Sorry I’ve been AWOL. I was doing really well.
I’ve been working at the dog kennels my auntie has recently bought, I’ve been busy with my best friend’s hen do, and living life and having fun. I feel like I’ve been doing so well and I’m so pleased that I have been managing so well.
I planned, in my therapist’s words, “a fairytale hen do,” and I enjoyed it so much. R’s face lit up in childish excitement, her eyes sparkling prettily and her smile glorious, as I unveiled each surprise. I’ve been her friend since we were eleven and I really wanted to show her bow much I care for her and respect her.
She had a brilliant time. We all did- me, my sister and her. My sister and I came home, we started unpacking, thinking about doing washing and sorting the house out for when my grandmother and uncle came to visit us the next day, and
I was suddenly crippled by pain. I curled up on my bed, gasping. It felt like the chestburster from Alien was clawing its way through my skin out of my womb. Pretty sure at this point it was a body memory, I pulled myself higher up the bed and willed it to go away.
It got worse.
My sister came in to ask my advice over something and was met with the sight of me unable to move, shaking and wide-eyed. She decided then and there we should phone the ambulance, but I didn’t want to. She decided on the emergency doctor instead.
Three hours later (yes, three hours of me being unable to move due to pain, screaming at times, crying and blacking out) the paramedics finally arrived. They were, as usual, amazing, and decided it was off to hospital with me. They got me into a chair in the ambulance and I told them what had been going on with my symptoms, and also managed to disclose what my ex did to me, and the miscarriage. The paramedic, a male one too, took me seriously, commended me on my bravery, and gave me gas and air to take so I would be ok and I would relax.
I got to A and E (ER for you American readers) and I was delivered to the Triage area and waited there. I was seen after about twenty minutes by a very grumpy nurse, who didn’t let me explain very much about why I was there, didn’t take my pain seriously and gave me a handful of painkillers to take.
The ordeal really began then. After two and a half hours of waiting, where I was denied more painkillers, not told whether or not I was allowed to eat or drink so I couldn’t… I finally saw a harassed male doctor who informed me I had pelvic pain which was, apparently, common in young women (bullshit, it really isn’t that common), and apparently it would go by itself. Here, take some painkillers, stop over-exaggerating, and go the fuck home.
I was sent home in pain.
I’m still in pain.
This whole experience has taught me something: In the UK, the NHS is fucked. We have doctors who won’t help because they have to tick boxes and avoid expense. We have a mental health service with too many psychiatrists and not enough psychologists. We have paramedics who should be paid what a consultant is paid, because I have quite frankly not met many consultants who knew what they were doing.
In the meantime?
I am living each day exhausted, hurt, and upset. I am trying hard to reassure fourteen-year-old me and fifteen-year-old me that we are ok and we won’t die. I have to ring up tomorrow and talk to the people who may have to do, along with a normal ultrasound scan, a trans-vaginal one, and explain why the appointment may take longer than they expect. I am left picking up the pieces of a broken system which does not, on the whole and excluding a few professionals working within, care at all about me or why I am in pain.
Endometriosis has been mentioned, and I am wondering whether the person who gave me her opinion could ne right.
I am anxious, upset, frightened and craving to have J’s hand in mine this Sunday. I’m praying it will all go well, and I will have a solution to the problem soon.
I’ve lived in pain for so long- my back, before that horrific periods, now this. I can’t go on in pain all my life. I don’t have much left if I lose my body.