The pain began about two weeks ago. I’ve never had low back pain in my life (mid-back? All the time. But that’s another story for another day… Another story that involves a brilliant 19 year old version of myself hopping into the bed of a boys truck in Rocky Point, Mexico [while not so sober] for what was supposed to be a quick trip, and winding up with 3 cracked vertebrates. I somehow continued to drink to numb the pain for 3 days until [just as we were crossing the border back into the U.S.] my body finally gave up and I wound up in the ER. Oh Rocky Point… How I miss the days when a vacation to you made me completely forget that there were things in this world that might actually require some thoughtful consideration before acting.) But low back pain? Never had it (never ever) until the endo. Until chocolate cysts started growing on my ovaries that were so large they pushed everything else around, causing crowding and thus… low back pain.
Two weeks of consistent pain. Not bad pain, just "always there" pain. I haven't allowed myself to think about it. I haven’t said a word to anyone (literally, not a soul). I’m tired of feeling like every time I turn around I have to look at my friends and say "Something’s wrong." I hate being all doom and gloom. I don't want to feel that way. I've actually felt so positive, and optimistic, and downright happy since I made my decision. I don't want to bring my own mood down, and I certainly don’t want to bring down the mood of my friends and loved ones. Plus, there is something about talking about it that makes it real, and I haven’t wanted it to be real. So instead, I've ignored it.
In ignoring it, I have reasoned my way into oblivion. I’ve tried to tell myself that only 2 months post surgery (2 months on what is supposed to be my miracle drug) it simply isn't possible. But, it's getting worse, and that voice in my head (like the nagging wife it is) is getting louder and harder to ignore. I finally picked up the phone today and made an appointment for Monday for an ultrasound (one of the benefits of being the extreme case that no one really understands is that when you call and say "it's back", no one questions you and they squeeze you in as soon as possible). Did you know I’ve learned to read ultrasounds? Between my donations and all the medical appointments of the last year, I know when that picture on the screen is showing “normal”, and I know when it’s showing anything but. When I donated I was “perfect”. Every Dr. raved about how “textbook” my baby making parts were. Now, they all take a deep breath and pause before saying anything about my ultrasounds (except that one Dr. who told me my ovaries looked like hell, while he still had the scope up there. That guy was special.) It’s like they are trying to figure out how to best crush my soul. The thing is, they shouldn’t worry about it so much. By the time they are talking to me, I already know. I’ve seen the answer for my own eyes. I know exactly what those cysts look like, and while they are hardly the worst of the damage caused by the endo, they are the visual indication on an ultrasound that it is still spreading, still growing; still destroying all my hopes and dreams.
I haven't allowed myself to worry (like I said, I’ve been ignoring it), but now… Now that I have finally picked up the phone. Now that there is a looming appointment. Now, I am worried. This drug was supposed to buy me time, but what if? What if I am one of those rare women for whom it simply does not work? I’ve already been told that my reproductive abilities may not survive another surgery. What if, after all the turmoil I went through to make this decision, it is too late?
Even though I’ve refused to acknowledge my pain or worry, I think it has been there in the back of my head, waiting to darken my mood. I’ve had to take my fear and frustration out on something, so I’m pretty sure that’s what led to dark(ish) thoughts here, and here, and maybe even a little bit here. I’ve allowed the nagging voice in my head to cloud my thoughts, but instead of actually acknowledging what was causing that, I have redirected my anxiety and anger and fear towards anything else that could be responsible... I'm kind of talented like that.
I don’t want to be right about this. I want to be crazy. I want the explanation for my pain to be some kind of psychosomatic manifestation of mental illness. I want to find out that this disease has in fact turned me into a complete hypochondriac, but that my endo isn’t returning after all. I want my Dr. to look at me and say “You have got to calm down. There is nothing wrong with you.” I want to be wrong. Because there is just no way I could be one of the women in that small (almost undetectable) percentage of women for whom Lupron simply does not work. There is no way my cysts could have returned full force in just two months. I know the progression has been abnormally (almost unbelievably) fast for me with this entire disease, but…
Please, tell me I’m crazy.
ADSPACE
