The War Inside My Womb

In the past few weeks, I have been admitted to hospital twice. For days at a time. And both times, I left with no answers.

I was having fevers with a body temperature dropping to 30.5. My blood pressure fell to 90 over 53. My body was telling me something was deeply wrong. I could feel it. The nurse even asked me if my blood pressure was normally this low, and I told her honestly. No, never. I’ve never seen numbers like 90/53 in my life. She nodded, almost absentmindedly, and then left the room. No follow-up questions, no reassurance, no explanation. Just silence. And in that silence, I felt invisible.

But outside those hospital walls, people were worried. My GP felt the lump in my lower left quadrant and told me to go straight back to the hospital. He even wrote a letter asking them to investigate and do an ultrasound. Even my chiropractors were concerned. They could see the pain written all over me. They could tell I was not myself. They knew something was wrong.

And still, when I got to the hospital, none of that mattered. No ultrasound. No real explanation. Just a quick dismissal and another discharge.

So now I am back to my GP, asking him to order the ultrasound and run more tests. At the very least, I want to have more information to take to my surgeon when I go in for surgery.

That surgery is booked for the 23rd of September in Brisbane, with the same specialist who gave me two years of pain free life after my last operation. I can only hope he can do the same again, or maybe even give me more years of relief this time. The waiting has been one of the hardest parts. Every day has been agony, trying to manage the pain and the bleeding until I can finally get back to Brisbane to get the help I need.

So here I am. A young woman, bleeding heavily, dizzy, nauseous, weak, and scared. And still the system finds a way to look past me. Still they tell me it is nothing.

Because when your blood pressure sinks to 90 over 53, when your temperature crashes to 30.5, when there is a lump sitting in your abdomen that no one bothers to investigate, you start to question everything. You start to wonder if your life, your body, your suffering, is invisible to the people meant to help you.

The physical pain is constant, yes. But the emotional pain of being dismissed, of being treated like you do not know your own body, that pain cuts even deeper.

I do not share this for pity. I share it because this is the reality of living with endometriosis. It is not just the bleeding, the cramping, the exhaustion. It is the constant fight to be taken seriously. It is the way we are forced to beg for answers while our bodies scream louder than we ever could.

I will keep fighting, not just for myself but for every person who has ever been told their pain was nothing.

If you are one of them, please know this: you are not alone. The