I discovered my endometriosis at a very unfortunate moment—while meeting my future in-laws for the first time. Unbeknownst to me, a 5cm cyst had built up on my ovary and it was at that moment—while I was ankle-deep in the mucky aftermath of recent Cache Valley flooding, helping my future in-laws with the clean-up—that it ruptured. The pain was excruciating. In fact, I was sweating through my clothes so profusely that we refer to it as the “time of the athletic-gray crotch sweat.” Sometimes we need to laugh at our bad experiences, right?
Before that moment, never in my life had I experienced such pain (besides migraines, which were a walk in the park comparatively). In high school, I was that athlete who spent an insane number of hours training in the gym to be the best. I had always thought that pain strengthened the mind and the body—a great mindset for those with healthy, conditioned bodies. But not for bodies in turmoil. I couldn’t “tough it out” this time.
The ER doctor who treated my ruptured cyst recommended that I find a physician who specialized in women's health. My father, a nurse practitioner, referred me to a colleague who performed a TV ultrasound and an exploratory laparoscopic procedure. The results showed that I had stage IV endometriosis with frozen pelvis (which meant that my organs were sticking to weird places). The doctor told me that it was so bad he decided to sew me back up so that we could discuss my options. He said I could treat this chronic illness with medications, which may increase (or possibly even decrease) my chances to one day conceive. Or I could just "rip it all out," as they say—no more pain, sure, but also no hope of ever bearing children. I knew what option I would take.
At age 23, I was not ready to remove all of my reproductive organs. But I also understood that something had to be done to decrease the inflammation and pain. So, a few weeks after I was diagnosed, my parents and I researched various options and we decided that the more aggressive the treatment, the better. A different physician did a laparotomy—a procedure that entailed being sliced open from hip to hip, having my organs scrubbed to remove the endo and padded with gauze to prevent everything from sticking together again, then being sewn back up. During this procedure, they found that my pelvic region was consumed by adhesions, a.k.a. endometrial tissue, which had grown in places they shouldn't. This doctor had the gall to tell me, the minute I woke up, that I would never ever be able to have children. That put a little dent in my hopes, to say the least, but I decided that I would never give up.
As soon as I was adequately healed from the laparotomy, I was put on the Lupron Depot shot for six months. It is an evil, evil drug. I was emotionally unstable and sweaty to the point of near-madness—my husband and I both agree that it made me freakin’ psycho! Basically, it’s like menopause on steroids. I cannot talk about these shots without expressing my gratitude for the rep who made sure I got them for free; at a cost of at least $1,500 a shot, I couldn’t have afforded them otherwise. My insurance company, which deemed them unnecessary, wouldn’t cover them.
Obviously, my relationship with my now-husband (who is pictured with me above) faced a set of challenges unique to most budding relationships. I was battling a very tricky disease and I struggled with the feeling that I wasn’t strong enough, that I was deficient because I wasn’t able to just ignore my disease and my pain and go on with a normal life. Worst of all, I struggled with the constant worry that I may never be able to bear children. But it was during this time that my now-husband decided that even though we were unsure whether I would be able to bear children, we would go ahead and get married. I was relieved and overjoyed to have found a man who loves me just the way I am, physical problems and all. Moreover, I was pleasantly surprised to find that marriage was a piece of cake for us after having endured so much during our dating months.
After completing the Lupron treatment, I had a few more laparoscopies—to remove a damaged tube, more endometrial adhesions and my appendix—as well as a colonoscopy (since my endo had protruded through my colon wall). And then, six months into newly-wedded bliss, we decided to get aggressive and attempt in vitro fertilization.
Our first attempt ended as an ectopic pregnancy, which required removal of my last remaining fallopian tube. Even though the fetus was only ten weeks old, I still mourned the loss. For the second attempt, we had to stop the cycle halfway because a cyst had formed on my ovary. The third attempt ended in miscarriage. But finally, after a fourth attempt, we found out we were pregnant with two beautiful twin embryos.
