So here it is. I thought I should start recording my symptoms for reference since I tend to forget them whenever doctors ask me on the spot. As a matter of fact I've recently noticed new symptoms. For a clearer picture of the condition, this is a short informative video about endometriosis: healthline.com/vpvideo/endometriosis
Since a year ago I experienced some bleeding from the back passage which was put down to good old hemorrhoids. But of late I noticed a pattern to the bleeding. It seems to start a couple of days just before my menstrual cycle begins. More alarmingly I've been passing some big clots along with copious amount of blood but no stool.
I'm also experiencing lower abdominal cramping. This is not actually a new symptom, only that I've specifically picked it up and tried to study it. It appears to be in the region just below the navel and is continuous, almost always signalling the need to pass blood and/or clots through the back passage.
Having had children and experiencing contraction and labor, I've come to the conclusion what I'm experiencing now is not dissimilar to these. The lower abdominal cramps are the uterine muscles behaving in the same way as going through labor. Unfortunately since my endometriosis has quite possibly perforated my colon it has resulted in what seems to be hemorrhoids.
www.innerbody.com
the physics of labour
wikipedia.org/wiki/Uterine_contraction
Interestingly, while reading some articles about contractions, there have been mentions of measuring how strong these can be. I was instantly reminded of what a friend told me years ago. She was told by a doctor that the pains that come with endometriosis are much stronger than labor. Drawing from my personal experience, I think I can vouch for that. When I was having my third child, labor was spontaneous and I certainly wasn't in much discomfort. It only felt like I had to go to the bathroom. I was even chatting and joking with my friend in the labor room. The midwife was so amazed she actually commented that my threshold of pain must be so high since I didn't seem to be in any pain.
So now I'm waiting for my appointment with the consultant Mr. T. Miskry of St. Mary's Hospital, London. I was discharged from his care when I fell pregnant the second time. My GP and I both agreed that once I have a confirmed diagnosis then a hysterectomy might be the best way forward. Hopefully this will finally put an end to all this. I will post more in due course. In the meantime, keep well everyone!
Monday 19 January 2015
Thursday 15 January 2015
Hello again, world...
Wow..It's been over two years since my last entry. Maybe that's good. Maybe it means I spent less time wallowing in self-pity and feeling desperate. Or I was just too busy and tired to write.
2015: new year, new beginnings. I know my ramblings get read sometimes but I don't have any dedicated followers. I'm not a witty writer. And I don't care for politics. The main reason I'm starting again is just to record my experiences with my long-lost 'friend'. Here's a useful link for more information: nhs.uk/Conditions/Endometriosis
It's been a very long time since I've experienced any symptoms. I can't even remember when I was first diagnosed. I didn't notice the symptoms initially so I have no idea how long I might have had it. It was probably in the late 90's.
What I do remember is being in so much pain during every cycle especially the first 2-3 days. Before then I'd get the usual abdominal cramps that most people associate with menstruation. But as time passed the cramps were getting worse and my lower back began to hurt too. Sexual intercourse also started to feel less pleasurable and more agonising. One day I came across an article about endometriosis and I realised that I had most of the symptoms that were described. But still I couldn't get a diagnosis. Once I saw a male physician in our hometown to get painkillers and told him I suspected I have the condition. He actually laughed in my face and said: "Do you have any idea how serious the condition is?" Well of course I did, the idiot. I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise.
I think it was a couple of years later that another doctor finally picked up on it and got me moving in the right direction. By then it must have been quite bad: I could no longer get up whenever I had my menses. If I needed the bathroom I had to literally crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. Bowel movements were so excruciating I'd be screaming in agony and begging for mercy. I had prescription painkillers from a different doctor that would knock me out for a couple of days so I wouldn't be awake and feeling the pain.
So that particular night my husband called the doctor to the house as I was crying and curled up in pain. After examining me and asking some questions he said he knew someone who might be able to help me. I was so relieved that someone finally took me seriously.
