make healthy lifestyle choices, particularly around diet and exercise. Not for a moment will I pretend this is a bad idea.  Sufferers can achieve significant relief from symptoms with only a small amount of weight loss (which sounds a lot easier than it is when your own body is fighting you every step of the way).  However, I do urge people not to allow doctors to attribute everything to their weight and offer no other assistance. Hormonal treatments can also be an important part of dealing with PCOS, both to block and to raise different hormones.

It’s also a good idea to have a mental health professional as part of your treating team. Dealing with difficult symptoms that our society wrongly but consistently perceives as “gross” or symbolic of laziness is hard enough. Dealing with a disease that also can cause depression is an extra battle you shouldn’t have to fight alone.

Before you can start to be effectively treated, however, you need to be diagnosed. There is no 100% guaranteed method of diagnosis. Scans may show cysts on your ovaries, but you can have ovarian cysts without having PCOS. Likewise, you can have PCOS but not have anything visible on scans. You can also have blood tests that will look at hormone levels in your blood to see what, if anything, is elevated.  Like endo, though, it can just be a lot of guesswork and diagnoses are often based purely of reported symptoms.

Endometriosis and PCOS, unfortunately, often travel in packs, and it is relatively common to have both.  However, plenty of people only deal with one or the other.  I’m lucky enough not to have had to deal with PCOS. I have friends, acquaintances and possibly family members with it, and their experiences have ranged from annoying to devastating. Have any of my readers experienced PCOS? What was your path to diagnosis?  If anyone wants to write a guest post about how PCOS really feels on a day to day basis, I’d love to publish it.

Secondary Conditions: Adenomyosis

I’ve written a lot about endometriosis.  I’ve also written about some of the “side-effects ” people with endo often suffer, such as back pain, digestive issues, and gastritis.  Now I want to write a little series on other chronic conditions that often appear alongside endometriosis.  Today, it’s endometriosis’ sister, adenomyosis.  

A week ago I mentioned that I have a tentative diagnosis of adenomyosis. My doctor suggested this after surgery has failed to resolve my pain and swelling despite all endometriosis having been removed and nerve pain being largely ruled out. He is the first to suggest that adenomyosis may be mucking around in my uterus.

But what is adenomyosis, aka adeno?

Well, you know how endo is when endometrium-like material grows wherever it wants instead of where it should? Adenomyosis is where it grows inside the uterine wall. Not inside the uterus, where it could be handily dug out, but inside the muscle wall itself.

Image result for adenomyosis
Image description: a diagram of a normal uterus next to a uterus with adenomyosis in the uterine wall.  Image credit: https://step2.medbullets.com/gynecology/120209/adenomyosis

I’m told it’s in the name – adeno (gland), myo (muscle) and osis (condition).

Like endo, adeno can only properly be diagnosed through surgery, although symptoms, transvaginal ultrasounds and MRIs can all offer diagnostic clues.

Symptoms are similar to those of endo – bleeding, pain, swelling. The usual culprits. It usually appears hand in hand with endo, but not always. You can have just one or the other. It can also be masked by the presence of endometriosis. The possibility of me having it wasn’t even raised by doctors until we were sure all my endo was gone and I was still having pain.

Unfortunately, the fact that it is buried inside the wall of an organ is problematic when it comes to treatment. Endo, at least, only requires the sufferer to have some holes bored in their abdomen so surgeons can get into the pelvic cavity. On the plus side, adeno can be cured by a hysterectomy, unlike endo. Other treatments include IUDs, menopause, and keyhole surgery.

Surgery itself comes in a variety of forms for adeno. As mentioned, there’s a full-blown hysterectomy (typically a last resort). Another option is uterine artery embolisation, or UAE, which blocks the two main arteries supplying blood to the uterus. With these blocked, bloodflow is significantly reduced (although not totally inhibited) and the adeno is also starved of blood. It’s not a cure and it may require repeat surgeries.

The other option is myometrium resection, or adenomyoma resection, which focuses on the removal of large clumps of adeno, known as adenomyoma. Unfortunately, it targets only those clumps and won’t get tiny bits scattered across the uterus. It can improve pain and fertility, but also carries the risk of the uterine muscle being torn or weakened, and may increase the risk of miscarriage. As usual, all our treatment options are an exercise in trade-offs.