I felt amazing during pregnancy. When I was 20 weeks along, I went in to get an ultrasound to determine the babies’ genders. They were both girls and we were thrilled. Honestly, I would have been thrilled no matter what they were —male, female, hermaphrodite--as long as they were healthy. But—and there is always a “but” when it comes to my health—I had been having a lot of contractions that I didn't even know about. By the time I saw the doctor, Baby A’s amniotic sac was bulging through my cervix.
This is where I give my obstetrician major props and will forever praise his name: He admitted me into the hospital and did an emergency surgery that involved pushing the amniotic sac back into my uterus with a balloon and then stitching up my cervix to keep it closed. There are not a lot of OBs who would have had the courage to do such a surgery. Afterwards, I was placed on strict bedrest for four months. I had to get very creative in finding ways to entertain myself so that I wouldn't go completely cuckoo. But I was very lucky for the many amazing family members, friends and neighbors who would bring me treats and company.
I delivered my twin beauties at 36 weeks exactly, but again, it wasn't the blissful birth that one hopes for. Prior to the delivery, I experienced a sensation of fluid leakage. After a checkup at the hospital, the nurses sent me home. I assumed all was well. It wasn’t. I later found out that Baby A's sac had ruptured and, without proper treatment, had become infected, making her very sick.
Paige and Ashlyn were born via C-section on October 21, 2012, but spent 14 days in the NICU. Describing their birth as a miracle doesn't even cut it; God’s hands were protecting me and my babies. Let me tell ya, having your tiny, little, fragile babies in the NICU is not fun, but I felt comforted that all would go well and that my babies would be home soon.
My girls are now rambunctious 2 ½ year olds, healthy as can be. Unfortunately, my health problems persist. Recently, a doctor tested my blood to see if I had any inadequacies and I found out I was positive for compound heterozygous C677T and A1298C MTHFR genetic mutations. As scary as it was hearing that I have a mutation, it was actually comforting to begin to understand the reasons I have so many health problems. I researched the crap out of it and realized that every single health problem I had was not my fault.
I spent so much time worried that I wasn’t measuring up, that I wasn’t strong enough to overcome the adversities I was facing. What I learned through these years is that I was given these struggles because I was strong and good enough and that, with a little faith, I would be able to accomplish what God wanted me to accomplish. I realized that part of my mission in life was to help others who were starting their own journeys. I am creating this site so that other women out there can express their stories, succor each other, and educate themselves.
Before that moment, never in my life had I experienced such pain (besides migraines, which were a walk in the park comparatively). In high school, I was that athlete who spent an insane number of hours training in the gym to be the best. I had always thought that pain strengthened the mind and the body—a great mindset for those with healthy, conditioned bodies. But not for bodies in turmoil. I couldn’t “tough it out” this time.
The ER doctor who treated my ruptured cyst recommended that I find a physician who specialized in women's health. My father, a nurse practitioner, referred me to a colleague who performed a TV ultrasound and an exploratory laparoscopic procedure. The results showed that I had stage IV endometriosis with frozen pelvis (which meant that my organs were sticking to weird places). The doctor told me that it was so bad he decided to sew me back up so that we could discuss my options. He said I could treat this chronic illness with medications, which may increase (or possibly even decrease) my chances to one day conceive. Or I could just "rip it all out," as they say—no more pain, sure, but also no hope of ever bearing children. I knew what option I would take.
At age 23, I was not ready to remove all of my reproductive organs. But I also understood that something had to be done to decrease the inflammation and pain. So, a few weeks after I was diagnosed, my parents and I researched various options and we decided that the more aggressive the treatment, the better. A different physician did a laparotomy—a procedure that entailed being sliced open from hip to hip, having my organs scrubbed to remove the endo and padded with gauze to prevent everything from sticking together again, then being sewn back up. During this procedure, they found that my pelvic region was consumed by adhesions, a.k.a. endometrial tissue, which had grown in places they shouldn't. This doctor had the gall to tell me, the minute I woke up, that I would never ever be able to have children. That put a little dent in my hopes, to say the least, but I decided that I would never give up.