After several appointments, various tests and different scans I was finally diagnosed with endometriosis. Unfortunately I was still quite ignorant of it all that I didn't ask too many questions. A year later the consultant decided to retire and transferred my case to another doctor.
I went through 4 different consultants I believe. Several procedures to remove the growths and hormonal injections in between procedures to subdue them. It wasn't till the last one that I found out I suffered from Stage 4 rectovaginal endometriosis. Apparently mine was quite severe and I had two procedures done in the space of 8 months, the second of which lasted about 5 hours.
To be continued...
2015: new year, new beginnings. I know my ramblings get read sometimes but I don't have any dedicated followers. I'm not a witty writer. And I don't care for politics. The main reason I'm starting again is just to record my experiences with my long-lost 'friend'. Here's a useful link for more information: nhs.uk/Conditions/Endometriosis
It's been a very long time since I've experienced any symptoms. I can't even remember when I was first diagnosed. I didn't notice the symptoms initially so I have no idea how long I might have had it. It was probably in the late 90's.
What I do remember is being in so much pain during every cycle especially the first 2-3 days. Before then I'd get the usual abdominal cramps that most people associate with menstruation. But as time passed the cramps were getting worse and my lower back began to hurt too. Sexual intercourse also started to feel less pleasurable and more agonising. One day I came across an article about endometriosis and I realised that I had most of the symptoms that were described. But still I couldn't get a diagnosis. Once I saw a male physician in our hometown to get painkillers and told him I suspected I have the condition. He actually laughed in my face and said: "Do you have any idea how serious the condition is?" Well of course I did, the idiot. I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise.
I think it was a couple of years later that another doctor finally picked up on it and got me moving in the right direction. By then it must have been quite bad: I could no longer get up whenever I had my menses. If I needed the bathroom I had to literally crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. Bowel movements were so excruciating I'd be screaming in agony and begging for mercy. I had prescription painkillers from a different doctor that would knock me out for a couple of days so I wouldn't be awake and feeling the pain.
So that particular night my husband called the doctor to the house as I was crying and curled up in pain. After examining me and asking some questions he said he knew someone who might be able to help me. I was so relieved that someone finally took me seriously.
After several appointments, various tests and different scans I was finally diagnosed with endometriosis. Unfortunately I was still quite ignorant of it all that I didn't ask too many questions. A year later the consultant decided to retire and transferred my case to another doctor.
I went through 4 different consultants I believe. Several procedures to remove the growths and hormonal injections in between procedures to subdue them. It wasn't till the last one that I found out I suffered from Stage 4 rectovaginal endometriosis. Apparently mine was quite severe and I had two procedures done in the space of 8 months, the second of which lasted about 5 hours.
To be continued...
Sunday 11 November 2012
It's always the same..
It has taken me quite some time but I think I've made a breakthrough...
I have a neighbor who is a single mother to a 6-year-old girl. I'd been worrying about her, observing that she has a very hectic schedule and knowing that she had to quit her job and live on benefits. I had a feeling she may be reaching breaking point, and somehow I had to connect with her. So I had been gently reaching out to her, occassionally inviting her over for coffee and arranging playdates for her daughter and my own kids.
It paid off. One morning she dropped by to pick up some plastic storage that I didn't need anymore. Somehow the conversation steered into the right direction and she broke down, admitting she had been depressed before and was prescribed Prozac. But she didn't like the effect it had on her so she took herself off it just days later without even talking to the doctor about it and willed herself to get better and soldier on.
Problem is, she is not getting better. She acknowledges the fact that she doesn't eat nor sleep well, and gets very temperamental around her daughter to the point that the girl has asked her mother why she was often so angry even though she hadn't done anything wrong. The only thing stopping her from taking her own life is the thought of her daughter being left alone. Worse still, she refuses to seek medical help because she's afraid that her daughter will be taken away from her if she starts taking medication.
How terrible! It proves yet again how depression is always perceived in a negative light. She believes nothing and no one can help her, that she has to fight and carry on on her own. I reminded her again and again, that we would always be there for her. And that she should get medical help so she could get better and make things better for her and her daughter. And I reassured her that, as far as I knew, the state would not take her daughter away from her just for being depressed.
