I like to think of my existence as an act of bravery made by my mother. Ever since I was young, I was aware of the sacrifice, hardship, and pain she had to go through in order to have me. However, the persistent parasite in her journey was not one exclusive to her; nor would it cease to plague my family for years to come.
The parasite mentioned, named endometriosis, is one with no cure. The John Hopkins Medicine page explains endometriosis as follows, “A […] uterus is lined with endometrial tissue. This lining is called the endometrium. Your body grows a new endometrium with each menstrual cycle to prepare for a fertilized egg. Endometriosis is a condition in which endometrial tissue grows outside the uterus.”
This parasite can be treated but never killed, not without giving a part of yourself up. In order to be free of it, my mother gave up her uterus.
My mom always tells me that knew she wanted to have children since was a young child. She always wanted two daughters. Years later she had her firstborn, my sister. It was an easy pregnancy. She didn’t have bad morning sickness, and when she was free from college classes, she’d study at the beach, and eventually fall asleep.
After my sister was born, my dad and her decided to wait at least five years before having another child. Eventually, in 2004, they began their journey to do so. Yet, my sister remained an only child, and frustration began to build.
It took a year for doctors to diagnose my mom with endometriosis. In the process, she had two laparoscopic excisions, to remove cysts and excess tissue, and for six months took Lupron injections, a hormone-suppressing drug. Aside from the invasive nature of the procedures, this caused my mom to have an induced menopause at 32 years old.
She would often tell me about the chronic pelvic pain she endured as well. She’d have to miss work because she couldn’t get out of bed and wear diapers because a normal menstrual pad wouldn’t hold the copious amounts of blood that she’d shed during her period.
These sacrifices eventually paid off, and in the fall of 2005, she was pregnant with me. The pregnancy, however, was a risky one. In the second trimester, I was already anxious to get out. (My tendency to jump the gun followed me from birth, by the way.)
Even when she finally gave birth, endometriosis wanted to embrace her one last time, and gave her cancerous cells in her uterus. In order to survive, she had a partial hysterectomy, a removal of the uterus, at 33 years old; and thus, she was free from the shackles of chronic pain. Unfortunately, only a few years later the parasite would reappear.
My sister had her partial hysterectomy at 25 years old. The chronic pain consumed her until she had to make the decision to free herself from it and undergo surgery. My mom took care of her during her recovery.
I was told I was extremely probable of endometriosis at 14 years old. My period pains were so painful I had to go through three rounds of different birth control, none of which soothed my situation. Instead, I gained thirty pounds and developed horrible acne. I hadn’t even finished my first year of high school yet.
I sometimes wonder how old I’ll be when I might have to rid myself of my uterus as well. The reality of my situation feels as if I have a constantly accelerating biological clock looming over me. While everyone else’s clock ticks by as normal, mine is sped up. To know that if I want a family, I might not have the luxury of waiting — endometriosis has made sure of that.
Fortunately, the condition still hasn’t progressed. And while I have chronic pains during my period, and go through at least two packs of family-sized overnight purple pads during my eight-day cycle, I am okay, for now. The clock ticks, but not enough that I feel the need to crush it.
My reality, along with many other people’s, is not taken as seriously as it should be. Doctors often brush off endometriosis symptoms as exaggerations or common effects of period pains. This parasite, however, impedes the functionality of many people. It affects fertility, blinds with pain, and can even lead to depression.
Survivors, such as my mother and sister, serve as an example of strength. Even with sleepless nights and agony-filled days, they continued working, studying, being a friend, being a sister, being a mother, and carrying out their responsibilities as if they weren’t bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders.
They are two of my biggest inspirations. For I, too, want to love and laugh through the pain, even if I am doubled over and clenching my stomach while doing so. Like them, I want to be more than a condition and its symptoms. And, while I am the only woman in my family with a uterus, I am not the only friend, student, sister or daughter.
When the time comes, I’ll also face the situation with bravery, but with two women who have conquered it before. I wish they would’ve had that too.
Te amo, mami. Te amo, Krizz. Gracias por todo.