fibroids

Endometriosis

Vulvodynia

Painful penetration

pelvic pain

menstrual pain

infertility

heavy bleeding

headache

My name is Kim and I go by she, her, they or them. I am 40 years old and I live in Maryland in the United States. 

I started my period when I was 12. I was really proud of it and I just couldn't wait for my mom to get home from work so I could tell her with a big smile, “Mom, I got my period!”  It was only some spotting but I felt like I was ready to go into womanhood! Of course, when it first starts, your period is not all that normal. It tends to be irregular, pretty light, but it didn’t take long for mine to become very uncomfortable. I recall writhing in pain on my bed and not really knowing what to do about it because I hadn't really ever seen the women in my family manage their periods. It was very well hidden.

I recall being told that womanhood will involve pain. I was also told that it was Eve's sin in the Garden of Eden that resulted in me, along with all women, having painful periods and also, one day, painful childbirth. That was a very unfortunate lesson. It also is not biblical at all. I understand the Bible a lot better now but to my impressionable young self years ago, I felt like I was cursed to deal with severe gynecological pain simply because I was a woman.

When I started missing school or spending half the day in the nurse's office or in the bathroom because of my painful periods, my mom did open up about how painful her periods were when she was my age but my family still just had this acceptance or surrender that this is just how it is and if you’re lucky, it’ll improve after you had children. My mom was also taught that this was just a normal part of womanhood that had to be managed. Thankfully, her period pain did improve after pregnancy but they were still remarkably heavy. Insanely heavy. She ended up having a hysterectomy at 40.

When I was 18, my mom scheduled and took me to my first well woman exam.  

I had not yet been sexually active at that point and I went to the appointment completely ignorant of all it would involve. Big fail of my public school education’s Health class. I just thought it would be talking about womanhood and my periods maybe. I learned on the spot that it also involved a pelvic exam. Before the exam, the OBGYN asked if I was sexually active and I said no. A nurse came in and I assumed she was there to guide me through the process and be a support but she might as well not have been there because she did nothing. It ended up being a traumatic experience, no surprise there. I yelled out, telling him to stop but he didn’t and I felt my voice and my body was not my own. It felt like rape. As I got older, I learned that this experience has a name: gynecological violence or gynecological trauma. My body and my mind didn’t understand or didn’t care that I was in a doctor’s office and had a clinical procedure. It responded like a body that was assaulted and violated. 

It wasn't until some time later that I realized that even though I told that first OBGYN that I was still a virgin, he used a full-size speculum on me when a smaller one was definitely indicated. To this day, I think that he just didn't believe that I was telling the truth about being a virgin until it was too late. Unfortunately, I know other women, particularly women of color, who simply were not believed when they told their providers that they were not sexually active. It also was not until years later when viewing my records that the OBGYN diagnosed me with vaginismus, involuntary spasms of my vaginal muscles; would have been nice if he told me that. 

I came out of that appointment teary-eyed and feeling broken. I think my mom and I didn’t speak a single word on the ride home or, if we did, I'd have completely blocked it out. It took years for me to recover from that event. I often wondered, “what's wrong with me? There must be something wrong with me. I don't think this is how it was supposed to happen, so I must be broken in some way.” I went from thinking, “well, this is womanhood so expect it to involve pain, especially pelvic pain, around your periods and with childbirth,” to thinking, “you are damaged goods…you are broken… something about you is broken because your vagina doesn't work like everybody else’s.” Those beliefs only got further confirmed when I tried to have sex but couldn't or when I would try to insert a tampon but found it too uncomfortable to keep in for long.