What causes it? Well, like endo, that is something of a mystery. Current wisdom indicates that some type of trauma to the uterus, such a childbirth or surgery (such as removal of endometriosis) can encourage it. Isn’t that a fun piece of irony?

All in all, there’s a lot of similarities with endometriosis, and not in a good way. To most endometriosis sufferers, I suspect being told they also have adenomyosis will just feel like another hurdle in a very long and bumpy road rather than a new road altogether. For others, it will be devastating news – here’s another lifelong illness.  I’ll admit I shed some tears.

For me, the next step is to get my pain more under control and confirm the diagnosis so we can respond as effectively as possible. I’ll keep the blog updated on how things go.

Do any of my readers also suffer adeno, or suffer it without endo? What have your experiences been? I’d love to learn more as I’m very new to this.

Dear Ella: What I Wish You Knew

It was June 2016 that I was first diagnosed with endometriosis. Since then I have learned a lot of things that I desperately wish I could go back and tell that young woman. If I could, these are some of the things I’d really want her to know. Some of them are personal to me, but most of them have fairly general applicability.

1) Don’t go to that doctor

I had no idea back then that there were different types of gynaecological specialities. I thought it was all much of a muchness. I was originally diagnosed and operated on by a fertility specialist. Whilst she knew about endometriosis, as any gynaecologist should, endometriosis was not her primary area. I don’t know if my increase in suffering after that operation was due to a lack of knowledge and skill on her part, her preference for surgery rather than attempting to manage the condition with medication first, or simply something that would have happened regardless of who I saw. Whichever, I wish I’d seen someone else, because when the problems arose, she was stumped and essentially told me she had no idea how to help me. Which leads me to…

2) Don’t have the surgery

I honestly thought I’d tried every medication I could to reduce my period pain and that surgery was the only option open to me now (an illusion that the abovementioned doctor did nothing to dispel). Whilst surgery is incredibly useful for many people, it was devastating for me and I wish I had been given other alternatives to at least try.

3) Find a doctor that you can trust

I don’t know if I could have done anything about this sooner than I did, because it took a while for me to realise each medical relationship wasn’t working, but I wish I had been with Dr Edi-Osagie from the start. I have yet to present a problem that he hasn’t been willing to try and beat or said something he hasn’t listened to. Previous doctors have either been stumped by my issues or decided that they’ve given me sufficient quality of life and I just need to be satisfied with that. I’m not, and neither is Dr Edi-Osagie. I trust him, and that’s a big deal.

4) Trust yourself more

Endometriosis is one of those diseases that plays tricks on your mind. There’s few visible symptoms, and people around you question and downplay your pain. This makes it very easy to doubt what you are feeling and convince yourself that you are wrong about the severity of your pain and the appropriateness of your reaction to it. The gaslighting effect is horrible and I think it causes delays in getting effective treatment. If I had had more trust in myself, I may not have had a better medical outcome, but I would have been a lot happier.

5) Be prepared for physical changes

I’ve been really struggling with body image (again) lately. Being in menopause has me putting on weight even though I’m exercising regularly and eating well (and yes, my caloric output exceeds my input by a decent margin). Between that and the swelling, I feel a bit like a pig, only without their body confidence and contentment. I wish I could brace my old self for those changes and revel in the body I had while I had it. Not just for looks, too – I’d take it for more runs just to feel the power in my legs, and lift more weights to experience that satisfying burn in my arms.

6) Do your research in the right places

Scouring WebMD for the clinical definition of endo doesn’t prepare you for what it is actually like. Even the list of symptoms is not exhaustive, and some website actually provide complete misinformation (the most common being that pregnancy or hysterectomy will cure you). The best source of information I have ever found is my local endo support group. I have learned so much from them and I should have joined and engaged the second I was diagnosed, checked if I was seeing the right doctor and being given accurate advice, and built connections with women who could help me.

7) Do better record-keeping

This is still something I could improve upon. Record-keeping on both a micro and macro level is really useful. By macro I mean having all your medical records collated and a timeline of major events (diagnoses, procedures, dates of starting and stopping medication). This makes it super easy for you and your doctors to review your history at a glance. By micro, I mean tracking your food, sleep, stress, exercise, mood and pain. This helps alert you to trends and triggers, which teaches you how to help yourself better by avoiding stuff that hurts and engaging in stuff that helps.

