Mary G Bruno

Three times endometriosis and adenomyosis sent me to the emergency room. The first time was the worst, within about 5 months prior to my last surgery in early 2018. It was a Saturday morning I’ll never forget. I woke up and walked to the bathroom, but couldn’t leave on my own accord. Chris helped me from the bathroom floor to the car and we barely exited the driveaway before I started to throw up because the pain was so bad.

The 15 minute drive felt like hours. Once we arrived, I hobbled into the closest wheelchair, writhing and folded over, motioning for a vomit bag. I was too focused on surviving to feel embarrassed. I used that infamous blue handheld bag as I was rolled passed the nurses station and into one of the rooms.

The rest is a blur until the second dose of morphine kicked in. I remember frantically kicking my flip flops off, Chris helping the nurses to get me into a robe and holding me down to draw blood and start an IV. It’s hard to find a vein with so much movement. Later my sister arrived to my empty room (when they took me for an ultra sound) to find what she described as a crime seen with my flip flops and a little blood scattered on the floor from attempts at sticking my vein. A catheter was needed to get a urine sample.

Then there was more waiting…

It takes time for the doctor to come. A nurse can’t prescribe morphine. And they had to make sure I wasn’t on drugs.

I remember rocking back and forth with eyes clenched, hands gripping the bed rails, and feet digging into those classic white sheets. My life wasn’t in danger, but I remember wondering if I was going to die. I remember feeling guilty for hoping someone would knock me out of consciousness to get a moment of relief. “Where is the will to get through this? Find it, Mary…”

Finally, the morphine arrived. The nurse said it would make my whole body feel weird for a moment and then that would go away. She was right. On a normal day, that anticipation would’ve caused me great anxiety. But all I could think of was the potential relief it would bring.

As that magical fluid trickled through my veins for the second time (one dose wasn’t quite enough), my limbs finally began to relax into the bed and a sigh of relief exited my mouth with the next few breaths. Now able to appreciate the back of my eyelids, I rested perfectly still, and completely soaked up every ounce of that very simple feeling that we often take for granted: normalcy.

My blood tests were fine. I had no cuts or bruises; no significant medical history except endometriosis. The ultra sound came back relatively normal. This is what an invisible illness can look like.

Once walking out that hospital door, mainstream medicine could only offer me three things:
1) Strong pain medicine
2) Some form of birth control and the side effects that come along with it
3) Hysterectomy

My Creighton chart, however, revealed a classic type of unusual bleeding seen with adenomysosis. My Naprotechnology surgeon ordered an MRI which displayed a thickening of/enlarged uterus with 3 large cysts, characteristic of adenomyosis. He gave me the option of cutting off the localized adenomyomas (cutting off part of the uterus) and sewing it back together with the possibility of pregnancy still intact. Chris and I thought it was worth a try.

I woke up from surgery feeling a dramatic difference immediately; a weight, literally, lifted. I went several cycles with minimal to no pain, controlled with anti-inflammatories.

My chart revealed that I was at high risk for endometriosis from the very beginning. Had I been charting when I was first having severe symptoms as a young teen, I would’ve likely been diagnosed and treated within one year instead of the 12 years it took mainstream medicine. This could’ve meant a drastic reduction in severity/time in pain, and fertility.

It was unreal to be freed from that pain I knew so well since before 13 years old, nearly 20 years prior. That pain had become a part of me, from pushing through work or school because period pain is “normal” to writhing in the bed sheets at our local E.R.

I don’t ever want to forget that feeling.

That feeling is what inspires me to fight for other young women like me, but also women with less serious women’s health issues. Women’s health diseases, risk factors for miscarriage, etc., and hormonal abnormalities can often be found much sooner. No one should have to “deal with” unnecessary symptoms.

That feeling reminds me of how far God has brought me and that He has never left my side- from the depths of despair to accepting and willingly entering into my sufferings, to embracing every joy and talent he has blossomed in my life because of it. It is unlikely that I will ever get pregnant. But I am living the joy of God’s plan for my life, which (spoiler alert) is much better than my own.

You can take away my fertility, but you can’t take away my faith.

You can take away my plans and control, but you can’t take away my hope.

Hope is right there in black and white. The underlying causes of our symptoms are also often right there in our charts, in black and white (or red, green, and white, even yellow….) But we have to be open and looking for it. Circumstances cannot change the reality of the presence of hope, nor the reality of God’s presence.

We don’t have to forfeit our honest feelings of sadness or anger to accept hope! Feel your feelings and express them. It is important to be honest with yourself and with God. But also allow yourself to be transformed and see the goodness God has for you. Hope is always present. Find it.