I was taking so much ibuprofen and naproxen to manage my period pain, it was insane. That same OBGYN would prescribe prescription strength ibuprofen and naproxen like it was candy and never told me my severe period pain wasn’t normal. When I learned that I could take birth control that would stop my periods, I jumped on that as soon as I could. I went on Depo-Provera which got rid of my periods altogether. It seemed like the right answer because it felt like a cure. Certainly, it was marketed in that way so I got on Depo, and boom, I felt I finally could have a life, even though I still had other issues here and there that just didn't seem right like migraines, hives, vaginal issues, etc. I finally managed to be able to have sex but it was painful and I did not understand why. I stayed on Depo for a few years before stopping it because it started to feel like my body was rejecting it.

When I got off of Depo, I was rudely reacquainted with my period. My periods were more painful, longer, and heavier.  I was missing work and school because of the symptoms so I tried to get back on birth control, which I thought would be my cure again. I tried different birth control pills and the patch but they seemed to make my symptoms worse. Finally, I said, “forget it, I'm just going to have to figure this out.” When I would tell my OBGYN about my painful periods, I would just keep getting prescription strength ibuprofen and naproxen so that became the closest thing to a “cure” I had. I have taken ridiculous quantities of ibuprofen to manage my pain over the years. It seemed to be the only thing that took the edge off and allowed me to somewhat function during my period. But the amount that I needed to take just kept getting higher and higher. My system finally reached a breaking point and now I need to avoid NSAIDs indefinitely but guess what, I still have periods so bad that I need ibuprofen so I take it against medical advice. Right now, I just don’t have much of a choice.

At about 25 years old, I learned that I had a couple small fibroids. My mom, grandmom, and many other women in my family also had fibroids. When I learned I had fibroids, I assumed I was going to have the same fate and probably have a hysterectomy by the time I was 40 which terrified me. Those fibroids stayed fairly small for a long time but I was led to believe that they were the reason why my periods were so painful. I always thought there must be something else going on though but with no idea how to find out what, and OBGYNs treating me like my pain was normal/expected, I followed suit and also began to normalize my pain. 

Over the years, I have hired and fired OB-GYNs because I became increasingly less tolerant of feeling unsafe or being dismissed. I remember I had one Physical Assistant who recommended hysterectomy. I was 32! I’ve had others tell me I just needed to get on birth control and leave it at that. I would get so disappointed and I'll stop going to them. I felt like they just saw me as a broken vagina that they didn’t care to fix; I never really felt like they saw me as a whole person.

It wasn't until my husband and I decided, “Let's try to have children,” that I got a little bit more attention from the OBGYNs. I told them, “Hey, I've been trying to get pregnant for like three years and haven't had success.” At this point I think I was 35. “Could it be these fibroids? Could something else be going on?” Once again, endometriosis was never mentioned even with my other worsening symptoms. It was just, “Oh, it must be the fibroids.” They would push myomectomy but  I decided to schedule an appointment with a minimally invasive gyn surgeon since I stared to realize the limited surgical skill of some OBGYNs. That specialist said, “these fibroids are not in a location that would hinder implantation.” He could confidently say that my fibroids was not hindering implantation. From that point, any trust I had in what OBGYNs said went out the window and I took matters in my own hands to find out what was really wrong with me.

I tried so many things, saw so many practitioners, and, as I progressed professionally, I  started seeking out research articles to learn more about fibroids. myomectomy, and period pain. Since I had no trust for Gynecology, I started seeing integrative medicine practitioners, but you know what? None of them mentioned endometriosis either. But they did do things like teach me about estrogen dominance, SIBO, and managing my symptoms naturally. I started doing acupuncture and chiropractic care. But some practitioners made it seem like my symptoms were my fault. That I was just doing something wrong. Some supplement I should have been taking, some diet I should have been following, some environmental exposure I wasn’t avoiding. I found that pretty rude and toxic actually. As my symptoms worsened, I became increasingly more strict about my diet and fitness. At one point I was taking 15+ supplements. Some symptoms would improve while others worsened and the answer would be to become more restrictive. This led me to developing some disordered eating in an attempt to feel better and follow protocols perfectly. When I’d slip and have a painful period, I blamed myself.