8) Understand that your life will change

The biggest thing I was unprepared for was how much I wouldn’t be able to do. I took it for granted that I could sit at a desk for hours at a time, walk 5km and then eat a garlicky meal with onions and beans. I took it for granted that I could shower at the end of a long day. Never did I think I’d become an occasional wheelchair user. I thought I’d be diagnosed, cured, and that was that. In fact…

9) Realise that a diagnosis is just the beginning

If you get a diagnosis and if that diagnosis is confirmed, that is not the beginning of the end. It is not as simple, sadly, as problem then solution. It is problem then several attempts at solutions and then many sub-problems, all requiring different solutions, some of which are in conflict with each other. It is not a simple journey, and while a diagnosis offers some hope, it is not a fait accompli from thereon out. I want to go back and seriously manage 25-year-old me’s expectations.

However…

10) A diagnosis is not the end

I cried the day I was diagnosed. It is scary being told that you have a disease that you didn’t know was there, even if you expected it. It is even scarier realising that you have it for life. I cannot properly convey the enormity of that. It’s not the end, though. Life may be very, very different after a diagnosis, and it may well be harder, but you also learn a lot of things about love, true friendship, your own abilities and limits, and weird medical facts. You have to change your life in a hundred annoying ways, but it does become the new normal and you learn to live with the differences. Endo is chronic but not terminal. While there’s life, there’s hope.

What do you wish you could say to your younger, pre-diagnosis self? Would you do anything differently?

Christmas Giveaway!

It’s finally December, which means it’s nearly Christmas!  I love Christmas.  It’s my favourite holiday of the year and I love the atmosphere of family, happiness and giving that I associate with it.  I want to share some of that with my readers, so I am very excited to announce the first big event for this blog: a Christmas Giveaway!  I foreshadowed this and I am really hoping that it benefits the winner.

But the important question is: what do you win?

My friends, you win a Painmate, valued at $50.

PAINmate TENS Machine
Image description: Painmate, a portable TENS device.

I’ve mentioned this little trooper before.  It’s a battery-powered, stick-on TENS device that you can wear under your clothes.  It’s very discreet and has a whole range of power settings, from barely-even-tickles to I-can’t-feel-my-legs.

The next important question is: how do you win it?

My friends, you win it in three simple steps:

  1. Follow this blog;
  2. Follow Bubbles in the Brain on facebook;
  3. Comment on this post with your facebook name so I can verify that you have done both.

The winner will be drawn randomly through the very sophisticated method of putting all your names in a bowl and picking one with my eyes closed on 15 December. I will then contact the winner to organise delivery of your prize!

Is there a catch?  Yes, there is.  This giveaway is only open to people in Australia (sorry!) due to exorbitant international shipping.  I’m hoping that future giveaways will be able to be open to all, but go easy on me, it’s my first one.  This will be a nice change for Australians, as typically we don’t get to participate in things for the same reason.

Tip for the Painmate: whilst you will need to buy spare battery packs to get new sticky pads, the batteries run out faster than the pads.  If you just need a new battery, buy a cheap packet of watch batteries from the supermarket in the right size.  They are far cheaper and last longer.

Happy nearly-Christmas!

 

Pills and Thrills

CW: drug use

Does anyone else get really really annoyed at the number of side-effects doctors expect us to tolerate?  

I warn you now, this is a rant and not a useful post.

On Sunday night I was in bad pain.  I don’t really know why or what was causing it, but I knew it hurt more than I could cope with and that I needed to be at work the next day.  So I did what I have been told to do when the pain gets really bad, and took some tramadol.  

I haven’t taken tramadol in a long time because it has a habit of making me a bit whacked out.  I avoid endone for much the same reason.  Both make me spacey and sleepy but send my mind racing at a million miles an hour, leaving my super-active brain stuck in a body that feels like it is suffering sleep paralysis.  I also don’t feel that they have much of an impact on my pain levels.  The next day I feel weak and shaky.  I don’t really like either of them.  Also, they both make you constipated.

Sunday night took things to a new level.  I took my tramadol at around 9pm.  I was fine at first in terms of side-effects and went to bed with a heatpack to wait the pain out. Half an hour later I was genuinely concerned that the doctors had replaced my innocent painkillers with hardcore hallucinogens.  