As soon as I was adequately healed from the laparotomy, I was put on the Lupron Depot shot for six months. It is an evil, evil drug. I was emotionally unstable and sweaty to the point of near-madness—my husband and I both agree that it made me freakin’ psycho! Basically, it’s like menopause on steroids. I cannot talk about these shots without expressing my gratitude for the rep who made sure I got them for free; at a cost of at least $1,500 a shot, I couldn’t have afforded them otherwise. My insurance company, which deemed them unnecessary, wouldn’t cover them.
Obviously, my relationship with my now-husband (who is pictured with me above) faced a set of challenges unique to most budding relationships. I was battling a very tricky disease and I struggled with the feeling that I wasn’t strong enough, that I was deficient because I wasn’t able to just ignore my disease and my pain and go on with a normal life. Worst of all, I struggled with the constant worry that I may never be able to bear children. But it was during this time that my now-husband decided that even though we were unsure whether I would be able to bear children, we would go ahead and get married. I was relieved and overjoyed to have found a man who loves me just the way I am, physical problems and all. Moreover, I was pleasantly surprised to find that marriage was a piece of cake for us after having endured so much during our dating months.
After completing the Lupron treatment, I had a few more laparoscopies—to remove a damaged tube, more endometrial adhesions and my appendix—as well as a colonoscopy (since my endo had protruded through my colon wall). And then, six months into newly-wedded bliss, we decided to get aggressive and attempt in vitro fertilization.
Our first attempt ended as an ectopic pregnancy, which required removal of my last remaining fallopian tube. Even though the fetus was only ten weeks old, I still mourned the loss. For the second attempt, we had to stop the cycle halfway because a cyst had formed on my ovary. The third attempt ended in miscarriage. But finally, after a fourth attempt, we found out we were pregnant with two beautiful twin embryos.
I felt amazing during pregnancy. When I was 20 weeks along, I went in to get an ultrasound to determine the babies’ genders. They were both girls and we were thrilled. Honestly, I would have been thrilled no matter what they were —male, female, hermaphrodite--as long as they were healthy. But—and there is always a “but” when it comes to my health—I had been having a lot of contractions that I didn't even know about. By the time I saw the doctor, Baby A’s amniotic sac was bulging through my cervix.
This is where I give my obstetrician major props and will forever praise his name: He admitted me into the hospital and did an emergency surgery that involved pushing the amniotic sac back into my uterus with a balloon and then stitching up my cervix to keep it closed. There are not a lot of OBs who would have had the courage to do such a surgery. Afterwards, I was placed on strict bedrest for four months. I had to get very creative in finding ways to entertain myself so that I wouldn't go completely cuckoo. But I was very lucky for the many amazing family members, friends and neighbors who would bring me treats and company.
I delivered my twin beauties at 36 weeks exactly, but again, it wasn't the blissful birth that one hopes for. Prior to the delivery, I experienced a sensation of fluid leakage. After a checkup at the hospital, the nurses sent me home. I assumed all was well. It wasn’t. I later found out that Baby A's sac had ruptured and, without proper treatment, had become infected, making her very sick.
Paige and Ashlyn were born via C-section on October 21, 2012, but spent 14 days in the NICU. Describing their birth as a miracle doesn't even cut it; God’s hands were protecting me and my babies. Let me tell ya, having your tiny, little, fragile babies in the NICU is not fun, but I felt comforted that all would go well and that my babies would be home soon.
My girls are now rambunctious 2 ½ year olds, healthy as can be. Unfortunately, my health problems persist. Recently, a doctor tested my blood to see if I had any inadequacies and I found out I was positive for compound heterozygous C677T and A1298C MTHFR genetic mutations. As scary as it was hearing that I have a mutation, it was actually comforting to begin to understand the reasons I have so many health problems. I researched the crap out of it and realized that every single health problem I had was not my fault.
I spent so much time worried that I wasn’t measuring up, that I wasn’t strong enough to overcome the adversities I was facing. What I learned through these years is that I was given these struggles because I was strong and good enough and that, with a little faith, I would be able to accomplish what God wanted me to accomplish. I realized that part of my mission in life was to help others who were starting their own journeys. I am creating this site so that other women out there can express their stories, succor each other, and educate themselves.