Mirena IUD- Insertion

I was not expecting that level of pain.

Having the Mirena inserted was like having a tiny troll with a sword stab my uterus repetitively then take his small fist and grab some uterine lining and pinch it with all his might multiple times.

I cried.

The four 200-mg Advil pills I took just 15 minutes prior to the procedure did nothing to shield the pain.

Imagine one of the worst kind of cramps in the center of your pelvis. It’s warm, dull and achey and it makes you nauseous. Add some sharp pangs and a doctor asking you to relax every 2 seconds –that’s the Mirena insertion.

I thought they’d numb me. They should have. Heck I should have gotten an epidural.

The Mirena is for my adenomyosis. The next option is to remove my uterus altogether. Doctor says that’s the best option if there are no kids in the works.

No doctor- stop trying to make kids happen. It’s not going to happen!

I am #1In10

Resharing my post from instagram: Myshellie23

I am one in 10. Being a woman with endometriosis means I am always in pain. It means I push past the pain and go to work anyways. It means sitting at an office when I really just want to curl up into fetal position. It means smiling when I’m actually gritting my teeth. It means laughing when I want to cry. It means telling my partner, “No” when I really want to say, “Yes.” It’s saying, “I’m fine” when I actually mean, “Take me to the ER again.” It’s people telling me that I’m lazy or that I’m not dedicated. It’s knowing I can’t eat that pizza, that hamburger, that steak or drink that cocktail for fear I’ll have even worse pain. It’s looking like I’m five months pregnant when I can’t even conceive. It’s walking when I want to run. It’s doing the scaled versions of some workouts when I wish I could do the intense ones. It’s pretending I’m OK when I’m at a party/event that I forced myself to go to in the first place. It’s getting surgery after surgery to “fix it” but no relief. It means people will see nothing looks wrong with me and think I’m a liar. It’s caring what they think when I know I shouldn’t. It means finding the strength I didn’t know I had. It means finding new ways to enjoy life I hadn’t thought about. It’s being happy in spite of the pain or the devastating news I’ve received from my doctor. Being a woman with endometriosis is knowing I will get through all of this even when I’ve had days where I wanted to quit. 🎗🎗


#endometriosis #endo #endometriosisawareness #1In10 #adenomyosis @theendo.co @endowhat @supportendometriosisawareness



Taking it easy?

I haven’t exactly been sleeping.

You’d think that with the amount of horse tranquilizer I’m on, I’d be comatose. Quite the opposite.  Perhaps the doctors prescribed me something else because I’m bouncing off the walls here.

I tried being stingy with my pain pills for a couple of days just to see what would happen. The result was a bit harsh. I was achy, and my belly button felt like exploding. I also felt a whole lot of pangs in my abdomen I hadn’t noticed before. Deep, dull pain in my right side that throbbed ever slightly – just enough that if you thought about something else for a second, you wouldn’t have known it was there. But much of the pain just became more prominent and like a more focused exponential gnawing inside my uterus.

The pain at my incision, where doctors cut a roughly 2 cm hole through my belly button is a rapid, steady fiery pulse. Brup brup brup brup.

The incision itself is starting to look better. The glue that’s holding the belly button in place has proven itself, even in spite of the bloat and gas that could have pushed my intestines straight through the tiny opening doctors used to pull out my endometriosis.

These are the things I think about when I’m shuffling about.

But the belly button pain is persistent.

I ignore it mostly and do the dishes, which involves bending over, unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away. Spoon, fork, knife, mug with a fading football logo, plastic cup from last year’s renfaire, last remaining champagne glass from a set of four…

Then I reload the dishwasher, jammed packed with crummy, sticky plates and silverware. Tupperware galore. I wipe down the counters with 409.

My back starts to throb.

I finish and turn on the dishwasher. It’s the third time I’ve practiced the ritual this week. I’m a pro.

Next I move toward the laundry area and start loading the washer. It’s a small load because I’ve already washed and dried all the clothes in the house, some of it twice.

I do a walk-through of the tiny 500-square foot apartment.

This book doesn’t belong on the coffee table, I think and move it to the shelf. An Xbox controller is off the charger. I put it back. My backpack is on the floor, I lean over and pick it and set it in a basket. I do tiny tasks like this about a dozen times a day this week.

Thursday is the worst.

I decide to drive. With the dogs. To the vet.

A 45-minute wait later, where I spent the majority of the time outside standing with two inpatient dogs, my abdomen is on fire. My back is goo and my legs swell. I need to sit down and go to sleep.

Needless to say, today I will spend my time in bed watching old episodes of the original Law and Order. No More Driving.

Come at me Lennie Briscoe.

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Pain management at home

The last 36 hours have been excruciating.

I’ve just had a single excision endometriosis resection surgery, where Dr. Guan said he cut away so many implants that were hiding underneath my uterus. He lifted and moved my swollen uterus and cut below it. Thankfully, I did not have any adhesions around my ovaries or on my fallopian tubes.

He and Dr. Bardawell were able to cut away implants near my bowels. Apparently, my uterus is swollen and shaped like a football – enlarged and filled with endometrial-like tissue that is impossible to reach. To get at it, Dr. Guan said the next step would be a total vaginal hysterectomy.