I will say, my period did partially improve after some diligent functional medicine efforts.This gave me hope, but I hit a plateau. It also did not feel sustainable with the number of supplements I was taking and the restricted diet. And sometimes I would still have these flares of really bad period pain that would make no sense.On one occasion, I was driving to a hair appointment and my period started with a vengeance. I felt paralyzed and ended up in the emergency room because no amount of medicine I took was touching it. 

That's when I was starting to get even more suspicious that there was more going on. 

Eventually, in my own research, I started to see “endometriosis” pop up more. At this point, I was working as a nurse and was studying to become a Nurse Practitioner; endometriosis was not mentioned in nursing school or in my NP program. In my ignorance, I initially thought endometriosis was some sort of endometrial cancer or just a thickened endometrium, or something that affects the ovaries. I didn't think much of it. I still was thinking maybe these growing fibroids ormaybe the estrogen dominance was all to blame.

My husband eventually sought help from a fertility clinic. Endometriosis wasn’t mentioned as a possible cause of our infertility from either of the clinics we sought care at. We did two IUI, which is like an insemination process to try to get the sperm and egg as close together as possible. We tried it twice and the first one failed because I developed a chocolate cyst that was so large it blocked the view of the entire ovary, so they couldn't visualize my dominant follicle and monitor my ovulation. When the provider mentioned a chocolate cyst, I remembered reading online about chocolate cysts and their association with endometriosis. When the reproductive endocrinologist learned of this incident, she never said, “oh, you may have endometriosis.” In fact, her answer was to double up on the letrozole the following month and try again. How did they miss that red flag and not say, oh, we might be dealing with someone with endometriosis. 

I started specifically researching endometriosis and saw just how much it aligned with my symptoms. I mentioned it to my OBGYN, who just dismissed it and said, “I think you really just need to get these fibroids removed and you'll do better.”

After the second IUI attempt with the doubled dose of letrozole, I developed left sided pelvic pain that never went away. I have not been the same since those IUI attempts. My health really began to plummet after that. That was in 2018- 2019, I think. When I mentioned the persistent left sided pelvic pain, which was assumed to be ovary related, the fertility doc just wanted to do another IUI. 

I no longer felt safe with them. Here’s the thing: if I don’t feel safe discussing my pain with you, I definitely don't feel safe spreading my legs open to you. Pelvic exams and procedures were still very difficult but I would suck it up if I trusted the provider but once trust is broken, it’s not worth the pelvic pain to deal with you. We might as well just end this relationship, and I try and find another one. I stopped going to that fertility clinic. 

I think the medication I took for the IUIs did something. I felt increasingly worse every month after those IUIs. The constant left side pelvic pain, worsening periods, and new symptoms developed. Something had to give. I started to prepare my mind for the possibility of surgery. I’ll be honest: as a Black woman, I do not feel safe on an operating table or as a patient in a hospital. I hated that endo could only be definitively confirmed via surgery. It was terrifying but my health was only worsening and I had to do something but I feel like once I'm on the OR and under general anesthesia, being a healthcare provider doesn't mean a damn thing. I'm going to be what they see and it's going to be a broken Black woman that they could do whatever with, or either, not take her body seriously, or do more than what she asked for. I was afraid I'll wake up with missing organs or would be neglected and die of sepsis. It doesn’t help that my best friend did in a somewhat similar fashion in that same year. These are concerns of a lot of Black people regardless of their education level, regardless of their lived experience. 

I started getting transvaginal ultrasounds every six months after that and I learned that my fibroids had grown exponentially in spite of me still doing all of these great health things. I remember how disappointed my acupuncturist at the time was. She couldn’t believe it. 

Eventually I hit a wall. I quit everything. I quit acupuncture, chiropractor, doctors, integrative health practitioner, all the damn supplements.  I just quit all of that. I had been either vegan or vegetarian for the most part of ten years at that point I even with that I said “screw it” and started eating animal products out of a desperation to do anything to feel better.

