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I Told My Doctor I'd Been Living In Excruciating Pain For 7 Years. His 2-Word Response Was Shocking.

I Told My Doctor I'd Been Living In Excruciating Pain For 7 Years. His 2-Word Response Was Shocking.
The author with her children in 2016.How much pain is too much to bear? Where do you draw the line? I asked myself these questions as I sat on the cold examination table in my then-OB-GYN’s office last June.      I had always had painful monthly periods. They got worse in my 20s and became excruciating in my 30s. And when I hit perimenopause a few years ago, I began getting those debilitating periods twice a month.That day in June, I explained to my doctor that I had been bleeding almost all month and was in constant pain. Advil and even prescribed narcotics didn’t touch the pain. I had gone from being bedridden two days per month to four. I had become profoundly depressed. Was this what the rest of my life would be like? I reminded my doctor that because I have a family history of uterine and ovarian cancers, I thought it was best to come see him, as things felt “off”. He seemed… annoyed. And in a hurry, which he always was.He spent exactly two minutes on the ultrasound of my uterine lining then said, “It all looks good!”“But,” I said, “I’m bleeding so much my iron is low. I’m in a lot of pain. This can’t be normal.” He shrugged and said: “Take an iron vitamin for the deficiency.” Then he added the two words that were so extremely unhelpful, so lacking in empathy, and so clueless that they turned out to be the final straw: “Periods hurt!”It took everything in me not to make him hurt in that moment. He had no idea what I felt, no idea of how much periods actually hurt. I wanted to scream and swear at him, tell him he would crumble after even a minute of this agony, let alone years of it. But because of a lifetime of conditioning, I was silent. I was polite, even.By then, I was used to not being taken seriously. I’d had enough dismissive doctors in my life, as far back as my male paediatrician telling me when I was seven to “calm down and not worry so much” because he thought my hives were caused by anxiety. It turned out to be Fifth Disease. This wasn’t even the first time this OB-GYN had dismissed me. For the last seven years, at each appointment, I mentioned how my cramps were so awful and so frequent that I could barely walk, that no medicine was lessening the blinding pain. It got worse with every year that passed. And I believed him when he told me, at every visit, that this was just how it was in endometriosis or perimenopause. I believed my doctor because I (foolishly) trusted his authority. I believed him because suffering is subjective (maybe I just had a low threshold for pain?). I believed him because I didn’t know how to advocate for myself. I later learned that I was not alone in feeling misunderstood and unheard: The 2024 Gender Pain Gap survey revealed that over 80% of women have had their pain dismissed by a health care professional. A third of the women surveyed said that their mental health suffered as a result. Women of colour have it even worse, and received the worst treatment of all.My doctor’s beeper rang. “I’ve gotta get to the hospital to deliver a baby.” This time, I’d had enough. Once home, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I immediately researched female gynaecologists who specialise in women’s health, specifically after the baby-making years. Two days later, I was in the office of my new doctor, a silver-haired woman in her 50s, who sat with me, took my family history, did an ultrasound of her own and found numerous “concerning polyps that need to be biopsied immediately” in my uterine lining. The same lining my other doctor had said “looked fine” after a cursory glance just two days before. “No wonder you’re in so much pain,” she said, validating the last seven years for me.Women’s pain has long been taken less seriously than men’s. A study in the New England Journal of Medicinefound that women were seven times more likely to be misdiagnosed and discharged in the middle of having a heart attack. Why? Because the medical concepts of most diseases are based on an understanding of male physiology, and women have altogether different symptoms than men when having a heart attack. Women also have to wait longer to be seen by health care professionals, receive less pain medication, and are more likely to be told that their pain is psychological.After my new doctor biopsied my polyps – in an adulthood full of horrifying gynaecological procedures, that was the worst – we found out they were benign. She sat with me again and asked: “With your family history, and your constant pain and blood loss, have you considered a hysterectomy?”Though no other doctor had suggested this to me, I had considered it. Some of the other women in my family – my mother, my cousins – have had hysterectomies in their 40s. One of my aunts died at only 49 after a battle with uterine and ovarian cancer. My uterus and ovaries felt like ticking time bombs: What was I waiting for? My child-bearing years had passed. My two daughters are teens now. I want to be alive to raise them. Over the next few weeks, I got a second opinion: my trusted general practitioner agreed it was the best path forward. Once insurance agreed they would cover it, I scheduled my surgery. The date was set in early August for a minimally invasive laparoscopic removal of my ovaries and uterus.My last day with reproductive organs was emotional. Even though they had caused me such despair, they were also responsible for my daughters, the two greatest joys in my life. It took three rounds of IVF and 99 eggs extracted from my ovaries to get our two brilliant, tenacious, wildly funny children into the world.I checked in at 6am on the day of the surgery. I ended up having an all-female team of surgeons, nurses and doctors who thought of everything: they gave me a few medications beforehand to “prep the pain receptors”.“These will make your recovery less painful,” one of the nurses said as she draped a warm blanket over me. The team took their time, answered every question I had and walked me through the procedure. I felt cocooned by their care, kindness and respect. Compared to my former OB-GYN, Dr. “Periods Hurt!” – this was so refreshing.Right before I went under the anaesthesia, I thought of my sweet dad who had died two years prior. I thought about how, when we were kids, after my siblings or I would tell him about a fight or issue we’d had at school, he would say: “Onward.” He would let us vent, then would encourage us to take a deep breath and leave the bad behind. I didn’t even have to stay in the hospital overnight. I healed with ease as I entered the temporary hell that was surgical menopause. The same doctors gently guided me through the best types of hormone replacement therapy to combat my initial hot flashes, migraines and brain fog.Now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. My pain is completely gone. It was only in the absence of pain that I realised the extent to which I had been suffering, and for how long. By no longer being at the mercy of pain, I have a whole new capacity for joy and presence in the moment, and I feel a true sense of ownership over my own body. I only wish I’d had the surgery years sooner. And I wish I had fired my OB-GYN the first time he gaslit me about what I was experiencing. I would tell my daughters, sister, best friend, or any woman, to find a doctor you are comfortable talking to, and who actually listens to you. If you feel dismissed or disrespected, ask yourself: would they be treating me this way if I was a man? Find a doctor who believes women. It may sound obvious, but it’s not: my pain was downplayed and ignored by my doctor for years.This last year has been an awakening for me. In a world where women’s pain has been taken less seriously than men’s, and in a country that’s increasingly hostile toward women and our health care, I’ve decided to prioritise my own quality of life from here on out. I will not discount myself anymore. You don’t have to live in pain, and there is nothing noble about suffering in silence. Life is too short. Now, as my dad would say: onward.  Carrie Friedman lives in Southern California with her family and has been published in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post, among others. Her website is www.carriefriedman.com.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected] To Bed After This Time May Affect Healthy AgeingI Went From 10,000 Steps A Day To Wearing A Fracture Boot. Here's What It Taught Me About 'Healthy' WalkingBoost Heart Health After Menopause With This 5-Second Daily Trick

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