I’m just not there yet.

A few expectations I had about this surgery: It’s meant to be the near end-all of the endo pain and symptoms I’ve been suffering from over the years. It’s meant to alleviate most of my symptoms, including painful intercourse, nausea, excessive bleeding, lower back pain and abdominal pain. It was a single incision, meaning the scarring is straight through my belly button – only one hole.


Here is the reality I’m facing so far: My stomach now looks like I am eight weeks pregnant. My belly button looks awful with scarring and purple bruises all around it. I feel bloated. I’m nauseated. Peeing is hard. Walking is hard. I haven’t had a bowel movement. I’m irritable and the pain meds are not entirely working. Food tastes awful. I have no appetite. I’m dizzy from all the meds. My clothes, especially my pants, don’t fit. I’m tired.

I’m hoping these symptoms go away quickly. That by the middle of next week, I’m feeling more like myself. I currently want to vomit.

Endo sucks. This surgery sucks.

The only good that has come from this is the outpouring of support from my friends, fiancé and family. The love is great and makes me feel like I can keep pushing on.

I can’t wait until I am back on my feet, working out, eating right and feeling good.

Let me know if you have any questions about this. I am still finding ways to cope with the pain and sadness, so it’s a daily struggle. I know that I will find something that works for me soon.


The aftermath so far: painful

So my day surgery turned into an overnight stay at the hospital due to severe pain, the inability to use some of my bodily functions and the nausea.

Dr. Guan and a female fellow surgeon (I can’t remember her name) handled me with precision. My surgery was scheduled for 7:30 a.m., but I didn’t actually make it into the OR until after 8. And I don’t even remember that part because as soon I signed the anesthesia consent form, it was lights out for me❗️

The doctors worked for at least three hours during the Da Vinci single incision endometriosis surgery, cutting away endometriosis implants around my uterus, ovaries and bowels.  My uterus itself was twice the size it should have been, according to Guan.

Apparently, I had quite a bit of endometrial-like tissue inside my uterus that caused the swelling, and they were unable to get it out. They assured us (fiance & sister) it would only cause problems during my period and that I’d no longer experience the horrific pain I experienced every day as a result of my endo.

I remember waking up in the recovery area with my cheerful, sweet (and handsome) nurse Tom, who I eventually nicknamed Tom Cruise.

After several doses of morphine, which did absolutely nothing for me, Tom got approval to use a fentanyl pain injection, another narcotic that did nada. I had experience with both, as I had used them for my first excision surgery and for my appendectomy last year. The pain did not subside. At this point my pain was bouncing around between a 7 and an 8 or between ☹️and a 😫.

Then Tom – God bless him – got me dilaudid (hydromorphone) and sure enough my pain eased up. I started cracking jokes about how I was feeling so little pain, I’d make it to my Olympic weightlifting class in the morning and snatch and deadlift a few hundred pounds here and there.img_2842
But by 5 p.m. shortly after they brought me back to the day surgery area, the pain came back with a vengeance and Tom was no longer my nurse. I couldn’t pee and my anxiety skyrocketed. My nurse gave me an anti-anxiety but no painkillers.

I started to cry. Did she not believe me?

That couldn’t have been it, because they asked me to stay the night to get the pain under control, which I wasn’t originally meant to do. Then came the Toradol, an anti-inflammatory med intended to treat pain. My pain went from 😫 to 😖. Not much relief there and I told her that, but she said that because I had taken an anti-anxiety pill, I couldn’t take a narcotic. 🤷🏽‍♀️

After they admitted me into the hospital, my new nurse JR tried to get approval for something stronger. We tried morphine. Again nothing.

By 7:30 p.m., I was in tears practically screaming in agony. Eventually, JR got approval for several painkillers, including dilaudid, from the fellow surgeon who also said she’d stop by in the morning to check in on me. That was definitely good to hear; I liked her.

I’ve been drinking so much apple juice, ginger ale and water. I don’t understand how I haven’t yet exploded because going to the bathroom is nearly impossible. It’s a task, it hurts and barely any liquid comes out of my body.

“That’s normal,” Nurse JR said. “Your body is still coming off the anesthesia and you had surgery on those delicate areas. Try not to push yourself.”

That’s easy, I thought to myself. Trying to pee is uncomfortable, so I’d rather not do it even if the urge is there.

About an hour ago (it’s about 5:30 a.m.), JR gave me more dilaudid after my pain shot up from a 😏 to a 😩.

He’s coming back in awhile to give me more Toradol and liquid Tylenol. Then the Oxy, which surprisingly and unfortunately does little for me.

Needless to say, working on pain management has been an unfortunate chore, one I haven’t been able to get right.

I asked JR if I’d be able to sleep in my own bed tonight. He said it all depended on how well I managed pain on pills like Oxy. It’s disheartening because I don’t know what to do. Why isn’t my body receptive to these crazy drugs? I wish the morphine would take care of everything.

Hopefully when this is all over, I’ll truly be pain free.