I even quit my job. I was in grad school, to become a nurse practitioner, and I almost quit that too. I got a new job working part-time in hopes that if I could just work less hours a week, maybe I’d feel better. 

I didn’t quit school but I did cut back on school. I think I went to one class for a semester or two. I still felt like awful though. I still started having more daily issues. When I went to my PCP about it, I couldn't put my finger on all of it because the only thing that was tangible was the period pain, and left-sided pajn. Everything else was less tangible, the chronic insomnia, the wonky GI issues, mood swings, PMS symptoms when I never had PMS in my life, and increasing more drastic ups and downs with my mood.

My PCP said it was depression and gave me an antidepressant. I took it because I was desperate. I said, “I'll do whatever you recommend.” It seemed to help a little bit, but it still felt like my body was falling apart. 

II tried looking for an endo specialist when we lived in CA but it was all out of network, and none of them took my  insurance. It was like $25,000 just to walk in the door for one provider. It was ridiculous.

The following year, we moved back to Maryland partly because, at that point, I didn't feel like a fully functioning person anymore. I was barely holding on mentally, and I was barely getting through life physically. Moving from California back to Maryland where most of my friends are and my family is was a blessing.  I needed the support of my network of people.

Six months into living in Maryland, my left sided pelvic pain started to worsen. It was a constant burning and it was spreading to my groin area and it made no sense. It felt like a gnawing pain all the time but what was scary is that I knew it was now nerve pain. I struggled to finish grad school then found an endo specialist. At this point, I was willing to pay all my savings, max out any credit, or take out a loan to have my surgery done by a top endo specialist. My mom, wishing that she could pay for it for me, started a GoFundMe that raised almost the entire surgeon fee, which was $15000. That was not expected. Absolutely just amazing that my people came together as well as a lot of strangers to support me in that way. There’s a lot of people that I don't know who donated, who read my story and either resonated with it or were like, “We want to help.” I thank God often for that blessing because I have had a lot of post-surgery issues, unfortunately, and managing them is expensive! Anyway, I had my surgery in November 2021. I had endo excision and removal of my fibroids during surgery.

I had endometriosis pretty much throughout my pelvis including a sizeable nodule on my rectum. I had my appendix removed as well because there was endo on my appendix, too. It was a lot. A lot physically but a lot mentally as well. 

By the time I had surgery, the endometriosis and the subsequent adhesions did a number on me. Even though I had surgery from a top endo specialist, I have nerve damage now that I'll probably be managing for the rest of my life. That’s fine because it's better than having a bunch of endo wreaking havoc in my body. But I also have more complex pain issues now which has been really tough to manage post surgery. 

Having surgery was a lot to process. I woke up from surgery and it was two weeks before I learned what happened and what was found in my body. When I woke up, the surgeon said, “We removed all the endometriosis, we also removed your appendix.” Then I asked him, “what all happened?” but I also said was, “Don't worry about that right now. You just rest.” I did not like that at all because not knowing what happened to my body was terrifying. For those first two weeks post surgery, I felt violated. I had nightmares of what I looked like on the table, if instruments up my vagina and in my abdomen, arms strapped to the sides like Christ on the cross. I know what that looks like and it just felt so unnerving to know that my body was put in such a vulnerable position and I didn’t know exactly what was done. I think I had a great surgeon, but he didn't do a really good job of making me feel safe before or after.

Getting the surgical report was very reassuring. I need to know everything. I just wish my surgeon took pictures or video of the operation so I could see that too. 

Now that I know that I have endometriosis, I'm trying to redefine what life looks like because I went so long with essentially ignoring the symptoms or being told that they were not worth really looking into.

