I feel like my life is a mobius strip, slowly spiraling lower and lower (I know, technically this would just be a spiral and not a mobius strip, but go with me). My endometriosis pain increases, I eventually go to the doctor for treatment, I am given an ultrasound that shows nothing conclusive, I am given the "next step" for endometriosis management, I'm ok for a few months or weeks or days, and then the cycle begins again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Tomorrow I am going back to the doctor for a no-doubt normal looking ultrasound and to be told of my dwindling options. This last week has been one of the most painful in the last 5 years, and that is saying something. It has become more difficult to wave it off or stay silent so that my sweet husband is left holding me while I cry and scream in pain. Much as he hates to see me like this, it is the only thing he can do and he would never shirk what he feels is part of being a good husband.
The pain is still primarily centered around my right ovary, but has evolved into a deep gnawing pain that stabs and burns and knocks the wind out of me and knocks me to the ground. It has also spread to my left side and throughout my abdomen, but only sporadically and not with the same intensity. I can only imagine what my shriveled little raisin of an ovary looks like now. If I knew it would rid me of the pain and give me back my life, I wouldn't hesitate to have surgery. As it is, I still have vivid memories of how quickly my pain returned after my first laparoscopy as well as the new pain that also came. Oh, and I suppose money is an ever-present issue, too.
We have family that would willingly help us pay for hospital bills if we asked them for help. I am unwilling. I'm sure most of it is displaced pride, but I feel like my insides have been the business of so many people of late that getting donations would be like selling shares of myself. I worry that it would give away all my rights of privacy about my broken insides. Bad enough that word has spread in our families and everyone seems to know we are barren and adopting, even those we haven't spoken to since last Thanksgiving. I would rather not have the exact condition of my uterus, or my need for a hysterectomy discussed over dinners of which I am not present like it's the newest episode of The O.ffice.
So I'll steel myself for another adventure with The Wand, not knowing if I would rather it showed a reason for this new pain or not.
The Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer