The closer I get to my operative laparoscopy, the more everything feels painfully real. I’ve had small procedures before, like getting my wisdom teeth out, and my D&C earlier this year, but this is my first actual surgery with incisions, healing time, and a recovery that will swallow my entire holiday season. It feels overwhelming and hopeful at the same time, like standing on the edge of something that could finally change my life.

I’ve dealt with severe menstrual symptoms since I was around fourteen or fifteen. What should have been a normal part of growing up quickly turned into something I dreaded every single month. My periods were so heavy that I was changing tampons every half hour. The cramping was so intense that I remember missing Thanksgiving one year because I couldn’t leave my room. I hid in the comfort of my own space while everyone else laughed and ate together. I’d be curled up in bed, sweating, shaking, and trying not to cry while the rest of the world kept moving without me. I was constantly anemic, drained, and frustrated. Birth control eventually helped make my bleeding less extreme, but nothing ever touched the pain.

It took years before anything showed up clearly on imaging. Endometriosis rarely appears on ultrasounds, but mine was severe enough that sometimes the cysts and growths actually did. When an ultrasound finally revealed ovarian cysts, it was one of the first pieces of proof that I wasn’t exaggerating and that something real was happening inside my body.

Even then, getting help wasn’t easy. My early experiences with gynecological care were honestly discouraging. It often felt like my pain wasn’t being taken seriously, like I was supposed to tough it out because “period pain” is normal. I knew what I was feeling wasn’t normal. I knew something was wrong. I would bleed upward of 30 days straight and be in excruciating pain the entire time. But I wasn’t considered severe enough for surgery, and that dismissal stayed with me. It made me question myself and made everything feel ten times heavier.

Everything changed this year when I found my current OB-GYN. I connected with her after a really difficult chapter of my life, and she immediately felt different. During this time, I had been having several pelvic ultrasounds a week, and the doctors would point out how severe the growth of endometriosis and adenomyosis was in my abdomen. I told my new doctor about my history of pain and dismissal from doctors. She listened. She believed me. She didn’t brush off my symptoms or suggest I was overreacting. She gave me compassion and clarity at the same time. For the first time, someone in her position looked me in the eye and said, “You deserve help. Let’s get you into surgery.” That moment lifted a weight off me that I didn’t realize I had been carrying for years.

The decision to go ahead with operative laparoscopy was easy, but I’m nervous in a way I didn’t expect. Lately, I’ve been having nightmares about something going wrong or waking up during the procedure. I’m also anxious about the visible incisions. I know they’ll be small, but I’m already very protective of my body because of my disabilities, and especially sensitive about how my belly button area will look afterward. I’m scared about how it will feel during recovery, whether my incisions will hurt, or if the inside of my abdomen will be sore from removing adhesions. Those feelings are real and follow me everywhere right now.

Then there’s the timing. My recovery lands right on top of the holidays. This year there won’t be cookie decorating, last-minute shopping, or big family gatherings. I’m trying to accept that missing out now might mean gaining future years of holidays that aren’t ruined by pain. It still hurts, but there’s a quiet hope underneath it.

During the surgery, they’ll place an IUD, and I’m honestly relieved about that. It feels like one more step toward long-term management and a better future for my body.

Preparing for recovery has felt stressful too. I set up a GoFundMe to help manage the financial pressure, which wasn’t easy for me. But chronic illness is expensive, and surgery adds even more costs. Admitting I needed help was humbling but necessary.

My partner and my friends have been some of the strongest parts of this whole experience. Their support settles my anxiety when my mind spirals into fear. Knowing I’m not doing this alone gives me something solid to hold onto.

More than anything, I’m hoping this surgery gives me answers. I want clarity on the severity of my endometriosis. I want someone to finally see what has been hurting me for so long. And I’m hoping for relief. Even a small improvement would mean a completely different life.

Right now, all I can do is breathe, prepare, and trust that this is the step my body has needed for years.

I plan to keep everyone updated on my journey and share how I’m doing after the surgery. Thank you for following along and supporting me, and as always, don’t forget to live beyond limits.