The Missing Piece From My Last Episode
In my last episode, Navigating Life After Total Colectomy, hEDS & Mental Health, I mentioned that I’d left something out: my journey with endometriosis. Not because it wasn’t important, but because it deserved its own space. That episode was already pushing 46 minutes, and honestly, the endo story alone could fill a series.
This is that story.
For everyone who’s asked how I’ve been managing, what surgeries I’ve had, or what treatment looks like for me, here’s the full rundown. Just know: this isn’t medical advice. This is my lived experience of surviving, dying, being reborn, and navigating life with a body that’s been through literal hell.
The Early Signs They Ignored
I started my period young, too young, and from the beginning, it was brutal.
Heavy bleeding, long cycles, and pain that would knock me out for days. By 13, I knew something wasn’t right. My pediatrician suspected endometriosis, but every OB-GYN I saw dismissed me.
“You’re too young.”
“It’s just anxiety.”
“It’s normal for women to hurt.”
That same gaslighting chorus followed me from 13 to 16. No one took me seriously. I missed weeks of school every month from the pain. By the time I turned 18, I’d already learned that being a woman meant being doubted — especially when you were young, brown, and in pain.
“It’s Just Anxiety.”
When a teacher finally referred me to a fertility specialist, they did a quick blood test and told me, “You’re fine. You don’t have endo.”
Anyone who’s been through this knows: bloodwork can’t diagnose endometriosis. You need a laparoscopic surgery to see it. But they didn’t care. They were smug. “See? Told you it was just your anxiety.”
Fast-forward: I end up in the hospital after not having a bowel movement for three weeks.
They run tests, find nothing, and finally decide to do an exploratory surgery.
No obstruction… but stage 4 endometriosis everywhere.
And the kicker?
Because the surgeon who confirmed it wasn’t technically “my doctor,” he refused to remove it.
They just stitched me up and sent me back to my room like, “Good luck, kid.”
That was my first introduction to the medical system’s indifference to women’s pain.
The Long List of Surgeries
After that, it became a yearly ritual: another surgery, another “clean-out.”
When I moved back to Knoxville, I had multiple laparoscopic surgeries. One ER visit revealed a massive chocolate cyst — baseball-sized — that cost me my right ovary.
The left one wasn’t looking good either. It was getting strangled out by endo tissue. I was told a hysterectomy would be inevitable.
And then came the darkest year of my life.
I got C. diff. I went septic. I almost died. I was 28 years old, staring death straight in the face while being told, “By the way, you’ll never have kids.”
No one even offered to freeze my eggs.
That part still stings.
Losing My Womanhood… and My Trust
After I recovered enough, I finally had the surgery. It wasn’t a full hysterectomy; they couldn’t remove my uterus because everything was too fused together. My abdominal wall had to be reconstructed because of how bad the adhesions were.
They said they removed both tubes and my remaining ovary.
But now, in 2025, my current gynecologist tells me the records don’t show that.
No proof the right ovary was ever taken.
No documentation of the left one being removed.
Like it all vanished into thin air.
Redacted, deleted, gone.
Except my scars don’t lie.
And neither does my pain.
Living With Unanswered Questions
So here’s what I know right now:
- I still have my uterus and cervix.
- Apparently, part of my left ovary may still exist.
- I have no fallopian tubes.
- My estrogen levels hover around 66, which is borderline menopausal.
- I’m on an estrogen patch and have an IUD to help suppress endo regrowth.
My period now is dark and minimal, like old blood that refuses to let go, symbolic, maybe, of how this condition clings to every corner of your being.
The pain hasn’t vanished. It’s just… different.
I still get lightning-bolt pain during bowel movements when I’m on my period. I’m doing pelvic floor therapy, but deep down, I know, bowel endo doesn’t just disappear.
The Emotional Toll
Losing the ability to have children when you’re still so young hits differently.
It’s not just physical pain; it’s a spiritual grief.
At one point, I spiraled.
I felt broken, unworthy, and angry at the injustice of it all.
But over time, I realized something powerful: maybe this lifetime wasn’t about motherhood for me.
Maybe it was about the creation of a different kind, healing, channeling, teaching, and helping others ascend through their pain.
Because if I can turn this level of trauma into light…
so can you.
Where I Am Now
My doctor says more surgery would be too risky. I get it. My insides are like the Da Vinci Code at this point. Even the surgeons have trouble deciphering the full story.
So instead, I focus on managing pain naturally, staying attuned to my body, and honoring her resilience.
I’ve come to peace with not knowing everything about what’s inside me.
Because even when my medical records go missing, my spirit doesn’t.
Final Thoughts
Endometriosis is not “just bad cramps.”
It’s a chronic, life-altering condition that can steal years, organs, and pieces of your identity if you let it.
But it doesn’t get to steal your power.
If you’re in this fight too, I see you.
You’re not crazy. You’re not weak.
You’re just surviving a battle that too many people overlook.
Until next time, stay grounded, stay glowing, and keep ascending.
With love and light,
Vii 🜂
Real Life With Stashia 