I understand where she's coming from. I had the same fears. I feared that I would lose my children if my mental illness was on record, thinking that I would be deemed an unfit mother for not being able to cope. And I was ashamed of myself, that family and friends would be disgusted with me for being weak when I had always been 'the strong one'. I felt that somehow or other I had to make things work, but I couldn't because I couldn't even think straight. The idea of changing a diaper was enough to reduce me to a state of despair and I didn't even know why. I couldn't hear myself think, there was always white noise in my head. I'd be rocking on the floor and crying, wishing I was in a hole deep underground where no one could get to me and I still didn't know why. I could feel everything closing in on me, like a big shroud coming over me slowly and stealthily until I couldn't breathe.
I didn't know why I felt all that. But thank God I knew that I needed help. And thank God that everyone involved in my care have been some of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Yes, you have to do most things yourself but sometimes you do need others to help you to your feet when you've been beaten down so badly. And there's no shame in asking for help.
I have a neighbor who is a single mother to a 6-year-old girl. I'd been worrying about her, observing that she has a very hectic schedule and knowing that she had to quit her job and live on benefits. I had a feeling she may be reaching breaking point, and somehow I had to connect with her. So I had been gently reaching out to her, occassionally inviting her over for coffee and arranging playdates for her daughter and my own kids.
It paid off. One morning she dropped by to pick up some plastic storage that I didn't need anymore. Somehow the conversation steered into the right direction and she broke down, admitting she had been depressed before and was prescribed Prozac. But she didn't like the effect it had on her so she took herself off it just days later without even talking to the doctor about it and willed herself to get better and soldier on.
Problem is, she is not getting better. She acknowledges the fact that she doesn't eat nor sleep well, and gets very temperamental around her daughter to the point that the girl has asked her mother why she was often so angry even though she hadn't done anything wrong. The only thing stopping her from taking her own life is the thought of her daughter being left alone. Worse still, she refuses to seek medical help because she's afraid that her daughter will be taken away from her if she starts taking medication.
How terrible! It proves yet again how depression is always perceived in a negative light. She believes nothing and no one can help her, that she has to fight and carry on on her own. I reminded her again and again, that we would always be there for her. And that she should get medical help so she could get better and make things better for her and her daughter. And I reassured her that, as far as I knew, the state would not take her daughter away from her just for being depressed.
I understand where she's coming from. I had the same fears. I feared that I would lose my children if my mental illness was on record, thinking that I would be deemed an unfit mother for not being able to cope. And I was ashamed of myself, that family and friends would be disgusted with me for being weak when I had always been 'the strong one'. I felt that somehow or other I had to make things work, but I couldn't because I couldn't even think straight. The idea of changing a diaper was enough to reduce me to a state of despair and I didn't even know why. I couldn't hear myself think, there was always white noise in my head. I'd be rocking on the floor and crying, wishing I was in a hole deep underground where no one could get to me and I still didn't know why. I could feel everything closing in on me, like a big shroud coming over me slowly and stealthily until I couldn't breathe.
I didn't know why I felt all that. But thank God I knew that I needed help. And thank God that everyone involved in my care have been some of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Yes, you have to do most things yourself but sometimes you do need others to help you to your feet when you've been beaten down so badly. And there's no shame in asking for help.
Tuesday 23 October 2012
So surreal...
I'd just read my own blog that got published on a mental health website. I thought I'd be feeling so proud about it that I'd burst at the seams. Not at all. It didn't even feel cathartic, the fact that my thoughts had become an open secret. I can't even describe how I felt about it. I've read countless of other blogs about mental health and depression on various sites, that reading my own published blog it didn't even feel like mine at all. I just hope that it makes some kind of difference in someone else's life, that it would encourage them not to be ashamed of themselves. That mental illness is not a self-inflicted disease. That they're not alone and they can get help and support. Reaching out is probably the biggest and most important step a sufferer of mental illness will make. It's a leap of faith. Don't feel discouraged. Believe in yourself, and believe that there are people out there who can and will help you. With all my love xxx
Monday 24 September 2012
It's all about you..
