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!
Showing posts with label endometriosis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label endometriosis. Show all posts
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...
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
To Love Somebody...
I'm married with 3 young kids aged 8 and under, and come from an Asian
background. Now a full-time stay-at-home mum after being made redundant, I'm a college graduate with an
Honours degree in Teaching English as a Second Language.
My husband is a fellow countryman and although we've both lived in the UK for more than half our lives, he retains much of our cultural values that include 'the place of the wife'. Hence talking to him is almost impossible, let alone seeking support for clinical depression. Being a full-time mother after working in an office environment for ten years proved to be overwhelming to say the least, but to admit I had difficulty coping was even harder. My husband to this day doesn't fully comprehend mental illness and how I'm affected by it. I couldn't tell my parents as I didn't want to burden them with worry. My sister's reaction to it was: "How did that happen?" I wasn't surprised by her reaction but I didn't know what to say then. Depression isn't an illness that is acknowledged in our culture, in fact it's almost non-existent. It's never talked about; if you say someone is mentally ill then you most likely mean that that person is 'crazy', a commonly loosely-used term, and is a permanent resident of an asylum.
When I tried to talk to a friend about suicide and depression, all she said was how could I even think of suicide and that I should think about the children. All I ever do is think about the children and not about me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, tired of being pulled in all directions all the time. And the only way out I could see was to take my own life. I just wanted to be left in peace, not be called on every minute of the day. I didn't have new clothes, trips to the hairdresser had stopped for years and I was totally unkept. Every night I just crashed into bed but hardly slept even though I was so tired. I avoided sex like the plague. And that of course didn't help matters. Arguments were commonplace and they didn't go unnoticed by our eldest child.
By the time I took myself to my GP, I was in such bad shape I could barely speak to her. I was sobbing uncontrollably and could only nod or shake my head. She rang my husband to collect me from her surgery and instructed him to watch me closely in case I committed suicide. Now, you would have thought I'd be admitted to hospital and be kept on suicide watch, which was exactly what my GP suggested. But my dear husband decided it wasn't necessary. Besides, he added, who would look after the children? Even at that critical moment I wasn't allowed to take time out for myself.
And that was just my recent episode of postnatal depression. I was diagnosed clinically depressed ten years before that, when I contemplated suicide after years of suffering from endometreosis and infertility. Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery. One night I was groaning in pain and my husband shouted: "Oh for God's sake, it can't be that bad!" Two hours later I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand and tears streaming down my face. If my own husband couldn't understand me, then who would? For the first time in my life I felt completely alone, and I wanted it to stay that way forever.
And yet I'm still here, alive and kicking. My faith in God and my voice of sanity stopped me from taking my own life every time. I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms and seek medical help. But it's an ongoing battle. I thought I'd become strong enough to stop taking antidepressants, only to find myself back on it months later with an even higher prescription. When will it ever end? Who knows. One thing is for sure, I have to live life one day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time..
My husband is a fellow countryman and although we've both lived in the UK for more than half our lives, he retains much of our cultural values that include 'the place of the wife'. Hence talking to him is almost impossible, let alone seeking support for clinical depression. Being a full-time mother after working in an office environment for ten years proved to be overwhelming to say the least, but to admit I had difficulty coping was even harder. My husband to this day doesn't fully comprehend mental illness and how I'm affected by it. I couldn't tell my parents as I didn't want to burden them with worry. My sister's reaction to it was: "How did that happen?" I wasn't surprised by her reaction but I didn't know what to say then. Depression isn't an illness that is acknowledged in our culture, in fact it's almost non-existent. It's never talked about; if you say someone is mentally ill then you most likely mean that that person is 'crazy', a commonly loosely-used term, and is a permanent resident of an asylum.
When I tried to talk to a friend about suicide and depression, all she said was how could I even think of suicide and that I should think about the children. All I ever do is think about the children and not about me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, tired of being pulled in all directions all the time. And the only way out I could see was to take my own life. I just wanted to be left in peace, not be called on every minute of the day. I didn't have new clothes, trips to the hairdresser had stopped for years and I was totally unkept. Every night I just crashed into bed but hardly slept even though I was so tired. I avoided sex like the plague. And that of course didn't help matters. Arguments were commonplace and they didn't go unnoticed by our eldest child.
By the time I took myself to my GP, I was in such bad shape I could barely speak to her. I was sobbing uncontrollably and could only nod or shake my head. She rang my husband to collect me from her surgery and instructed him to watch me closely in case I committed suicide. Now, you would have thought I'd be admitted to hospital and be kept on suicide watch, which was exactly what my GP suggested. But my dear husband decided it wasn't necessary. Besides, he added, who would look after the children? Even at that critical moment I wasn't allowed to take time out for myself.
And that was just my recent episode of postnatal depression. I was diagnosed clinically depressed ten years before that, when I contemplated suicide after years of suffering from endometreosis and infertility. Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery. One night I was groaning in pain and my husband shouted: "Oh for God's sake, it can't be that bad!" Two hours later I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand and tears streaming down my face. If my own husband couldn't understand me, then who would? For the first time in my life I felt completely alone, and I wanted it to stay that way forever.
And yet I'm still here, alive and kicking. My faith in God and my voice of sanity stopped me from taking my own life every time. I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms and seek medical help. But it's an ongoing battle. I thought I'd become strong enough to stop taking antidepressants, only to find myself back on it months later with an even higher prescription. When will it ever end? Who knows. One thing is for sure, I have to live life one day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time..
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