I had my third surgery for this Endometriosis shite. The past two surgeries proved to be a waste of time and money after this one. With the past two, my mistake was going to a doctor who was more fertility focused and less surgeon. They were only able to ever drain my cysts and if lucky remove a couple big ones.

The surgeon I went to this past Wednesday specializes in surgery specifically for Endometriosis/Cysts/Fibrosis. He was shocked once he opened me up, “I’d like to start by saying…there was A LOT.” My insides were riddled with endometriosis, cysts and fibrosis. My uterus had become Disease City. He was able to get “most” of it.

Now it’s a race against time. I’m finally giving IVF a chance. Now that my uterus can better take it I have to hurry and see what we can do and afford. If it fails I need to rush to start birth control otherwise the cycle continues. I’ve had three surgeries in the span of 5 years! 2013 then 2016 and now 2017! My heart is beginning to struggle with these surgeries. Ever since the one in 2016 it’s been having these weird moments where it beats weirdly.

I took an EKG test before this third surgery and found out one side seems to beat a bit slower than the other side. I’m going to have to keep an eye on it. But first I deal with my uterus, then off to a Rheumatologist to see if the blood test saying I’m showing some autoimmune whatnot was a false positive or not, and then to a cardiologist to make sure that my heart is okay.

I’ve been dealt a crappy deck of cards in the health department. None of the stress I’ve been through these past several years have helped. I don’t intend to fall victim to stress anymore. I have to fight. For myself. For my hopes.



Juggling Expectations with Alcohol

When it comes to alcohol, I’m bouncing back and forth between the prejudices and expectations of three cultures within my marriage: Filipino, American, and Irish.

The Filipino culture (or at least within my mother’s family), often views alcohol with a wariness. They don’t even drink that much; well the younger generation does but I believe that’s because we grew up in America instead of the Philippines. It’s linked to abuse (mental and/or physical) and disrupts the marriage. The men who my family members had dealt with that were alcoholics had left their toxic marriages. So all in all, if they think a man drinks too much or is out with the fellows too much [and all night], it’s bad news.

In the American culture, well that shit is all over the place I’m not really sure what’s the excepted norm within a marriage. I’ve seen American men (gray and wrinkly even) downing beers at family occasions like it’s water. But the main example I had in the way American husbands drink is my father. He is as wholesome and Americana as one can get. He had his fun young, and at the age of 17 he traveled the world through the military, and didn’t settle down until he was 29.

He had only occasionally or casually drank beer and he didn’t over do it.

He didn’t drink until he was shitfaced and he didn’t come home late into the evening on days he actually hung out with his coworkers. I grew up thinking that’s how it should be.

The Irish culture, drink is the norm. It is their water. They can find ways to let go of smoking but drinking is one thing they can never let go of. As of late it’s mainly the only way Sean, my husband, can chill out. I had made the mistake of thinking he was too carefree. He is in fact the opposite of carefree. So much so he ended up shitfaced too often. And it had gotten to the point where I was suffering bad from it.

You see, he got shitfaced because the worries he was dealing with were too much. He wanted to stop thinking about them. So he wouldn’t stop himself on those tough days when he got overwhelmed and he didn’t know how to deal with his feelings. His consciousness took a vacation while his subconscious took over. So yes, he was able to not “think about it anymore” except his subconscious would still vent his worries to whoever was around and everyone else, me included, would have to deal with it all instead.

He told me to ignore him when he drank way too much. Unfortunately I could not even if I tried. He’d call for me in a frustrated stupor until I responded. I’d become his personal stuffed animal that he’d squeeze too hard or toss about too roughly. He’d spout out cynical or mean things and Reason and Logic never got through to him.

Apparently, through the Irish culture the expectation given by his mother is that he did wrong by not coming home after a night of drinking. His sister also believes he should have come home and that one night out a week of drinking is more than enough.

I talked to Sean. My parents talked to Sean. His parents talked to him. Everyone had something to say. He says it was wrong of him to get shitfaced and he wont do it again. He acknowledged that he had to grow up and mature as a husband. I told him I fear alcohol and his nights out because I don’t want to experience shitfaced Sean anymore. I told him if he does it again I’m done. I don’t want to leave him and I made that clear as well but I can’t take that environment. Especially not with the fucking shit I’ve been dealing with on my end.

Marriage is hard. Marriage between different cultures is very hard. Lol, and I’m tired. I need a vacation.