I mean you know when something isn’t right, right?
You fight with all your might to avoid it, I know I did. I felt like I was really helping myself, but ultimately skirting around the problem.
I blamed doctors and our current health industry in Canada as to why I was suffering. Instead, I took all my SHE-RA energy and invested it into the occult, the woo, the oils, the acupuncture needles, the herbs, the meditation, the colonics, all of it. And there is part of me that felt like I had to travel down that road and exhaust all avenues, FIRST. Then there is another VERY much stronger side of me, that continues to get stronger and louder, that is fucking pissed off at all the alternative health “experts” who almost killed me for the sake of their egos and money. They wanted to be right so they could confirm and affirm that they have fucking unicorn powers.
I am taking a long pause here. I’ve shared my story, but I am really good at downplaying the beats. I have spent a lot of time in my life with people that I dim my light for because they want to shine. And to keep me dim, I get comments like, “You’re weird,” or “You’re crazy.” And yes it’s from women, and yes I still have some in my life.
When they took my uterus, I got horns.
Big. Fucking. Gnarly. Ones.
The kind that impale anyone who is trying to fence me in.
Throughout my life I would often be told that things come easy to me, or I am always lucky, or that I don’t have to try hard. The truth is, I make it look easy. I make it seem like I have won the jackpot. What no one sees is the constant strategizing that goes on in my head, the open heart I have, or the constant bullshit I have had to deal with my entire life — the bullying, the gossiping, the jealousy. I mostly had male friendships growing up. They seemed easier.
I have a lot to say that I have kept in. May 9, 2025 I will be 51 years old. It’s now or never. That pivotal moment, when you know you can’t go back, you can’t move forward the same way you have. It hurts. It doesn’t work. You look ahead at this junction in life and you realize: your lifestyle choices will carry you another 20 or so years and then genetics will kick in if they haven’t already, and that will determine how much time you have left to take up space in this life. I have decided to tell the truth.
So here I was with a fibroid embedded in my uterine wall which meant invasive surgery to remove it. Chronic, dangerous menstruation. My GP at the time (a female doctor) told me I had mittelschmerz (ovulation pain). I had an ultrasound and blood work. The ultrasound revealed a fibroid, the blood work revealed low hemoglobin but was never flagged by my doctor and I never received the results. Finally our healthcare system launched a system where citizens can track and receive test results. Thank god! I had to learn very quickly how to advocate for my health, for myself. I guess you could say that is when I started to find my voice.
That unchecked hemoglobin and iron eventually led to such extreme blood loss I went to emergency for the very first time. I took a picture of myself lying in bed. I still have it. I occasionally look at it. I cry. A selfie, eyes sunken in, seeing only black orbs reflected back at me. The colour of my face was colour-less. It wasn’t quite yellow, it looked exactly as it should — pale and drained of blood. There I was that night alone. Knowing that I needed medical help. Afraid to go alone and no one to come with me. Because, well you know the story, I looked and sounded fine so I must be fine. I wasn’t. I cannot remember if I drove myself or if my mom came and got me. Looking back, I don’t remember what I was wearing, I cannot even connect back to that time to remember what I was feeling. When I finally got admitted to emergency, the attending physician said that when she looked at my chart she expected to see someone on the brink of death. That if I had lost that amount of blood all at once, say a car accident, at the very least I would have likely experienced cardiac arrest. I had a little over half my blood left. I immediately received two rounds of blood transfusion, thank you to the donors. I remember breaking into a fever, being given a Tylenol and sinking back into the sweat-drenched hospital bed imagining someone else’s essence being transfused into myself. I had to let go of the fear and welcome in the healing. I received a total of eight blood transfusions during this whole ordeal (about four years) leaving me as a cocktail with antibodies making it tricky to find a match.
I was then referred to a hematologist and enrolled in the anemia clinic where I would continue to receive iron infusions. PS, I hate needles. I have small veins that make it challenging for intravenous. Thus the routine of making sure I am well hydrated, warming up my arms, having veins collapse, a big iron stain on my left hand that took over two years to go away. Fear, fear, fear. That hematologist had recommended that I would likely need a hysterectomy. Which I ignored. Felt extremely insulted and for some reason felt like I needed to fight for it. Fight for something that was betraying me… STORY OF MY LIFE.
Enter ALL the “alternative” medicine treatments and protocols. What makes me shake my head when I look back at that piece of my life, is NOT ONE practitioner said, “I think this is beyond what I can offer and I think you need to consult a doctor/specialist.”
EGOS. I met a lot of people in those years who thought they could heal me. Fake gurus and ego-driven people. The kind of people who sell hope like it’s their personal brand. They weren’t interested in helping. They were interested in being right. And being worshipped. I was just the body they practiced on.
However, the alternative wellness business does offer one thing that our medical model has engineered out and that is, they listen. They have time to listen, because they are charging you for that time. And sometimes, all we need during a health crisis or any crisis for that matter, is someone to talk to.
You would think by now reading this admission, that I scheduled that hysterectomy procedure.
I didn’t.
I played this game for another six years.
A long, slow dance with destruction.
Avoidance dressed as empowerment.
False steps forward.
And pain — always pain — dressed as possibility.
I kept telling myself I was healing.
But really, I was dying.
This is ELLASAID.
And this is where I’ll keep saying it.