“Whenever Evil befalls us, we ought to ask ourselves, after the suffering, how we can turn it into good. So shall we take occasion, from bitter root, to raise perhaps many flowers.” Leigh Hunt (Leaves of Gold 1996)

I’ve been blessed with two parents (Devonna and Jack, as well as Dad’s wife, Patti) who love me, and a wonderful husband Nick, who has been my best friend since we were 14 – when we started dating. My family is great and there’s a lot of love and camaraderie. I have numerous friends and several life-long friends that I may not see too often, but the bonds are so strong that when we get together we pick up where we left off. There have been some rough points in all these relationships and sometimes I am amazed at how things have turned out. I love fairy tales, but don’t like hearing, “And they lived happily ever after,” because it certainly isn’t true. All relationships need work, commitment – and love. I’m not any authority to preach on how to mend such things; I can only tell what has helped me and share my personal opinions. And so goes my story.

My childhood was golden, a beautiful thing to behold. I was only hurt by the fact that because I was an only child, people would say, “I bet you’re spoiled rotten.” We weren’t rich, and I’m sure my parent’s friends were only kidding as they smiled at me. Nonetheless, I was determined and worked all the harder to prove them all wrong. I guess that’s where caregiving started for me, even though I didn’t ever think of it in those terms. My religion class sang, made cards and visited the elderly in nursing homes. We also raised money for charities. By high school, I started peer counseling. I never gave care to any one person in particular, but I learned to be thankful for what I had and have compassion for those in need.

I failed to notice that my parents didn’t talk much or spend any time doing things together. By my early teen years, things started to fall apart and when I was 17 they did divorce. I was so devastated I felt like everything was surreal. I used to feel sorry for kids whose parents were divorced and suddenly it was happening to me. Dad was cheating on Mom and lying about where he was staying. Mom insisted on telling me “the truth” about Dad and persecuted me for not believing in her newfound religion. Mom’s family were biased towards her side and told me how lucky I was to have her. I didn’t much care to take sides; I just wanted to divorce myself from the whole situation.

Mom and I used to fight a lot. She finally threw me out when I was 19 and I moved in with my boyfriend (now husband). I didn’t get off on the right foot with Dad’s girlfriend, either. They took me out to dinner the night before they got married, which went fine. They just didn’t tell me they were getting married – I found out from my aunt who read it in the paper.

I wasn’t an angel, either. I’ll own up to my mistakes. I was rebellious and didn’t want to hear what my Mom was saying to me. I argued with her and shut her out. I didn’t know how else to deal with her when she didn’t seem to want to hear me or try to understand what I was going through.

Looking back on it now, I spent so much of my time on anger, hate – and depression. I wish I had gone for help, but I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know how to go about getting help, and I also thought, “I don’t need help, I’m not crazy!” So much time and energy were wasted, and I seemed to be constantly tired and unmotivated. I now know that these are signs of depression and I’ll do anything to try not to slip so low ever again. I also find that I can’t use the word “regret” because I feel that you can’t know what will happen in the future. If faced with the same situation again, and thus the same information, you would probably make the same decision. There is no changing the past. Find a way to make peace with it and move on.

I tell you all of this because, oddly enough, my getting sick went a long way towards healing old emotional wounds and helping me make peace. Also, I chose to share my story of illness because I’ve noticed at the Care-Givers.com site that we have a lot of information about other illnesses, but not female problems. It seems that many of the members are female, and I thought that this would offer some variety and be of help to others. I hope to give perspective from someone who has been ill, as well as the role of painkillers in my treatment. I feel the media has caused hysteria over powerful drugs in general. But these drugs can be quite helpful, when used ONLY for their purpose.

I had reproductive problems since I was 12, when I went in for my first surgery due to an ovarian cyst. I had surgeries again when I was 20 and 23 for the same problem. When I was 25 and started feeling similar pain, I thought I was in for the same old problem. That was in February of 1998.

Unfortunately, my health insurance had changed and I didn’t have the same doctor who treated me when I was 20 and 23 – Dr. Terry Grogg. My new doctor, name not worth mentioning, wanted me to wait a few months to see if the cyst, if present, would pop on its own. In the meantime, ultrasound was done to see if a fluid filled cyst could be detected. Laparoscopy (exploratory surgery through a small incision in the belly button) was scheduled after nothing turned up. I was familiar with this procedure as that was how Dr. Grogg drained my other cysts.

