Being in pain every single day in a patriarchal system is extremely hard.
Especially when women, not men, are the ones who scoff and scold me for being dramatic and moody.
Especially when women, not men, tell me to stop “pretending”.
Especially when women, not men, tell me that it’s normal.
Especially when women not men, say “but you look fine to me”.
Especially when women, not men, lecture me “are you going to use “that” excuse when you start working? ”
Especially when women, not men, would give me the most patronising look which translated to ” Tsk foolish, stupid girl”.
And the best one
(drum roll please)
“Ack, you are young”
Being in pain as a “young” woman, in a patriarchal system, with women, not men, scoffing my chronic pain hurt more than my pain.
Aren’t women supposed to understand?
You’re older and wiser?!
It’s the one thing we share in common!
Why are you sooo mean? You’re a woman!
Women can be stupid.
The stupid is so so so strong in you.
You seriously have no idea how strong that stupid is.
(Okay now I’m done 😊)
At least I had The My Mom, The My Sister & The My Brother. (You have to watch Home)
By August 2014 I couldn’t deal with the pain any longer. Tramadol injections were doing a number on my “sober” life, ( You get a high off pain meds by the way.) and I’d missed several classes (was in uni) and period pain wasn’t a “good enough excuse”.
I decided that I needed a “solution” and that it would be the gynaecologist who tracked my every pre-birth movement. And he was Indian. ( Indians know a lot about their chosen profession right?!)
I booked an appointment and was uber excited to see him. I had heard soo many stories of this man. How he’d monitored The My Mom when she was pregnant with my siblings and I. He was seriously famous in our family. He was The Gynaecologist. (title for a movie? He he he)
I waited for him with The My Sister, talking and laughing, a couple of selfies, (tongue out of course) swapping pain stories because our journeys are very different yet the same.
The Gynaecologist finally arrived.
I told him The My Mom’s name and my diagnosis and he said
“Ah, you are her daughter?! Ah it’s okay, you know, I know what to do. We’ll do a laparoscopy and laser the endometriosis. Then I’ll put a Mirena coil. You won’t feel pain, you know periods not painful, you’re just supposed to feel a slight pinch. We’ll sort you out.”
(I hope you didn’t forget the Indian accent)
I burst into tears right there and then. I cried tears of relief. Someone knew the pain I was going through. (And he was a man!)
And The My Sister was with me. I felt surrounded by love and overstanding.
So after getting scans to determine how thick my endometrium was and where else it had decided to grow, surgery was booked.
September, 2, 2014 I was free, free at last.
Or so I thought. Sigh.