“Are you absolutely certain you’re done?” my physician questioned. “You’re still quite young.”
As I sat in the office of a gynecological expert I had traveled over two hours to consult, my hands fidgeted nervously, rubbing the spaces between my fingers. Suddenly, they clenched into tight fists before releasing. In the initial moments of our discussion, he shifted the focus from my chronic pelvic and back pain, heavy menstrual cycles, and a family history of reproductive cancers to whether I would have more children, after learning I was navigating a divorce.
Yes, I was unequivocally sure. The path to my fertility was fraught with obstacles, and my pregnancy journey had its own set of challenges. At 31, my then-husband and I decided to start a family, a decade after my first pregnancy, which had come easily. After over a year of trying to conceive, I sought help from my gynecologist. Following tests, ultrasounds, and multiple appointments, I was diagnosed with endometriosis — a condition where uterine lining grows outside the uterus. This disorder was not only a frequent cause of secondary infertility but also the source of the excruciating pelvic pain that my previous doctors had dismissed for years.
The pain was akin to a shark bite within, extending beyond my menstrual cycle. It brought fatigue and bloating, often rendering me bedridden for days. I recognized that this was not normal, yet many doctors had led me to believe otherwise. My experience with pain was complicated; as a strong Black woman, expressing my discomfort felt like an unwelcome burden.
At 25, I left a prestigious hospital in Chicago with debilitating head and back pain, unable to hold my head upright. Instead of treatment, I was instructed to take ibuprofen, and later found myself in another hospital, where they discovered a slow spinal fluid leak that required patching. I could have faced dire consequences, but years of dismissive doctors taught me that fighting for attention was often futile.
After two surgeries to address my endometriosis, I finally found myself in front of a specialist. Severe pain on my left side stemmed from my left ovary being stuck to my pelvic wall. I awoke from my first surgery to find that problematic ovary still intact. My OB-GYN had aimed to preserve it for the sake of future pregnancies, although many women conceive with just one ovary. This time, however, I was resolute: I wanted my sanity restored, not merely my reproductive potential. I yearned for relief from pain, the ability to play with my four-year-old without discomfort, and freedom from the dread that accompanied each menstrual phase.
“I’m sure,” I declared. “Remove the fallopian tube, uterus, ovary, and anything else that’s problematic.” The ultrasound images displayed behind us showcased my fallopian tube, swollen and filled with an unknown mass. The doctor had previously remarked that a normal fallopian tube should be invisible on ultrasound, yet I felt mine very much. He briefly touched on conservative treatment options involving long-term medication with severe side effects, including nightly sweats and hot flashes.
Driving home, I felt a mix of confusion and frustration at having yet again received a Band-Aid solution for my suffering. I refused to be gaslit this time. I left a message demanding a deeper investigation into my condition, articulating my pain through tears. A nurse subsequently called to schedule a CT scan, revealing a concerning “thickening” in my uterine lining and additional fluid in my pelvic cavity, adding to the list of issues identified in the ultrasound. This led us to proceed with surgery to remove my uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovary.
In the eyes of many doctors, women’s fertility often overshadows our reproductive pain. At least I found solace in the fact that my life now took precedence over the question of whether I might change my mind about wanting more children. For more insights on this topic, you can explore this article. If you’re interested in expert advice, consider visiting this resource. Additionally, Science Daily is an excellent resource for understanding fertility and home insemination.
In summary, my journey reveals a critical truth: the importance of addressing women’s reproductive pain with the same urgency as fertility concerns. My experience underscores the necessity for physicians to prioritize accurate diagnosis and compassionate care for their patients.