Here we go again. I wrote in a previous blog about how women always sacrifice themselves for others, a great yet potentially self-destructive trait. A recent conversation has again brought the subject matter to light. Why do we do it? Why do we always give yet never ask for anything in return? Why do we destroy ourselves? And why do we feel guilty when we want something for ourselves?
We had another small row the other day. After days of traipsing around shopping malls with hubby trying to get school uniform together at the very last minute, I changed into some loungewear and crashed onto the sofa for a quick rest. Hubby walked in and said, "Don't tell me you're tired! How can you be tired? You don't even do much nowadays. I help you with your chores and you still feel tired all the time."At which point we started exchanging a few words before I stormed off into the kitchen.
First of all, let me lay all the blame for the last-minute shopping trips on hubby. If I had done things my way, the uniform would have been sorted out before we left for our long summer break. But no, hubby as always ordained that things can get done later ie. on our return.
Secondly, I know it's hard for other people to understand this, but tiredness seems permanent with someone like me who suffers from depression. It's actually a miracle that I no longer hide in the bedroom whimpering all the time wondering what the hell was wrong with me. It could partly be the medication, but who the hell knows anyway?
It's always go, go, go for us. We could be sitting down for 2 seconds before we suddenly remembered there was something else that needed to be done. I do envy the times when hubby would call out and tell me to entertain the kids because he'd had enough and wanted to watch tv. Would I be able to do the same? Of course not.
And yet I'm still here. Am I a sucker for punishment? I really don't know. We need to be more assertive and be able to say enough is enough when enough is enough. We must not let ourselves be taken advantage of all the time to the point that we have nothing left of ourselves. And we must learn not to feel guilty when we're unable to please everyone all of the time, because it's just impossible to do. Other than that I'm quite comfortable with letting the rest of the stuff go over my head. Because I'm a lot more patient than hubby.
We had another small row the other day. After days of traipsing around shopping malls with hubby trying to get school uniform together at the very last minute, I changed into some loungewear and crashed onto the sofa for a quick rest. Hubby walked in and said, "Don't tell me you're tired! How can you be tired? You don't even do much nowadays. I help you with your chores and you still feel tired all the time."At which point we started exchanging a few words before I stormed off into the kitchen.
First of all, let me lay all the blame for the last-minute shopping trips on hubby. If I had done things my way, the uniform would have been sorted out before we left for our long summer break. But no, hubby as always ordained that things can get done later ie. on our return.
Secondly, I know it's hard for other people to understand this, but tiredness seems permanent with someone like me who suffers from depression. It's actually a miracle that I no longer hide in the bedroom whimpering all the time wondering what the hell was wrong with me. It could partly be the medication, but who the hell knows anyway?
It's always go, go, go for us. We could be sitting down for 2 seconds before we suddenly remembered there was something else that needed to be done. I do envy the times when hubby would call out and tell me to entertain the kids because he'd had enough and wanted to watch tv. Would I be able to do the same? Of course not.
And yet I'm still here. Am I a sucker for punishment? I really don't know. We need to be more assertive and be able to say enough is enough when enough is enough. We must not let ourselves be taken advantage of all the time to the point that we have nothing left of ourselves. And we must learn not to feel guilty when we're unable to please everyone all of the time, because it's just impossible to do. Other than that I'm quite comfortable with letting the rest of the stuff go over my head. Because I'm a lot more patient than hubby.
Thursday 9 August 2012
Should I stay or should I go?
Gosh! Another month has just whizzed by! Is it just me or is time really not waiting for any man? (or woman??) A few things have happened in the past month that could probably last me a while. I won't say a lifetime as it would sound a bit too dramatic *smile
Last week I was involved in a minor car accident. I call it minor as I didn't suffer any physical injury from the accident and the car wasn't a total wreck. But it was the cause of the accident that worried me and my GP. I actually blacked out for a split second just as I came out of an intersection and hit a parked lorry. Luckily the steering had turned slightly and only the left front wheel of the car was bent inwards.