I’ll preface the rest of my experience by saying I’ve never taken illicit drugs of any kind.  I’ve never even been drunk.  I have no interest in perception-altering substances, so drug users out there may read this and go, “ah, you innocent child, thinking this is bad.”  I don’t know.  My poor little mind was bending.  

By midnight I was still not asleep.  My brain had carried out a really, really detailed mediation between my cat and my dog.  I could talk to animals, you see.  I forced myself to get up and go to the loo and was swaying like a drunk woman.  I could feel the world tilting, melting and floating around me, like my foothold on the earth was tenuous at best.  

When I got back to bed, I started crying because I felt like my arms were melting into one another, and I couldn’t tell my elbows apart.  I felt like my hands were on backwards.  I was being eaten by the bed.  I couldn’t move.  I could just about articulate to my husband what was happening, and I know I sounded pathetic and barely coherent.  

I was awake, my mind racing and my body distorting, until around 4am.  It was nightmarish.  I felt like I was living the Coraline movie.  

When I woke up the next morning, my body was wracked by tremors and I was so weak I could barely hold my phone to send an email to work saying I’d be late.  I was dizzy and nauseous.  The whole day I was tired and weak, couldn’t eat properly until mid-afternoon, and was really struggling to articulate my thoughts.  I would just lose the ability to say things halfway through the sentence, even though my brain was making the right pictures.

The only thing that made my pain reduce?  Time.  And quite frankly, even if the tramadol had worked, I’m not sure it would be worth the hassle.  

I know that I’m far from the only person to experience problems with the pills meant to relieve pain.  I’m far from the only person to have horrible side-effects with something as fundamental to the treatment of endometriosis as hormonal birth control.  I consider the issues I get – bloating, abdominal pain, tender breasts, mood swings, weird cravings, reduced energy – to be relatively minor, because we are told they are common and not really worth troubling a doctor about.  

Why are we expected to have to deal with this?  Why must sick people choose between pain and suffering from their illness and pain and suffering from their treatment?  Why am I in the situation where I’m forced to call in sick, not because I am ill, but because I attempted to use my prescribed medication?  Why, if I go to the emergency department, will I be offered endone as my only option, and be kicked out as soon as I take it?  What else can I possibly do?

Gosh, I hate endo.  

Total Pelvic Peritoneal Excision: One Month On

One month ago today I had the surgery I desperately wanted.  Regular readers will know that, sick of incredibly debilitating pain and sick of being told to wait it out, I contacted Dr Edi-Osagie in England and asked him to undertake a surgery I couldn’t get an Australian doctor to do: Total Pelvic Peritoneal Excision (TPPE).  Today I want to share with you my experience of this surgery and my recovery over the past month.

Unlike a normal excision, which simply digs individual lesions out of the peritoneum, or lining, of the organs and pelvic wall, TPPE also removes the peritoneum so that endo has nothing to grow back on.  In my case, the good doctor did this to the back of my uterus and my urethra, which was where the endometriosis was growing in my case.  

I much preferred the preparation for the surgery than what we have in Australia.  In Australia, you have to drink a variety of icky liquids that give you appalling diarrhoea, and not eat for a day. For this surgery, I simply fasted overnight and had an enema.  Embarrassing?  A little.  But honestly, I’d rather have a nice professional nurse sticking whatever it was up my bottom than drink litres of glop so foul-tasting that it’s even odds as to whether you expel your insides through your mouth or your backside.  For those who’ve never had surgery, I cannot properly convey how bad that stuff tastes, particularly when you haven’t been able to eat all day, and have been on “white foods” only before that.

The day before the surgery I had all my testing and whatnot, and the day of I met a whole reel of nurses, my anaesthetist, and finally, Dr Edi-Osagie. Due to distance, we’d only chatted on Skype before this.  He is as lovely in person as he seemed on the computer, and was very careful to ensure that I understood what was going on and had no fears about it.  He was very thorough in his post-surgery explanation too, taking me through all the photos of my innards (which I got to keep!) and, unlike many surgeons, waiting until I was awake and functional before speaking to me. I’ve had previous surgeons explain to me while I’m still drifting in and out of an anaesthetic haze, and by the time I woke up properly, I would only retain about 1/10th of what they were saying.  By waiting til the next day, Dr Edi-Osagie ensured I actually would remember and understand what he said.  