Obviously, it was likely the endometriosis that was the cause of my infertility all along. It was a lot to come to peace with the amount of money wasted on supplements and fertility treatments and the time and energy that it took to be hopeful even when you had this unknown obstacle that was keeping things away. Coming to terms with all the ways that providers failed me along the way. Me wishing I knew better and demanded more form my providers. To be honest, I’m still trying to come to peace with what endometriosis has taken from me. 

Post-surgery, I have allodynia, severe pelvic floor dysfunction, vestibulodynia, GI issues, rectal pain, clitoridynia, and no closer to trying to have children. I’m now working on coming to terms that me carrying my own children will likely never happen. My lady parts are pissed for going so long without the treatment that it needed. Managing the symptoms has been largely expensive and yet ineffective. Chronic pain is so costly to manage but I’m trying to throw everything at my symptoms now in hopes that something provides lasting relief. I lost 10 months of work due to the post surgery pain issues but am finally working as a NP two days a week. That is a sign of slow improvement but improvement nonetheless. But the slow return of my functional capacity has been heartbreaking. My chronic pain makes it really difficult to tolerate a lot of sitting or standing, or walking, or bending. You have to do all those things working in a clinic as an NP. I’ve built up my pain tolerance and continue to work on strategies that allow me to work but two days a week is all I can manage right now which is so frustrating but I must be patient with my body. 

In the meantime, I’m hoping to help others get their endometriosis diagnosis without unnecessary delays. I try to be an encouragement and also a source of information for those who suspect endometriosis, who have endometriosis but don't really know what to do, and those who understand their illness but need the periodic reminder that they are not broken and they will get through the day. 

That was my first time being able to give the whole long story in my life. Like the whole narrative, yes. I've learned how to sum it up in one minute, three minutes, and five minutes. Because if I'm meeting with a new provider, I can try to give it to them in one minute versus if I'm meeting a patient who is struggling, I can give them the five-minute because you also don't want to overwhelm them. It's crazy when you walk through your entire story-- This is what I was doing when I was laid up in bed recovering; I was beginning to see the bigger picture, 

Endometriosis likely was causing my extremely painful periods. It probably was what caused my mom's painful periods too. And my grandma’s. It's probably why that first pelvic exam was so horrendous. If only I had this figured out before I had period pain severe enough to require help from the emergency room. Before I realized it was likely causing my infertility. Before I learned to normalize the pain and dysfunction. 

I try not to just say the system is the issue because that's almost too broad and non-specific. It's like saying “the government,” it's like really what does that mean? At the end of the day, the system is people who had the power to make a difference or to do the right thing for society but choosing not to, over and over and over again. As a healthcare professional, I intend to not be a part of the problem, but I will be a provider who's within a problematic system.  It's so challenging when you decide, “I'm in the system but I'm not of it.” 

It's hard. This whole experience has had me wondering, "Do I even want to be a part of this healthcare system? Do I bite down and just grit my teeth and deal with it because this is where the people are who need my help, or do I disconnect from it altogether because it's so broken that it seems beyond repair?" Endometriosis has only opened my eyes more to how broken it is, especially those with chronic pelvic pain and from certain ethnic/social backgrounds. It’s a struggle to not have this make me a bitter, resentful, cynical person.

I pray that I will be pain-free one day. Some days I’m hopeful. Some days, I still feel like that broken young lady at her first well woman exam. It’s a process but while I’m figuring myself out, why not help others do the same?

name

placental abruption

lichen sclerosus

vulval cancer

Endometritis

pudendal neuralgia

Müllerian duct anomaly

Nutcracker syndrome

Fibroma

MRKH syndrome

Interstitial Cystitis

perimenopause

Asherman's syndrome

amenorrhea

cervical cancer

post-ablation syndrome

Deep infiltrating endometriosis

undiagnosed

PMDD

uterine polyp

hydrosalpinx

Ovarian cancer

dysmenorrhea

cervical polyp

menorrhagia

Endosalpingiosis

endometrial cancer

Adenomyosis

Ovarian cyst

PCOS

diagnosis

labial resorption

clitoral phimosis

decreased clitoral sensation

tearing on insertion

swollen lymph nodes

white patches on labia

cuts and tears (vulva)