My husband's reaction was completely predictable and expected, though I'd hoped that he would be more sympathetic and showed some degree of concern. Instead, I received a groan and moan about the cost of repairs in the current economical climate we were in. He asked me several times about the extent of the damage to the car, but not once did he ask me if I were hurt or feeling alright. I was in fact in a state of shock, but I think the bitter disappointment and hurt I felt overwhelmed me. I couldn't believe how insensitive and selfish he was, and it wasn't the first time.
It led me to think about our relationship during the days that followed. I wondered if I should stay and endure, or pack and leave. I knew he would never change and I couldn't ever change him. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to walk out on our marriage. Do I really want to waste 22 years of my life?
We hardly spoke for over a week. I had no clue what was happening to the family car, except that it had gone for repairs and we had a rented car in place. He didn't inform me and I couldn't be bothered to ask. I spent the days just cleaning and tidying the house, by that I mean really cleaning and tidying. I moved furniture around in the living room and dusted every nook and cranny, and even wiped the walls down with antiseptic. It's one of my little ways of distracting myself whenever I was feeling down.
Yesterday I had reached the music corner of the living room, where the hi-fi system and stacks of CDs sat. I pulled open one CD drawer and saw something that I hadn't listened to for a very long time so I put it into the CD player. When the music started, a moment flashed before my eyes. I saw the two of us slow-dancing like we used to, and my heart swelled when I remembered the love and passion we shared. I smiled, and I suddenly realised that I'd never leave him. Not that I was chained to him. Yes, he had a hold on me but not in a negative sense. It's completely inexplicable but we were drawn to each other in such a way we both knew it had never happened to either of us, and it'll probably never happen again with anyone else.
I know he'll never change, but I remembered that I'd fallen in love with him despite his flaws. After all we're all only human, and nobody's perfect. We both accepted each other's imperfections and we stood by each other through thick and thin for the longest time in our lives. And he had been there when I went through endless medical treatments and surgeries, never wanting me to worry about anything else at that time. How could I have forgotten that? Circumstances are such that we're going through financial hardship now, but who isn't? And it's putting such a strain on him emotionally that it would be selfish of me to leave him when he needed me most.
So it's settled then. I'm sticking around. Maybe just for a few more years. Or maybe till death do us part..?
Last week I was involved in a minor car accident. I call it minor as I didn't suffer any physical injury from the accident and the car wasn't a total wreck. But it was the cause of the accident that worried me and my GP. I actually blacked out for a split second just as I came out of an intersection and hit a parked lorry. Luckily the steering had turned slightly and only the left front wheel of the car was bent inwards.
My husband's reaction was completely predictable and expected, though I'd hoped that he would be more sympathetic and showed some degree of concern. Instead, I received a groan and moan about the cost of repairs in the current economical climate we were in. He asked me several times about the extent of the damage to the car, but not once did he ask me if I were hurt or feeling alright. I was in fact in a state of shock, but I think the bitter disappointment and hurt I felt overwhelmed me. I couldn't believe how insensitive and selfish he was, and it wasn't the first time.
It led me to think about our relationship during the days that followed. I wondered if I should stay and endure, or pack and leave. I knew he would never change and I couldn't ever change him. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to walk out on our marriage. Do I really want to waste 22 years of my life?
We hardly spoke for over a week. I had no clue what was happening to the family car, except that it had gone for repairs and we had a rented car in place. He didn't inform me and I couldn't be bothered to ask. I spent the days just cleaning and tidying the house, by that I mean really cleaning and tidying. I moved furniture around in the living room and dusted every nook and cranny, and even wiped the walls down with antiseptic. It's one of my little ways of distracting myself whenever I was feeling down.