Initial recovery from was painful, although no worse than my last excision.  As with last time, I woke up in recovery with the shakes.  Jury is out on whether this is pain or cold or both, but an extra warm blanket and having control of my own morphine supply sorted it out.  I remained fairly dependant on the morphine until mid-afternoon, but after that did not need to use it again.  By the evening I was sitting up and had my catheter removed so I could use the toilet independently.  By mid-morning the next day, I was ready to go home. 

A note for vegans: the hospital I was in did not have any vegan options for dinner.  Bring something.  

The biggest problem initially in my recovery was the shoulder-tip pain. When you have laparoscopic surgery they blow up your abdomen with gas so that they have room to work inside your pelvis.  Not all of that gas comes out immediately, and it can bounce around your diaphragm and up into your shoulders, leaving agonising pain in its wake.  It’s kind of like having a stitch, but 100x worse.  The only thing you can do is try to move to a different position, use heatpacks, and drink lots of peppermint tea.  

Once the shoulder pain started to reduce, I became aware of a new problem: constipation.  The trouble with morphine, codeine and tramadol, all of which I used post-surgery, is that they constipate you terribly.  I’m normally a 2-3 times a day type of girl.  My surgery was on Sunday, and I did not poop again until Wednesday.  When I did, I was stuck in the loo for about 20 minutes because things were so slow-moving.  My poor insides felt so bruised.  

Lately I have also been experiencing bladder pain.  Urination has been uncomfortable since the surgery due to my urethra being stripped all the way back, but a week ago my bladder or uterus or something in there was in agony when I peed.  It is calmer now, but still uncomfortable. It isn’t a UTI – there’s no burning and I’ve had it tested just in case – but boy, it’s not fun.

Overall, recovery from the actual surgery has been remarkably good.  I have four little incisions, which have all healed beautifully. My peritoneum is about 3/4 regrown now, apparently.  I did about a 5km walk less than two weeks after the surgery without too much trouble. Walking wasn’t really a problem at all after about a  week or so, although standing still remains an issue, so I used a wheelchair for things like shopping or going to museums, where you walk and then stop, walk and then stop.  

One month on and I’m fairly certain that all my remaining issues are attributable to my new mirena.  I find the adjustment period for the mirena really rough, and I’ve had ongoing spates of bleeding and period pain (not necessarily related to each other) for the past two weeks. If those aren’t gone soon, I’m going to talk to someone about having the mirena removed and see how I go without it.  

It is really nice not having endo pain in the way I have come to know it.  If I can get rid of the mirena pain I’ll be a happy little chappy.  At the moment, I’d definitely rate the surgery as a positive experience.  I hope to know properly by the new year whether it has really worked or not, and I will keep you all updated.  

Flying with Endometriosis Part 1: Pre-Flight Checklist

For many people, flying is already a nightmare.  For people with endometriosis, there’s an added layer of difficulty.  In this multi-part series, “Flying with Endometriosis”, I want to talk about some of things we can do to make travel a bit easier.

Happy October!  As I mentioned a few posts back, I’m travelling to the UK this month, so travel is very much on my brain, hence the new series.  I want to do some tips and tricks on making travelling with endometriosis just that little bit easier.

Ensuring that you have the smoothest flight possible starts long before you get on the plane.  Below are some of the things I would recommend doing before you travel.

1) Book the best seat you can afford.  It’s hard to pass up on some of the great deals you can get on an economy flight, but let’s face it – economy seats on a long-haul flight are just horrible.  This is particularly so if sitting is a difficult position for you.  When I’m in a flare-up, it’s the worst possible, as it puts pressure on my back and makes my ovaries very unhappy.  The seats are also very small and there isn’t much room in the footwell, so you can’t wriggle around to get a better position unless you’re very tiny.  At 5’10” (178cm) it’s definitely not an option for me.  If you can afford it, consider an upgrade to premium.  You don’t get a lot of extra room or recline, but it might just make a difference.  If you can’t afford it, do your research on how to nab the best seat in economy.  Seat Guru can help you find the one for your plane.  I’d always say an exit seat is best for the extra legroom, but ensure that you are physically able to assist with the doors in an emergency in you go for that one.  Also utilise your charm and your poor swollen belly to try and get a free upgrade, noting that it is getting much harder.

