You must have been suffering quite badly." Those were the words a specialist said to me when I was 35 years old. After two decades of being told my pain was anxiety, that I was overreacting or that nothing was wrong, it was the first time a doctor had truly validated what I had been living through since I was 14. I remember lying on the floor, writhing, sweating and heaving.
I thought I must be dying. By the time my mom got home from work, the pain had subsided. A month later, I got my first period.
It was the most excruciating, crushing pain in the middle of my pelvis, and it would radiate to my back and thighs. It was so bad that I couldn't function at all. It sometimes caused me to have vasovagal episodes, a sudden drop in heart rate and blood pressure that causes a brief loss of consciousness.
I remember many times being drenched in sweat after blacking out and heaving, thinking, I don't know if it's humanly possible for pain to get worse than this. I've had kidney stones and a broken bone. I've been in a car accident and a horseback riding accident.
None was as bad as my periods. The next 20 years were filled with moments like that. The pain that came with my period caused me so much anxiety and fear that I developed agoraphobic tendencies because I worried a flare-up could leave me helpless and humiliated in public.
It affected my friendships because I often had to cancel plans. It affected my relationships, and I couldn't even hold onto an in-person job. I've been fired over being unable to work during my periods.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