ulcers (vulva)

labia shrinkage

burning

Itching

chest pain

rectal bleeding

insomnia

weight loss

leg pain

joint pain

numbness

shoulder pain

shortness of breath

abdominal pain

rectal pain

asymptomatic

fever

acne

hair loss

night sweats

vomiting

moodiness

fatigue

ovulation pain

pressure sensitivity

anemia

nausea

excess body/facial hair

pressure

diarrhea

constipation

bleeding or spotting between periods

bleeding after sex

Irregular periods

back pain

painful bowel movement

bloating

frequent urination

painful urination

symptoms

Torrance Art Museum

USC Keck School of Medicine, 2023

Kaos Festival of Contemporary Collage, 2022

Endo Revolution video

Endo Violence Collective Magazyn #3

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Art and med

Heading to Bordeaux

Keck School of Medicine Talk

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Curated by Girls

Kaos Festival

Portrait of the artist

Ever-Emerging Magazine

Painful menstruation has been a generational trauma passed down in my family. Almost every woman in my family has either had surgery on their uterus, like having a hysterectomy or a laparoscopy. Most recently, my sister had a fibroid removal surgery that ended her life. It shouldn't be something that ends your life. It shouldn't be something that spiraled my life so far out of control.

My period started when I was 13 years old, but it wasn't until I was 15 that I noticed that it was 

ainful. I remember one day, I had asked my mom to stay home from school because I just couldn't get out of bed. I was wrapped up in blankets and she left. She said, okay, because it was the first time

she came back home and I was in the same spot she left me, she was 

. She and my step-grandmother were just kind of laughing

, “If you can't handle this, how are you going to handle childbirth?” And I remember getting so angry

that I started cursing and was upset. I just remember thinking, “I have to deal with this like every month for years on end.” It only got worse. I went to the doctors and got Tylenol with codeine because my pain was so bad. By my senior year, I had missed, I think, like, close to 30 or 40 days of school in that one year because my commute was over an hour on the train, and it was just too exhausting to get to school sometimes. It was normalized for me because every woman in my family had to deal with pain and the expectation was to 

, I was rushing home from student teaching because I was so exhausted. I collap

my painful period never registered to me as a reason why I was so exhausted. 

I didn’t know then but I was disassociating from reality in order to continue going through life “normally” without acknowledging my body’s need for rest while I was bleeding heavily and battling menstrual pain.

When I started going to work after college, I had at least four incidents at four different jobs where I bled through my clothes. When I spoke to my mom she goes “Girl, you know you have to carry your change of clothes!”

I was blaming myself for not being prepared for extreme pain and heavy bleeding because that was just normal to me. I live in New York City, and taking the train was so hard. And by the time I started working, I was sitting on the train for so long and then having to stand for so long

 it added stress to my pelvis and uterus that I simply accepted.

I just planned my life around my periods. 

f I had an important meeting coming up, I would just pray my period would start on the weekend, so at least the first two days 

be painful at home, and then I could focus on work. But hose are your two days to get a break from work, and I was over here praying that my most painful experience happened then, so that I wouldn't miss work.

By the time I was in my early twenties, I was constantly taking ibuprofen. It was a crutch that I needed to survive. My PMS had started to come three to four days before my period. So now it wasn't just the week of my period. Now it was three to four days before I'm gonna have mild cramping, I'm going to be exhausted, and have migraines.