2) Get travel insurance. Be careful, though – many will not cover pre-existing conditions, so search around for one that does. It is pricey, but it is probably cheaper than the cost of rescheduling your flight and paying for extra accomodation if you can’t fly due to a flareup. That being said, the cost for many people may be prohibitive so some people may find that risking it is more financially sound, particularly if they aren’t prone to flare-ups or are practised at travelling through them.

3) Rest. In the days leading up to the flight, rest as much as you can so that you have a good healthy baseline to start from. I know I don’t get much sleep in economy, and whilst lots of sleep prior isn’t going to magically prevent you from being exhausted when you hit the tarmac on the other side, it will help you feel better for longer and strengthen your immune system (planes are germ factories).  If you can, pack the majority of your stuff at least a day ahead of time so that you can use your last day to relax and only worry about the last-minute things like your toothbrush.

4) Get hydrated.  Like this resting tip, this is to help buffer your immune system against the hit it is about to take on the plane.  In addition to being super germy, planes are incredibly dry and it is really hard to take in enough liquid.  Make sure that you are at least starting your journey on the right foot by being as hydrated as possible for at least a few days before you get on the plane.  This will also help you avoid UTIs.  Trust me, you do not want a UTI whilst flying, especially whilst flying long-haul economy.  0/10 would not do again.

5) Avoid triggers.  If you know you are reactive to certain foods or activities, do not eat those foods or engage in those activities prior to flying.  The last thing you want to do is set off a flare-up before you even get on the plane.  I’ll be completely nixing onions, garlic, beans, cabbage, alcohol and carbonated drinks from my diet for a week prior to flying, and cutting way down on the sugar and gluten.  I’d also suggest not smashing out a mad core workout prior to your flight – for a few days beforehand you might want to limit yourself to yoga, walking and maybe some gentle weights.

6) Take your medications and vitamins religiously.  Again, it is all about getting your immune system to the best place it can be before you put it on that plane and destroy it. Even if you aren’t normally a supplement taker, consider a multivitamin and maybe a cranberry pill (I refer to my earlier point re UTIs) as a pre-flight booster.

7) Plan an itinerary (if you can).  If you are on holiday you want to see and do as much as possible.  If you have at least the broad outline of a plan you can build in rest days.  Last time I was in Europe I was totally healthy, and tried to do heaps every day.  I was utterly exhausted after a few weeks.  I will never do that again, especially now I’m a sicky!  It also allows for a little more flexibility, and, of course, helps you pack sensibly for the activities you are doing.  Speaking of which…

8) Plan a capsule wardrobe.  This is a wardrobe where everything goes with everything else to make multiple outfits out of fewer pieces, so you can reduce the weight of your suitcase (a very good thing when you have endo!).  It also forces you to really think about what you are bringing, which will hopefully encourage you to choose only comfy, multi-functional pieces that will see you both through whatever your holiday activity is as well as a flareup or rest day.

9) Treat yo’self.  The day before you travel (or the day of, if you are flying later in the day) have a nice bath, if you have a bathtub.  Do all the luxurious skin things like a face mask, shaving, washing your hair etc.  It will not only help you feel super nice on the plane and help you look spiffy when you reach your destination, it will also allow your muscles, and that pesky pelvis, to relax.  Your poor body is about to crammed into a pressurised metal tube on a small seat next to a bunch of randoms.  It deserves a little love.

Image result for treat yo self gif

So, those are my pre-flight must-dos.  Any I’ve missed?  Do you have a pre-flight ritual that helps your body deal with the stresses of long flights?  Share in the comments!

The Problem with “Curing” Us

Today I had a really annoying and unsettling experience.  Like most such experiences, it happened on the internet.  I’m not going to post screenshots but I will talk about what happened, because people stepping over boundaries is a huge thing that most chronically ill/disabled people experience often.  I’ve touched on this before, but today I want to go into a bit more detail about why it is a real problem.

