Don’t worry!

“Don’t worry.”

Oh, ok then. Ta Da. I didn’t realise it was this easy. All I have to do is not to worry. Bingo. I’ve got it. That’s it. Eureka. My life’s totally perfect now. Thanks for your help.

“Just stop worrying. It’s not helping.”

So whilst you’re at it, tell me precisely how and why I should not worry about having this incurable disease. After all, endometriosis is not a condition that comes with any guarantees. On the contrary, endometriosis puts my fertility at risk; endometriosis means chronic pain and fatigue; endometriosis warps my future.

“Crying will not achieve anything. You’re just upsetting yourself.”

Well, let’s clarify something: things won’t get better just because you don’t want to face my ongoing suffering; just because you’re fed up with the suffering that isn’t even yours to bear; just because you don’t want to face the brutal truth of the potential implications; just because it’s easier to marry someone for ‘the better’ rather than for the prolonged ‘worse’.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Sure. Why not? I’ll do that. Because I really want to be at home, too tired to go out, too miserable to face people, too exhausted to face life. After all, this pain-fuelled confinement is what I want.

 “Don’t worry.”

Sure, after all, what is there to worry about.

“Tell me doctor, how long should the hot flushes continue after the last Zoladex injection and when my periods are likely to return?”

“One to two weeks.” the surgeon replies full of reassuring smiles.

‘One to two weeks’ on, hot flushes galore doesn’t settle the mind. The periods will only come back after the hot flushes stop.

My burning skin in the middle of the night is burning a hole of worry into my brain.

“Well, the surgeon knows better, but give it another one to two weeks, and let’s see what happens. Don’t worry.” GP’s reassuring voice manages to simultaneously reach my brain receptors and miss them altogether. I hear the words, but they don’t touch me.

“Shall I try not to breathe as well?” I ask. Because it’s as easy.

“Don’t worry,” say the voices of my doctors, friends, husband, family.

But please explain to me how not to obsess. Please tell me how not to think about what I don’t have, but wish for so desperately. Please show me how to make peace with the pain. Please teach me how to stop those tears from flowing in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world is asleep, their innermost wishes fulfilled. Please tell me how not to feel lonely and isolated when nobody cares about or understands my pain.

“Don’t worry.”

And who are you to tell me not to worry? Why do you preach to me about what the future shall bring? What prophetic dreams have you dreamt? How do you know that everything will be just fine?

I’m falling and there’s nobody to catch me.

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