It’s high time for a rant. Or a vent. Or whatever this blog post all about the latest with my endometriosis turns out to be.
I’ve had another spell of the bad days. And I put it down to stress. I was hating the new job I went into at the beginning of September. It wasn’t just boring. It was wearing me down day to day and I hated feeling so useless and like I was offering nothing helpful to the world. I found relief in food, as always, but it was starting to be the wrong type of food. I had a Snickers bars three days in a row. I like Snickers, sure, but I’m not the type of person who eats chocolate bars every day. But that afternoon sugar hit, that one glimmer of something pulling me through the long days, was what I needed at that time.
I thought my increased endo flare ups were due to stress, and I’m sure that’s true. But it’s what comes along as a symptom of the stress that I think was causing the most damage. Like those sneaky Snickers bars. Like the creamy, cheesy pasta dishes I was cooking. Like the cocktails. Like the constant snacking at my desk just so I had something to do.
I did the right thing. I got out of the bad job and I’m returning back to the sanctuary of my old job. I start back tomorrow and I know I’ve made an excellent decision on that count as it guarantees lower stress levels. I also refocused my attention on what I’m eating. For the past week, I’ve concentrated on upping my fruit and veg intake, lowering dairy back down to minimal, having a nightly glass of red wine with some good dark chocolate, eating nutritious snacks at regular intervals. It all helps. It doesn’t make it go away completely, but at least it consolidates my days of pain to just a couple out of the month.
Food I can deal with. Food helps. The thing that I’m struggling the most with this whole endo adventure is the uncertainty, and the anxiety that comes along with it. I phoned the hospital earlier this week to see where I was at on the waiting list. I was told at my consultant appointment at the beginning of September that I was have my operation within 16 weeks. Now the administrator was telling me I was unlikely to have my surgery this year. But I’m on the list? I blustered. The cancellation list. Well, no, although I had said to my consultant that I was happy to be contacted at short notice, that didn’t put me on the “official” cancellation list. I was told it was probably not going to be until next year.
I was livid.
I am quickly learning that being polite and waiting your turn and trying to understand that there are so many other women in the same position as me will not get me any where as far as getting an actual damn date. I pushed on the phone and got booked in to a pre operation appointment, which was the silver lining of the whole phone call. But to have that whisper of hope snatched away from me through admin error was infuriating. I’ve been waiting for two months, hovering by the phone, being kept up at night, constantly telling concerned friends and family that I was still waiting on a date. If that was made clear to me at the beginning, having to wait longer, I could have dealt with it and carried on with my life. But I’ve changed jobs. I’ve had to let down friends. I’ve practically made myself a hermit because I’m terrified of flaking out on friends because I’ve got to suddenly have my surgery.
I keep being told to not let endo take over my life. That, and, have you tried yoga? But back to the first piece of advice that I can’t follow. It is my life. It effects what I eat, where I go, how I travel, what I drink, what I do, how I sleep. And if I say, throw caution to the wind, indulge, try to pretend that this horrible condition is not afflicting me, it sure as hell reminds me. I get a punch to the stomach, the strain on my hips and it reminds me that it is very much there and it’s not going away, no matter how much I resist it taking over my life.
And the thing is, it is my life because it’s my body. I want to look after it and take care of it and feed it all the anti inflammatory foods it wants. I don’t want to be angry at it; it’s not my insides fault, it’s not my womb’s fault, it’s not my fault. I don’t want to pretend and act like I don’t care. I want to work with my body to battle through this and keep moving forwards.
And that’s what I remind myself when I’m at my worst, when I’m crying under the covers, clutching my hot water bottle. I don’t have to be happy about it, but I do have to keep moving forwards. I can let myself be a bit angry, stomp my feet like a little madam, cry, shout, write out my feelings in a seemingly never ending blog post, but I will keep going. I will keep eating well and sleeping right and keeping a sensible mind set that I will get my date, I will have my surgery and things will get better.