So, my friend posted a critique of Big Pharma, which simplistically stated that they create customers, not cures.  I agree that pharmaceutical companies, like every other organisation in a capitalist scheme, exist to make money, and that their pricing of necessary medication is totally unethical.  However, to suggest that they can’t provide cures at all is just misleading, as is the suggestion that the very act of creating customers by providing necessary drugs is bad.  It’s the way they do it that is the problem.  Anyway, that’s largely beside the point, although one gentleman did very kindly explain my own position to me.  How I could have understood what I thought without his assistance, I’ll never know.

What annoyed me equally as much as the above mansplainer, though, was the elderly fellow who decided to tell me – not ask, tell – to try natural hygiene.  Despite several rebuttals from me and him being shut down by our mutual friend when he implored her to tell me to contact him, he decided he was going to send me a PM about natural hygiene and offer his services again.

From my understanding of it, natural hygiene is a health movement that promotes eating clean, fasting sometimes, exercising, getting plenty of sunshine and sleeping well.  It’s based on the idea that we can help the body to heal itself.  That’s all fine and dandy and I totally support taking those steps for good mental and physical health, as I’ve outlined previously.

However, various proponents of natural hygiene also encourage rejecting all supplements and all but life-saving medical treatment or medication.  Quite frankly, I think that is incredibly dangerous and irresponsible, particularly as it is a “treatment” being marketed to desperately ill people who are often at the point of trying literally anything.  There are some diseases that the body simply cannot overcome alone, and endometriosis is one of them.

Now, giving this fellow the benefit of the doubt, let’s say he utterly believes in this system and truly believes that he can radically improve my quality of life.  Why is it still so problematic for him to contact me?

1)  It is really directive.  If someone is sick, don’t tell them what to do.  You are not a person with the authority to tell them what to do.  A far less irritating way to phrase this, rather than as a command, would be “have you tried X?” Even that is still problematic, though, because…

2) we probably have tried it, or at least looked into it.  If we haven’t, there is probably a good reason for it.  We don’t actually want to be sick.  There is nothing about endometriosis that makes it worth having, I promise you.  If it is something as basic as trying to eat healthy, sleep well, etc etc etc, we have definitely tried it, and it is very condescending to assume we aren’t already taking those basic steps.

3) It assumes that we are just half-arsing our treatment.  Every person I know with endo is seeking proper medical care for it.  I’ve gone through four gynaecologists because it is super important to me to ensure that I am getting the best medical care I can (weird, huh?).  Whatever we are doing, there’s a really good chance we are doing under proper medical advice and supervision, and that we are doing it thoroughly, because, as I said, we don’t actually want to be sick.

4) It is incredibly presumptive to assume that you hold the magic cure for endometriosis when literally legions of highly qualified doctors, surgeons and medical researchers do not.

5) It suggests that you know the disease better than we do.  Like most people with endo, I’ve spent the years since my diagnosis researching, learning, seeking treatment and reading every article about it I could get my hands on.  The fact that someone insists that they have a cure implies that they (in this case, an elderly man who is neither a gynaecologist or the possessor of a uterus, that I know of), know more about endo than I do after living with it for a decade and being diagnosed for two years.

6) It fails to notice the inherent barriers to such treatments.  Yes, I advocate eating well and living as healthily as possible.  That’s just good common sense that helps support the immune system and can (but doesn’t always) increase the body’s capacity to deal with flareups.  However, it is flipping hard.  If I can’t stand, I can’t buy healthy ingredients or prepare a meal.  If I can’t work, I can’t afford a varied diet.  If I am in horrible pain, I want – and need – quick, easy and convenient.  I certainly can’t exercise, I will probably suffer disrupted sleep, and I’m not going to put my tortured body through the rigours of a fast.

7) It crosses a line.  I told this man to stop.  I told him very clearly I wasn’t interested.  However, he not only PMed me, he also told his friend, on the main thread, to tell me to contact him.  He refused to take no for an answer.  It is incredibly disrespectful to do this, regardless of his motives.  My healthcare is my choice and when someone says “no thank you”, you need to leave them be.  There is already enough paternalism in medicine without it coming at us from randoms on the internet too.

There are ways to suggest alternative treatments to people, but generally speaking, unless you are either a doctor or actually have the disease, it’s not a good idea, because you are probably talking down to someone who a) hears this sort of thing all the time, and b) knows a lot more about it than you do.  If you absolutely cannot help yourself (please do, though), stop when you are asked to.  Respect our boundaries.  Respect that we know what we are saying when we say “no”.  Respect us.