The pain was real.
The symptoms were real.
Something actually wasn’t right.
Think of the worst UTI pain you could have, times ten. Except it wasn’t an infection.
Antibiotics didn’t fix it. Advil only touched the surface.
And it came back.
Every.
Single.
Month.
For years.
There was the week-long period—the cramps, especially the lower back cramps, drastic mood changes and heavier-than-normal flow. Then my period would end and another week, sometimes a week and a half, of pain and discomfort would begin.
Going to the bathroom could be excruciating. Electrical pain. Intense abdominal pain. My husband would often find me curled up in a ball on the sofa, hearing me say, “I can’t do this every month.”
I finally received my MRI results and spoke with a new doctor.
Deep endometriosis.
He told me it was the cause of the pain I experience every single month. The pain that had been blamed on cystitis. The pain that had me questioning whether maybe I was making too much of it.
Every appointment came rushing back. Every time I left without an answer. All the feelings of defeat.
My initial reaction surprised me.
Relief.
I’m not crazy.
There was a reason I was hurting. There was something happening inside my body that explained what I had been feeling for so long.
But the relief didn’t last very long.
It turned into anger.
Why did it take this long?
Why didn’t we investigate endometriosis sooner?
Why was it never brought up during my infertility treatment?
For years, the focus was on my ovarian reserve. My age. My egg count. All the numbers that told me why getting pregnant would be difficult.
But I keep coming back to another question:
Why?
Why was it so easy for me to get pregnant with my daughter, and then suddenly I couldn’t get pregnant again?
And then comes the thought I wish I could turn off:
If I had known any of this sooner, would things have been different?
That question opens the door to all the dangerous what-ifs.
What if someone had caught this before IVF?
What if endometriosis did affect my fertility?
What if treating it earlier would have changed something?
What if it has absolutely nothing to do with my infertility?
What if I had done everything exactly the same and still ended up here?
The hardest part is knowing I will probably never get a definitive answer to any of those questions.
For years, I have felt like my body betrayed me.
I was angry at it for not getting pregnant. Angry that my ovaries weren’t producing enough follicles. Angry that IVF wasn’t working. Angry that something that had once happened so easily suddenly seemed impossible.
But maybe my body wasn’t betraying me.
Maybe it was trying to tell me something.
And the truth is, I listened.
I knew something wasn’t right. I knew the pain I experienced every month wasn’t normal. I kept asking questions because I knew what I was feeling.
But no one heard me.
I think, as women, we become incredibly in tune with our bodies. We know when something changes. We know when something feels off. We know when pain doesn’t feel normal.
But knowing your body and getting someone else to listen to you are two very different things.
Now, for the first time in years, I have something I haven’t had in a long time:
A plan.
Surgery.
Sign me up and let’s get it over with.
I’m ready for the pain every month to go away.
I’m ready to find out what is actually happening inside my body. I’m ready to remove what can be removed and see what happens next.
And, of course, infertility is still sitting there in the back of my mind.
Did this play a part?
Could removing the endometriosis give my body a better environment for pregnancy?
Could I actually have a better chance after surgery?
I don’t know.
And after years of infertility, I’ve learned to be careful with hope.
This surgery won’t change my ovarian reserve. It won’t give me back eggs or erase the years that have passed. It can’t tell me what would have happened if someone had found the endometriosis years ago.
But maybe it can give me something else.
Maybe it can give me relief from the pain.
Maybe it can give me more answers.
Maybe it can help me stop seeing my body as the enemy.
Because I have been angry at my body for so long.
And the whole time, my body was trying to tell me something.
Women’s pain shouldn’t have to become unbearable before someone believes it.
We deserve to be heard the first time we say,
“Something isn’t right.”