A Letter To My Younger Self
By Dannielle Stewart
Dear Dannielle, aged sixteen...
If I recall correctly, you spent last week sitting in your GP's office after school, wearing that ridiculous blouse with the stupid waistband, feeling intense levels of teenage angst and embarrassment. You see you finally worked up the courage to tell her that your period was giving you hell, and could we do something about it pleasethankyouokaybye? It mattered not one iota that she was a doctor and this was her job, you just didn't talk about this, not for very long, and not in detail....and not with anyone other than your Mum. That's okay, you won't feel that way forever. You'll one day use phrases like "stabbing pain through your cervix" in public frequently, and it won't even bother you. You'll also ask people if they've opened their bowels recently....a lot. Sorry dear, your career as an educator isn't going set your world on fire, it's back to the hospital for you, that's where the real action is, that’s where you’ll be most happy.
Back to this angst business. You see you've been hurting, I know it. You hurt everywhere, physically and emotionally. You cannot comprehend the appalling strangeness of the pain that you feel not just for that one week each month, but in between and all around. You just learnt that phrase too "appalling strangeness", courtesy of viewing the most spectacular forty minutes of television you will ever see, Two Cathedrals, from Aaron Sorkin's The West Wing. During that infamous cathedral rant, Bartlet quotes Graeme Greene's Brighton Rock. "You cannot conceive, nor can I, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God". That quote speaks to you, I know it does. You feel it when you're in pain, your insides turned into a thorny mess, you're sure that could you see inside it would look terrifying. You feel it when you lose control and all that hard work you've done, all the talking back to that menacing demon inside your head, disappears down the sink...quite literally. I know, I know about all the times you said you didn't, but you did, because you just wanted to feel better. No one understands that when you purge, for a moment the world seems right and you are completely in control; only you weren't, she was. You'll lock her in her cage for good by the time seventeen comes, by then you'll have bigger fish to fry.
Appalling strangeness indeed. I know about all the times you told yourself that it doesn't hurt that much, that the bleeding isn't that bad, that the nausea isn't really there that often. It did hurt that much though, it was that bad, and it was there that often. You wanted so badly to be okay, and that's why you told yourself you were. It's not a lie if you believe it, right? Something deep inside knew better though, and so you mentioned it to the GP. Smart, thank you for doing that for me, your twenty-five year old self is grateful that you found that voice, if only for a moment. You went on the pill, and it...sucked. It didn't help, but you thought it was supposed to, and so once again you said nothing. You know I still do that sometimes kid? Pretend something is alright because I don't want someone else to be concerned. Maybe by twenty six I'll have grown out of it...I wish I could tell you it gets better, but that's not going to happen until things get worse. At twenty-five I do the same things you do, pretend to the point of absurdity, only at twenty-two it will land you in emergency more than once. Like I said, 26 is our year girl.
I know that some people don’t seem to think your pain is much of anything, and that you listen to them, you convince yourself that you aren’t worthy of help, of attention, because this is nothing. If you knew what I do now, if you could see endometriosis growing across the landscape of your periotoneum, or the adenomyosis slowly but surely making it’s way through the wall of your uterus, maybe you would look at yourself differently. Maybe you would speak to yourself more kindly. Maybe you would realise that only you can truly know the extent of your suffering and so that’s the only person you need listen to. Also maybe you would have listened to your biology teacher who told you like four times that he thought you had endo. Let me tell you, he doesn’t say “I told so“ even once after your diagnosis. He brings you a plant. The cat’s gonna eat it, sorry. That cat loves a good plant…
Girl, I understand that everything in this world can seem impossibly hard and horribly unfair sometimes, it can seem like no one cares and no one appreciates how hard you work - I know because I still feel it. Perhaps 30 year old Dannielle has got some wisdom for us that we just don’t know about yet. If I can tell you how well so many things turn out now, just imagine the surprises she’s got waiting for us. It’s okay to feel emotional pain too, it doesn‘t make you weird or broken - use it. If I could tell you anything, it would be that this sadness and anxiety, that pain, will give you some incredible passion. It’s because of them you can write beautiful things, hold the hands of pre-op patients with care, and fight for other people who have suffered the same way you have. You will one day titrate IV opioids, make inotropes, and drag anaesthetists out of theatre because your patient needs to be seen right goddamn now, that’s the badass you have to look forward to, even though inside she is still so often as scared as you.
More than all of this, I wish that I could change things for you, that I could take this pain I know you feel and turn it into better days. I can't for you, but I can for others like you. Other endo warriors who are exactly where you are, now. For those people, I've got a few wishes left in my pocket, and this one's for you:
May your pain be recognised, may a doctor hear your symptoms and decide that something has to be done. May your surgery be swift, inexpensive, and by a skilled endometriosis specialist. May your disease be minimal, because it was caught early, and excised with care. May your postoperative care be multidisciplinary, and fit your needs, managing your symptoms so that you can live and enjoy your life - every minute of it. May you know another life, other than one dominated by the pain of endometriosis.
I wish that one day people will read this blog or one of the many endo stories out there the same way I read T.S Eliot or Ezra Pound - with fascination, because the writing is beautiful but I cannot imagine living in the world that they inhabit. My wish is that one day young people cannot conceive of a world where their pain is not taken seriously, where endometriosis is a household name that is easily treated, or better yet, cured.
This is my loud and noisy prayer, my barbaric yawp across the rooftops of the world, that people like us will one day not know the pain of endometriosis.
Love,
Your 25 Year Old Self
P. S. Sorry about the whole COVID thing…that’s going to be a wild ride.
This post was originally published on The Daisy Diaries By Danni and republished here with permission
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