Five weeks ago, I had endometriosis excision surgery. I found a team that worked for me and boy was I SO ready for it. I suffered for 4 years before an official diagnosis and as crazy as that sounds, I was one of the lucky ones. On average, it takes about 7 years before people receive a surgical diagnosis.
Currently, surgery is the only way to diagnose endometriosis. Although, you can have a clinical working-diagnosis of endometriosis if all signs point to it without a surgical diagnosis.
Laparoscopic surgery is a minimally invasive procedure where a surgeon makes a few small incisions in the abdomen and inserts a thin camera to look inside the pelvic cavity. This allows them to visually confirm the diagnosis of endometriosis and treat it during the same procedure. Laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis is currently considered the gold standard for both diagnosis and surgical treatment.
In the excision of endometriosis, the surgeon carefully cuts out endometriosis tissue from wherever it’s found, whether that’s on the ovaries, bladder, bowel, or other pelvic structures. This is different from burning the surface of lesions, which is called ablation. When people talk about excision versus ablation, they’re referring to the difference between removing the disease at its root versus destroying only the visible surface. Excision aims to fully remove endometriosis rather than temporarily suppress it.
The procedure is done under general anesthesia, meaning you’re completely asleep. It typically takes a few hours depending on how extensive the disease is. Most people go home the same day, though recovery can take weeks, not just physically, but emotionally too.
Before I went in, I had imagined the moment they would tell me what they found. I replayed it in my head more times than I can count. I pictured my surgeon coming into the recovery room, I’m fully awake, and she said “we found endo and we got it all.” Cue tears. Cue balloons and confetti falling out of nowhere.
Cue me hugging my surgeon. And cue me having no pain for the rest of my life. ….I know that’s dramatic and of course wouldn’t happen that way, BUT I did think I’d experience an overwhelming sense of relief.
What really happened is that I woke up in the recovery room and the only thing I remember is asking for my mom and if they found endo. The nurse said she couldn’t tell me, but that I’d be with my mom soon.
Finally, when they allowed my mom to come back, she told me the surgeon called her and explained they had found and excised all endometriosis. I was still loopy as hell, there were no balloons or confetti, and no cathartic cry.
I think I was trying to elicit relief, but really, I just felt so bummed. Deep down I knew that they would find endo. It wasn’t until just this past week, after speaking to a friend, that I realized that “bummed” feeling was me feeling “locked in” to this condition for the rest of my life and that is scary as hell.
I finally had answers.
I finally had validation.
My pain was REAL.
And I felt deeply bummed.
That realization landed heavier than I expected. I had subconsciously built surgery up as a turning point. This was the thing that would make me feel better. The place where I could tie it all up neatly and move on. I was holding onto the idea of closure.
Realistically, I know that this is not what surgery provides. This is just one piece of the treatment plan with endometriosis, but I had been living in pain for so long that I had to hold onto something.
There’s a strange grief that can come with a diagnosis, even when you’ve been fighting for one. Even when you wanted something to show up. Even when the alternative was continuing to be dismissed.
I think I was mourning the version of my life where this was temporary. The version where surgery “fixed it.” The version where I could close the book and say, “That was hard, but it’s over now.”
Instead, I’m learning that some things aren’t about closure. They’re about management and adjustment. Living with a chronic condition isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s mental. It’s the quiet recalibration of your future. It’s realizing you’ll have to advocate for yourself again. And again. And again. And that’s fucking exhausting.
Often when I’m in sessions with my clients, we talk about how two conflicting things can be true at once:
Five weeks out, I’m still processing. Some days I feel empowered by having answers. Other days I feel the weight of what “chronic” really means and then I email my therapist in a panic (thank the universe for my parents and my therapist…and coffee while I’m at it).
This is not a “I got a diagnosis and my life is so much better” blog post. I wish it were for my sake and for yours. Chances are, you either live with chronic pain/illness like me, or you’re someone who supports someone with chronic pain/illness. Either way, I’m sending so much compassion to you.
Megan is a weight inclusive registered dietitian and Certified Intuitive Eating Counselor. She is the founder and director of A Soft Place to Land, a multidisciplinary group practice based in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania that specializes in eating disorders, chronic dieting, and body image care. She is fiercely on a mission to be a loud advocate for ethical care of every BODY. Megan’s goal is to provide a weight inclusive and trauma informed safe space with an emphasis on social justice, fat liberation, self-exploration, and compassion. When she’s not taking down the patriarchy, you can find her spending time with her dogs outside, gardening, and painting plant pots!
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