Yesterday I went to a baby shower.

For those of you who have never attended such a blessed event, a baby shower is full of happiness, smiles, sugar, little kids running around, baby shower games, and lots of gifts.

Adorable baby clothes and shoes (which are completely useless but oh-so-cute!), strollers, diaper genies, car seats, baby monitors, bottles, books, blankets, etc.  

Baby showers are full of pastel colors and cutesy sayings and stuffed animals.  They are great.

Except.

Except for the single woman in her thirties who fears she will never get married and have her own kids.

Except for the married woman who is struggling with infertility.

Except for the woman who is grieving the loss of a child.

Except for the woman who just had her third miscarriage.

Except for the woman who has a medical condition and doesn't know if she will ever be able to get pregnant.

I am really, really happy for my friend.  Over the moon.  She struggled with infertility and miscarriage herself and has shared some of that journey with me.  So I wanted there to be nothing but happiness for her!

But it was still hard.  It was difficult to see all the beautiful little kids and babies who came with their mothers.  It was painful to hear them talking about their kids and how after three, it doesn't really make a difference any more.  It's hard not to wonder if you will ever be the one who is pregnant.

But you know what?  It's okay for me to feel sad.  It's okay that going to the shower was hard.  It's okay that those mothers were laughing and joking about motherhood and it's okay that it was hard for me to hear.  I can share in my friend's joy and happiness and she can share in my fear and pain.

So if you fall into one of those categories listed above, I have two pieces of advice.

If you can handle it, go to the showers.  Be with your friends and celebrate with them.  It's okay if you cry.  It's okay if you feel sad.  It's okay if you have to leave the room for a little bit, or if you need your friend to open your gift first so you can leave early, THAT'S OK TOO.  But you don't want to miss out on celebrating this moment.

BUT

If you can't handle it, then don't go.  It is perfectly acceptable to say you can't make it to the shower.  Maybe just send a gift or try to visit your friend when she has her baby.  If it is simply too much, I'm giving you permission right now to NOT GO.  Maybe the pain for you is just too fresh.  Or a hundred other reasons why it's just too difficult for you right now.  Take care of yourself.  Your friends will understand.  Just let them know why you can't come. 

And if you are the expectant mother or a woman at a shower who has kids - try to be aware if you have these women in your life.  Give them a hug or a hand squeeze to let them know you know it's hard.  Appreciate that they show up despite the difficulty.  Maybe check on them later in the week to see how they are doing.  Sit with them at the shower.  Let them hold your baby.  (Also, the idea of a "Sprinkle" has recently become very popular.  A Sprinkle is a shower for a woman who is having a second, third, etc, child.  Unless it is for a woman who had her children so far apart that she no longer has all the baby stuff, just don't do them.  It's too much, ok?)

We celebrate with those who celebrate and mourn with those who mourn.  

I know it's tough.  I'm here to hold your hand, take a deep breath, and gather the strength and courage to do life even when it hurts.

The baby blanket I made for my friend.

 Everyone is talking about back to school.

How they can't believe their kid is starting kindergarten.

Or how they can't believe all their kids are in school now.  What are they going to do with their time?

Or how they can't believe their oldest kid is starting high school or is off to college.  Where has the time gone?  Just breathe.

But I can't breathe.

I'm a workaholic because when I come home every night, it's to an empty house.

When I ask people to come over or to hang out, they can't because they are too busy with their spouses and their children.

When the deep pangs of loneliness hit, there is no one there to help me through.  I am still in a relatively new place, without the deep relationships I had back home.  My best friend lives in Phoenix.  I have no couple friends here, but almost everyone I know is half of a couple.

I am alone.  Separated.  On the outside looking in.

It shouldn't be this way.  We weren't meant to live in isolation.  I live in a small town where everyone knows everyone else and yet it seems like I know no one and no one knows me.

I am afraid to ask people over for dinner for fear of rejection, again.

I don't know if I can keep asking.  I don't know if I can keep trying.
​
I can't breathe.

My life is repeating itself.

A good friend of mine just celebrated her 7th anniversary.  I was in her wedding.  Shortly after celebrating her marriage, and two days after my birthday, I had surgery to remove my gallbladder.  That's when I was officially diagnosed with Endometriosis.

7 years later, my friend is still married and has a home and two children.

I'm facing surgery again.  Happy birthday to me!

I thought a lot about whether or not to write about this.  It's a personal issue.  I also don't want to be one of those people who overshares about their every health issue.  But a few days ago, someone asked me for information for a friend who just got an official diagnosis and was struggling with the pain of the disease.

That's when I decided to write this.  Because if you know me at all, I care about educating people about this disease that affects 1 in 10 women, yet no one seems to know anything about it.

I've been managing my pain for 7 years (that sounds SO long) with medication (not counting the 13 or so years before my diagnosis).  I had a doctor who didn't really know anything about my disease and didn't really listen to me.  When I moved to Charleston, I found a specialist who immediately took me off the pain medication I was on because it was killing my stomach.  But although the new pain meds work better in a smaller dose, the side affects are still not good.

And so, we broached the subject of surgery.

There is no cure for endometriosis.  You can either manage the pain medically, or you can try to cut out the disease surgically.  It's complicated and many doctors do what's called ablasion (basically burning off the endo) instead of excision (cutting it out).  I had a long discussion with my doctor about which kind she would do until I was satisfied that she knew what she was doing.

My greatest fear is that the surgery will not work.  That afterwards, when I go off my medication to see if it worked, the pain will still be there, and it will all have been for nothing.  It's hard to look past that.

But there is hope.  I cannot even imagine what it would be like if the surgery is successful.  Endo has been a huge part of my life for a very long time and to have relief from that is a hope that feels just out of reach.

I have had so many people who have supported me in battling this disease.  And I am grateful to each and every one of you.  Thank you for trying to understand what I've been dealing with all these years.  

If you or someone you know is dealing with Endometriosis or suspects that they may have it, here are some resources that can help.  If you have any questions about Endo or my experience with it, please reach out.

Nancy's Nook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/418136991574617/
This Facebook group has a ton of good information, dispels myths, and gave me the questions I needed to ask my doctor.

EndometrioSisters: https://www.facebook.com/groups/165509533641803/
A Facebook support group

Center for Endometriosis Care: 
http://www.centerforendometriosiscare.com/understanding-endometriosis/

Beware of any sites that are promoting Lupron - it's a dangerous drug and you should do lots of unbiased research before going on it.