Thursday 23 August 2012

The all important introduction.




Oh, why hello.
I see you found me.
Well, that's a stupid thing to say, as the likely situation here is that I linked this to you, and after all my banter on Facebook, you felt a moral obligation to follow through on your word when you said you'd be interested in reading a blog by yours truly.

I figure at this stage, if, for some reason, you don't know me (or much about me) I should get all the formalities aside and do a quick introduction.
(This is where one of those "Hi! My name is....." badges would come in handy)
So, without further ado, let me introduce myself:

I'm Serenity.
I am 24 and reside in Wellington. I have a 4yr old daughter (Eden) who is the absolute bomb-diggy, a pretty rad boyfriend (Dan) who, by some miracle, keeps me grounded yet floating on air. I have an extreme addiction to Pad Thai, I absolutely love my job as a Beauty Therapist and Makeup Artist and and I have a ridiculously unhealthy obsession with Pinterest and Instagram (*sigh* God bless modern technology and the interwebs).

Ah, yes...

I also suffer from retarded hormonal bullshit which screws me over, time and again *cough* Endometriosis.

(see: http://www.femalehealthmadesimple.com/FileThirteenFinal.html for a fairly simple explanation)

Endometriosis is a disease which I have struggled with hugely for the past 4 years. Now, I am under no disillusions whatsoever, as I am well aware that I am pretty lucky in my struggle in comparison to some women out there - but this isn't about them, this is about me.

I have reached a junction now, where I have one of two options:
  1. Menopause
  2. Menopause
Let me think --- Wow, shit... Ok... Decisions, decisions.

You know what, I think I'll go for the Menopause option.



I should probably enlighten you all with some backstory here (and this is where it might get a bit heavy on the TMI).

I had always been pretty lucky when it came to my periods. Mine started when I was twelve, and with the exception of having to go through the checkout with a hefty supply of pads, tampons and panty liners on a regular basis, there was really nothing particularly bad or uncomfortable about it (unless the checkout operator happened to be like, OMG, a totally cute guy or something, ya'know? OMG, like, shame!)

Sure, there was some mild cramping that was undesirable, raging hormones and a few mortifying moments where standing up from your desk chair was just not an option - AT. ALL.

Fuck, if anything, I felt pretty damn shit hot knowing that I was now a 'woman', while the rest of my friends were desperately hanging out for their arrival of 'Aunt Flow'. To be fair though, they had boobs - something I had to wait a few more years for *sigh*. While they had molehills, I had mosquito bites (at best).

Things continued ticking along nicely, without too much cause for concern, right up until I fell pregnant with my little diva demon darling, Eden.

It wasn't until my menses returned that things started to go pear shaped (and by that, I'm not necessarily referring to my now-smaller-breasts and much-wider-hips). I didn't think anything of it at first because I just assumed that, seeing as I hadn't had a period in roughly 18 months, of course it was going to come back with a vengeance - Mother Nature is a bitch like that... I mean, it's not like recovering from a cesarean and adjusting to life with a newborn is hard enough. Ooooh, I know, let's throw in incessant, heavy bleeding and cramps which would knock the wind out of a windy thing. Fuck. You, Mother Nature. Sideways.

Whereas it wasn't the greatest to deal with, I didn't so much as give it a second thought. I had read that prolonged bleeding and cramping is to be expected, but after 34+ days of non-stop bleeding and pains which seemed to be getting increasingly worse, I had a gut feeling something wasn't quite right.

After consulting with my GP on a few separate occassions, he confirmed my suspicions and referred me to a gynaecological specialist at Wellington Hospital --- And so begins the tale of medical swings-and-round abouts.

Fast forward three years, 11 hospital admissions ranging anywhere from four to ten days long (seven of which were a result of going through A & E, three of those seven occassions being a lights and sirens ambulance ride - I know how to make an entrance, that's for sure) and four surgeries - the first one being November of '09, which was when I was finally diagnosed as having Endo, and that brings us to today.

(NB: At a later date I'll go a bit more through the diagnostic process and all the methods I have tried in a bid to alleviate my symptoms)

My most recent hospital stint was an 8 day stay, starting on the 6th August. It was there that the realisation was made, finally, that maybe it was time to start considering more long-term, even permanent, solutions.

Now, obviously having lady-bits removed at such a young as is not something you want to have to consider. I think it's probably fair to say that having lady-bits removed at any age is something we would all like to avoid thinking about.

The fact is, Endometriosis has ruined almost every facet of my life.

  • I have lost two jobs as a direct result of this total bitch of a disease.
  • It played a massive role in the demise of my relationship with Eden's Dad
  • It has affected my ability to parent as well as I would like to, as I am unable to be that carefree, active Mummy that Eden deserves. Instead, she's lumped with a Mother who lacks energy, is grumpy and winces every time she runs up to give me a big hug or climbs into my lap for cuddles. And when she sees me upset, her automatic response is "Do you have to go to the hostible again, Mummy?". As morbid as it sounds, if I were to die tomorrow, I don't want that to be how my child remembers me.
  • It's taken a toll on my social life as I don't have the confidence I used to, nor do I have the energy to go out and socialise.
  • I become a financial burden to those around me, as the minute I am struck down and unable to work... Well, as sad as it is, bills don't pay themselves. And as much as it pains me to say, I don't have the luxury of a financial buffer if the shit hits the fan.
  • My self esteem is absolutely shot to pieces. I feel like its easier to keep people at arms length because I don't want to drag them down with me and risk hurting them in the process. I feel like a terrible Mum, a bad friend, a bad employee, an undesirable partner. I am scarred up and bloated, my cute little inny belly button is now manky and weird thanks to all the laparoscopic surgeries and I just... Well, frankly, I feel disgusting.
I can't afford to live with this constant uncertainty as to when I'm next going to be struck down by a flare up of this utter bitch of a disease - I can't afford it emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually. And the only way to ensure it doesn't keep taking me down is to remove the root of the problem - in this instance, my ovaries.

So, whether that gets done by way of a drug called Zoladex (which shuts down your ovaries, putting you into a temporary menopause) or by going the whole hog and removing my ovaries completely... Well, that's where we're at now.

I don't know what to do.

I thought I was prepared for this, I thought I knew.

Turns out I was wrong.

I am fucking terrified, to say the least.

So!

After that extremely long winded introduction, I shall allow your undoubtedly weary eyes to rest.

I hope you stay with me to follow what will undoubtedly be a long, curious adventure with more plot twists than [insert movie of your choice here].

Love and Sunshine

(because that's how my Mamma always signs her cards and it makes my heart smile)


Serenity

Xx