Yesterday I had reached the music corner of the living room, where the hi-fi system and stacks of CDs sat. I pulled open one CD drawer and saw something that I hadn't listened to for a very long time so I put it into the CD player. When the music started, a moment flashed before my eyes. I saw the two of us slow-dancing like we used to, and my heart swelled when I remembered the love and passion we shared. I smiled, and I suddenly realised that I'd never leave him. Not that I was chained to him. Yes, he had a hold on me but not in a negative sense. It's completely inexplicable but we were drawn to each other in such a way we both knew it had never happened to either of us, and it'll probably never happen again with anyone else.
I know he'll never change, but I remembered that I'd fallen in love with him despite his flaws. After all we're all only human, and nobody's perfect. We both accepted each other's imperfections and we stood by each other through thick and thin for the longest time in our lives. And he had been there when I went through endless medical treatments and surgeries, never wanting me to worry about anything else at that time. How could I have forgotten that? Circumstances are such that we're going through financial hardship now, but who isn't? And it's putting such a strain on him emotionally that it would be selfish of me to leave him when he needed me most.
So it's settled then. I'm sticking around. Maybe just for a few more years. Or maybe till death do us part..?
Wednesday 4 July 2012
So what's it like..?
An old friend recently told me, she'd often wondered what my life was like. Such a simple question, but so difficult for me to answer.
We live in completely different worlds, her and I. She is single, lives in her own apartment and drives her own car. She is a respected university lecturer with a PhD and is not afraid to speak her mind.
Me? I've been married for 18 years, live in a completely chaotic house that I can't call my own with three screaming kids. I've never owned a car even though I can drive. I managed to graduate with a Bachelors degree by the skin of my teeth and am almost always keeping my thoughts to myself.
After a brief think, I answered 'routine'. I think it sums it all up well, that one word. I realised then I could no longer live spontaneously like she still does. She could just pack a bag and catch a flight to somewhere whenever she felt bored or wanted a short break. I used to be able to do the same, but how could I possibly do it now? With three children in tow, two of whom are in school, everything has to be planned. Time away from home is the one I dread the most, because of its uncertainty. Anything could happen, and they usually do. Quite often I'd think I got everything planned out and I'm prepared, but somehow something always manages to crop up that could ruin everything.
Routine. That's all it is. Wake up, get the kids ready for school. Do chores, then get lunch for the little one. Then it's more chores, or errands, before rushing to get tea ready. Kids get home from school, eat and change. Tidy up then off to bed, chance to catch up with family and friends online before falling asleep with one hand still on the mouse. The next day it's the same thing all over again. Groundhog Day? You betcha. Do I get a break? Never. Do I wish I could live someone else's life for just one day? Sometimes. Do I want to trade it all for something different? Honestly? I don't know.
We live in completely different worlds, her and I. She is single, lives in her own apartment and drives her own car. She is a respected university lecturer with a PhD and is not afraid to speak her mind.
Me? I've been married for 18 years, live in a completely chaotic house that I can't call my own with three screaming kids. I've never owned a car even though I can drive. I managed to graduate with a Bachelors degree by the skin of my teeth and am almost always keeping my thoughts to myself.
After a brief think, I answered 'routine'. I think it sums it all up well, that one word. I realised then I could no longer live spontaneously like she still does. She could just pack a bag and catch a flight to somewhere whenever she felt bored or wanted a short break. I used to be able to do the same, but how could I possibly do it now? With three children in tow, two of whom are in school, everything has to be planned. Time away from home is the one I dread the most, because of its uncertainty. Anything could happen, and they usually do. Quite often I'd think I got everything planned out and I'm prepared, but somehow something always manages to crop up that could ruin everything.
Routine. That's all it is. Wake up, get the kids ready for school. Do chores, then get lunch for the little one. Then it's more chores, or errands, before rushing to get tea ready. Kids get home from school, eat and change. Tidy up then off to bed, chance to catch up with family and friends online before falling asleep with one hand still on the mouse. The next day it's the same thing all over again. Groundhog Day? You betcha. Do I get a break? Never. Do I wish I could live someone else's life for just one day? Sometimes. Do I want to trade it all for something different? Honestly? I don't know.
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