I got married, and I moved out of New York. I thought that would help lessen the stress 

. My mom and other women liked reminding me if I couldn't handle my cramps, I wouldn't be able to handle childbirth. So I was excited to get pregnant to have a child, but secretly I also wanted to know how bad childbirth was. In my family that was also a badge of honor to have birth without any pain meds, and I wanted to know 

In my first trimester in pregnancy, I was spotting and 

, and I was like, “Are you shitting me? This is the time I'm supposed to get a break.” The pain was so bad that my midwife sent me to the ER. I didn't think about it then as intergenerational trauma because I didn't understand epigenetics and how we can pass on stress hormones in utero. But when I wa

s getting the ultrasound to determine the cause of the bleeding, the 

ultrasound tech told me, “Hey, I'm not allowed to do this usually for emergency ultrasounds, but I need you to see the baby so you calm down.” I'm like, “I am calm.” She zoomed in and I saw my child curled into a ball on the screen and that was something that resonated with me. That's when I first started getting an awareness of how much stress impacted my body. She said, “Yes, the baby can feel your anxiety.” So I made a commitment. I decided to go all natural, to do yoga and monitor my stress to calm my body.

My last trimester was so painful that I couldn't work. My midwife would send me to the ER and 

, “Oh, it's just Braxton Hicks,” the false contractions

time she was technically safe to get out I was ready to get her out

, “No. This has to happen now. She's healthy, she's big enough, I have to get her out.” So I did everything suggested: I ate spic

 acupressure and acupuncture. And within 

 day, I went into labor. I remember driving to the midwife's house and timing my contractions. I 

kay, great, they're coming every five minutes

f my period was like this, it'd be so much easier because I could time it, and I'd know when it was coming

 every month with my period was significantly more painful and draining. Labor was

When I gave birth, I didn't even consider an epidural. It literally felt like my period. I had a fourth degree tear. I felt the pain externally, it was a different kind of pain. But for me, I 

’s startling that I silently dealt with that level of torture every month like it was nothing, so much so no one really knew the severity or impact on my overall physical and mental health.

 Pregnancy was the hardest part for me, because it went on for so long. 

I couldn’t relate to the stories I saw in the media of women yelling for epidurals. 

, I was committed to the breastfeeding journey, it was great for 

I’d get a break from my periods. My entire life 

 around my period pain or anticipating it. And so while I was breastfeeding, it was amazing. The first year I didn't even have my period. My daughter slept so well because I co-slept and it just felt like heaven.

I had gained a lot of weight. I was like 200 pounds by the time I gave birth and I'm only five two. I felt so self-conscious about my weight, but other than that, I was 

Breastfeeding hurt too, but it didn't matter. I had her 

beautiful chunky cheeks and baby smell to keep me going. 

I was fine. I was safe. I felt great because I didn't have my period.

And then after the first year, a woman who I went to the birth class with told me she got her period and I was like, “all right, it's gonna come.” Cause she gave birth like a week or two after me. I think it was another three or four months and then my period came back but my pain wasn't that bad. At the time another family member came to live with

us, and I remember noticing when she had her period, she didn't have pain. It never occurred to me that 

 “This is amazing.” I was buying into all of the really stupid myths about period pain, that after you have the baby, maybe that will get rid of it. So I thought that maybe this was it, that I wouldn’t have period pain anymore.

And then October 31st, 2021, Halloween, my period pain came raging back after 

. I got my kid dressed and I was so excited but I was so exhausted. That's when I noticed the pain again. But I recognize now too, that I had been so used to pain

the warning signs had started months before but I just 

believe so badly that my painful periods weren’t coming back. 

the pain again, I had enough notes to look back at the past pattern of my menstrual cycle.

I knew that this time felt drastically different. 

I was like, “What is going on? I can't do this anymore.” Usually, I tough things out. But

, “I have to go to the doctor.” So I made an appointment.

The next week, I went to my primary care physician

, “This pain feels really different. It's on my right side.” And he checked me out and he goes, “I think you need to go to the ER. And I was like, I'm not going to the ER.” It was during COVID. I just wanted to go home to my baby. He 

think it's either appendicitis or endometriosis.” Prior to that, I hadn't ever heard of endometriosis. It terrified me, 