It happened again – late last night, I received the visit. Endometriosis came to call. The ringing doorbell… an excruciating buzz that said “I’m at your door. It’s too late to hide under the table; I see you,” reverberated in my ears.
I mustered the strength through the nagging pain in my groin – that same gut wrenching pain that’s been there, off-and-on, twisting me into tears and making my life a living hell – and reached for my EndoFEMM. Warmth. Relaxing. Finally. The pain still nags my groin. It wraps around my back, stretches into my legs and inner core.
My bowels cramp. My bladder spasms. My ovary cries for mercy. My body screams, “please, just shoot me!” I seize into a ball of tense, heated pain. I give in – it’s winning, this Endometriosis. It’s winning.
Into the kitchen I walked clasping the heating pad to my weaping pelvis. On the microwave stands a bottle, like the rest of the them – it’s brown, transparent, a Walgreen’s prescription. “Vicodin” it reads, but only one pill remains at the bottom of the bottle. Do I take it, I ask myself. Am I in that much pain? Then a stabbing, burning, gnawing pain seizes my groin through the heated blanket I have pressed firmly at my side, and I grab the bottle from the microwave.
Now it’s today… the pain is there, not as bad, but there. There are no pills left. No pills available.