![]() ![]() I had been speaking to my private specialist who had operated on my pelvis in my most recent surgery for endometriosis, and he was convinced the disease was colonizing my lungs and my diaphragm. And in my case, it means an ever stronger case for thoracic endometriosis. It means no diagnosis, and subsequently, no treatment. The word ‘normal’ is the most terrifying word of all. With each test, however, came the dreaded result: normal. The potential diagnosis gradually became less clear as the doctors began suspecting autoimmune dysfunction on top of the endometriosis. I developed extreme fatigue and lightheadedness, vertigo, loss of feeling in my fingers, random bruising, rashes, mouth sores, enlarged lymph nodes, and pain in my shoulders and inner ears. Over the next few months my symptoms expanded. I wanted anything except for what I knew in my bones was the truth: thoracic endometriosis. I didn’t care how serious such a diagnosis was as long as I wouldn’t be dismissed. When my specialist was convinced I had tuberculosis I was genuinely hopeful, for at least this was well understood. I had a myriad of tests that year, and in vain I hoped for a diagnosis of something the NHS would be equipped to treat. I developed chronic chest pain and recurring infections that left me susceptible to the most innocent virus, not to mention Covid. Last November I began coughing up rusty, blood-tinged phlegm. I haven’t used my inhaler in 3 months, but I carry it with me nonetheless.Īutumn has officially settled into Hastings and, while my favorite season, it brings with it a host of anxieties for me. Ever since I began practicing breathwork daily, my respiratory symptoms have noticeably improved. ![]() Breathe in the new day, breathe out the stale air of yesterday. Courtesy of Maeve O’BriantĪs Maggie and I pass through the red wooden gate into the forest, I feel yesterday’s emotional weight evaporate with my breathing. Combined with the benefits of seeking counseling at a young age, I was armed for whatever else might be around the corner. She gave me the tools to manage the enveloping thoughts that seemed to darken every corner of my mind tools to accept these thoughts, fold them up into a neat little paper airplane, and let them fly away. Her influence strengthened my ability to cope with life’s hurdles significantly. My mom had her own personal struggles and found help in Buddhism. I think today I’ll go with ‘grounded.’įrom a young age I practiced meditation. When Maggie and I walk out the door I slip in my ear buds and choose today’s guided walking meditation. I take my pain medication, plaster cooling patches across today’s invisible wounds, and stuff my inhaler in my pocket. Today, I noticed the old dull pain radiating from deep in my pelvic bowl, and searing zaps slicing between my ribs. I roll out of bed gingerly, taking care as I never know whether I’m able to support the weight of this broken body until I step into the unknown. I quietly make a mental note of each muscle, nerve, or organ my pain has chosen as its feeding grounds for the day. The first thing I do as I take my first breath of this new day is a body scan, beginning with my head and ending with my toes. Today I set my alarm a bit earlier to allow extra time for a leisurely stroll through the woods. “ Each morning before work I take my dog, Maggie, on a walk. ![]()
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