I’ve thought about what to write for my surgery update for a while now. My original plan was to share my pre-surgery thoughts, go into surgery, and post an update a few days later. I thought the surgery would give me the answers I had been waiting for, and that relief would finally settle into the body I had fought so hard for people to take seriously. The truth is that the surgery did give me answers, but it did not bring the relief I expected.

The night before my surgery, I did not get more than an hour of sleep. My mind was racing, and I felt overwhelmed by everything that was about to happen. Are they going to find anything? Will it help my pain? How long will it take? What will it feel like? How will recovery go? All of these questions demanded answers, none of which could come until I woke up from the procedure.

My roommate dropped me off at the hospital on December 1st. I was the first surgery of the day, which meant everything would move quickly. After spending the entire night anticipating it, I wanted nothing more than to get it over with. I went into the pre-operative area, answered questions I felt I had already answered a hundred times over the past eight years, and was eventually wheeled outside the operating room.

“This shouldn’t take longer than 20 to 30 minutes,” someone told me.

Then they pushed me into the bright white operating room and strapped me to the table. The room was freezing. I knew that once they put me to sleep, time would skip forward and I would wake up with answers. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was about to happen.

When I woke up, a nurse was standing at the foot of my bed taking my vitals and asking if I was okay. Other than the obvious pain from the incisions, the only thing on my mind was finally getting my questions answered.

How long was I in there?

An hour and thirty minutes.

Did they find anything?

Yes. Your abdomen was covered in endometriosis tissue. It had grown throughout your digestive tract and fused your bowels to your abdominal wall. We removed as much as we could.

I’m not crazy?

You’re not crazy.

Thank you.

And then I cried.

I cried as I thanked my doctor, the nurses, and the entire team gathered around me. The nurse beside me held my hand and gently wiped the tears from my eyes. A wave of relief washed over me. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I had proof that something was wrong. I thought that now, finally, my body would have a chance to heal.

I left the hospital in an unimaginable amount of pain. Two small incisions. One near my pubic bone and one in my belly button. You would never even know they were there unless I pointed them out. I assumed those incisions would be the source of most of my pain, but what I had not prepared for was the amount of work that had been done inside my body. It felt as though my insides had been torn apart, and I constantly found myself gripping my stomach in an attempt to ease the pain.

During laparoscopic surgery, carbon dioxide is pumped into the abdomen so the surgeons have space to work. After surgery, that gas tries to leave the body, but it has nowhere to escape. Instead, it travels upward and settles in the shoulders, causing a deep aching pain that is difficult to relieve. I experienced severe coat hanger pain for two weeks after my surgery. During the first week, even walking to the bathroom felt like an accomplishment.

Patients are often advised to take two or three days off work after this procedure. I was not working at the time, but there is no way I would have been able to return to work three days after surgery. I was completely bedbound for twelve days before I finally worked up the courage to drive myself to a doctor’s appointment.

Just as I thought things might start improving, I went to that appointment to discuss unrelated bloodwork from before my surgery and was told that I had diabetes. At the time, it was not yet confirmed which type I had, but my doctor strongly suspected type 1.

My mother was diagnosed around my age, so I grew up knowing it was a possibility. Even with that awareness, nothing truly prepares you to hear those words from your doctor. In 2023 I had been told I was pre-diabetic and that lifestyle changes might help reverse it. In reality, what we were seeing were the earliest signs of autoimmune diabetes, something I could not have prevented.

At that point, I felt overwhelmed by everything happening to my body. I had just begun to feel somewhat human again after surgery and believed I might be entering 2026 with a little more control over my health. Instead, I was faced with another life-altering diagnosis that would change how I manage my body every day.

On one hand, it explained why I had been feeling so shitty for so long. On the other hand, I was once again at the very beginning of learning how to manage something new.

I went through the holidays in pain, with some answers but still many uncertainties. Everyone asked how I was doing. I lost count of how many times I said I was fine when, in reality, all I wanted was to crawl under the blankets and stay there. I still had an entire month before I would meet my endocrinologist, a specialist I will now see for the rest of my life, and I desperately wanted clarity about what was happening to me.

On January 27, 2026, I was officially diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I started insulin immediately and began using a continuous glucose monitor. I was told that I would need insulin before every meal because my pancreas was shutting down and would soon stop producing insulin entirely. In simple terms, my immune system was attacking my pancreas, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

By February 1st, two months had passed since my surgery. Before the operation, I imagined that by this point I would feel noticeably better. Instead, I felt worse. My first menstrual cycle after surgery was one of the most painful cycles I had experienced in years. It was heavy, prolonged, and the cramping was intense enough to leave me hunched over in pain and close to vomiting.

I never expected surgery to eliminate my pain completely, but I had hoped it would offer some relief. Instead, my mental health began to take a toll. More than anything, I wanted a break from my body.

My cramps were worse than they had been in years. My periods were longer and heavier. My blood sugar fluctuated constantly as I tried to learn how to manage diabetes. At the same time, my digestive tract continued to slow down as my gastroparesis progressed.

My mast cell symptoms also worsened, and my injection schedule was increased from every four weeks to every two weeks. I have been passed from specialist to specialist trying to stabilize everything, and at times it feels like a never-ending cycle of new problems to solve.

Now, as we move into mid-March, I am still waiting for several answers. My Xolair has been switched to a biosimilar medication called Omlyclo after OHIP+ stopped covering Xolair, so I am waiting to see whether the new medication will work the same. I am also waiting to hear from my gastroenterologist about trying a new treatment for my gastroparesis because my gut motility has declined significantly. I am waiting on imaging results from an ultrasound and completing bloodwork ordered by three different doctors.

I wish this update could have been a triumphant story about surgery fixing everything. Sometimes that happens. In my case, it did not.

I delayed writing this post because I kept trying to find the silver lining. The truth is that it may not have appeared yet, and that is okay. What I do know is that I will keep searching for answers and continue advocating for my health.

Chronic illness is not linear. There are good days, but there are also difficult ones. The past few months have been discouraging, but that does not mean things will not improve in the future.

I have come this far already. Now I just have to keep going.