By this time I was in a great deal of pain. The new doctor told me that only opiate-based drugs help reproductive pain. I was in agreement – nothing else that I had ever taken over the counter or prescribed had ever helped with my pain. Then again, the cysts were never as painful as what I was presently suffering and Dr. Grogg never made me wait for more than a month to solve the problem. I started out taking Lortab (did nothing for me) and then tried Percocet, which finally helped. Eventually, I went to Hydromorphone as this could be taken every 8 hours, which was better than Percocet every 4 hours. I found that it took around 1/2 to 1 hour for the drugs to take full effect, and then they would wear off within at least an hour of when the next dosage could be given. This is incredibly exhausting for only 2 hours of relief (with Percocet) and having a 6-hour stretch (with Hydromorphone) helped. It was a horrid roller coaster ride of up and down all day.

I was given plenty of lectures on “becoming a druggie” from many well-meaning people. I felt like other people constantly judged me at the pharmacy and doctor’s office as well as. With these drugs, they cannot be called into a pharmacy – the prescription must be hand picked-up at the doctor’s office on a weekly basis to keep track of usage. The constant trips and tracking down relief before the weekend was tiring and I knew I had to pace my usage, otherwise no more would be given for the week.

I honestly was not getting high off the painkillers. I was using them for their intended purpose. I did not feel high when I took them – I felt normal. Or at least, as normal as I could feel. I could focus and do things when I had relief. I learned to time my activities with my pills. Even getting out of bed in the morning was a trial. I had to wake up and take my pills an hour before I wanted to get out of bed to be able to get up. I felt it was best to take the pills, keep my job and be able to function rather than lay around and focus on pain. I know that there are alternative methods to cope with pain and I did try some, but I wasn’t going to turn down any help, either. These drugs, when used for their purpose, are a great help.

The laparoscopy in June did not solve my problems. The doctor said that it appeared that I might have Adenomyosis, as my uterus appeared somewhat large and “squishy” when touched with the exploratory equipment. Adenomyosis and Endometriosis are similar in that they both involve excess uterine tissue growth. The difference is that Endometriosis involves tissue growing elsewhere, which can be removed. With Adenomyosis, the tissue grows into the uterine lining and the whole uterus must be removed. Also, it can’t be biopsied as the sample taken may not be a portion of the uterus affected. The uterus may look normal from the outside and disease probably wouldn’t be detected until after removal of the uterus.

After laparoscopy, I had such high hopes that all was now going to be well. I was crushed when I heard that the problem was not solved. The pain of surgery, as well as my usual pain, was incredible. My mother and husband did their best to try to comfort me, but I honestly just wanted to die. My doctor didn’t help the matter any. The next time I saw him, he told me that there was nothing that could be done. Not, “I can’t help you, but maybe another doctor of a different specialty can,” – just a flat out, “nothing can be done.” After hearing that, I was so flattened I didn’t get out of bed all weekend. I never knew how true or important the engraving on my wedding band was until that moment – “I love and I hope.” At that point, I lost hope. My husband gave me love and did his best to restore hope. Only love for him kept me hanging on – I knew I would hurt him if I left him and I’d rather suffer anything than see harm come to him. I know that I have many more loved ones to live for as well, but at that point I was hanging on by a very thin thread. I hit severe depression.

It also didn’t help that my doctor would tell me things like, “God gives us all a cross to bear in life,” and, “I have kids and I can’t imagine a life without them.” So, basically I was supposed to suck it up and go have babies. Upon my next visit, he had his head nurse come in to tell me that the pain was in my head and refer me to get counseling. I was enraged. Of course I took the counseling because I knew I was having a hard time coping with everything. I also made an appointment with my family doctor, told him what was going on and demanded to have a second opinion with a doctor outside the HMO – Dr. Grogg. My family doctor, Dr. Delphia, is also a wonderful doctor and fully agreed that this would be best. Spirituality is important, but it was not my current OB/GYN doctor’s place to be my spiritual leader or let his beliefs inhibit my treatment.

Dr. Grogg believed that it was fully possible that the problem could be Adenomyosis and we made an agreement that I would push through with further testing of all organ systems that could possibly be causing this pain. That way, by the time my new insurance could take effect (Jan. 1, 1999) we could have all proof of what the problem could be (or eliminate all else) and try to fight the insurance to allow a hysterectomy – a difficult task for someone my age (26 at the time). He also told me that in very rare cases, women who have been sexually abused could have psychological pain of the reproductive system – he had only encountered one such case. However, as I have a sound past and a current healthy relationship, this was not my situation. My psychologist also agreed with me and believed that my current doctor was not helping me. I just wanted all matters cleared up and no possible hang-ups with battling the insurance company.

Dedra Woner