Last night was one of those night where I haven’t been able to sleep. Thankfully, those nights are becoming much less frequent because I have finally let go of the fear I have from a very recently clinical diagnosis. I have PTSD. There, I said it and I am no longer afraid of the condition.
When many of you think of PTSD, you instantly think of someone in the military who has most likely served in a combative situation. One of my dear friends suffers from PTSD; a car backfiring sounds like a gunshot and for him, triggers a flashback. My story is nothing like that; I wasn’t in the military; I’ve never even heard a gunshot. My PTSD stems from traumatic injuries I sustained from Essure. I will always be amazed at the extent of the damage caused by Essure. It now officially extends beyond the physical injuries which I have endured. I’m not alone; there are over 10,000 women who suffer like I do, who simply want their lives and health back. We know, deep down, we’ll never be who we were before our fateful day that we chose Essure.
When you think of PTSD, you don’t think of fame. You think of some sort of trauma. You can imagine my complete disgust when I read an article on Fox News (link below) where Alanis Morissette claimed that fame gave her PTSD. FAME… I struggle with how someone famous could have nightmares from the red carpet, touring the world performing for her adoring fans, making millions from her record deals, being showered with gifts so you can seen wearing the latest and greatest from some designer; yeah that sure sounds traumatic to me.
Nightmares and flashbacks taking me back to the day I almost died; that’s my PTSD. I used to be afraid of it and now, I welcome it. In all this, I remembered something very important –I am still here to experience the nightmares; I am still here to experience the flashbacks. In the end, I am still here. For those of us who suffer from PTSD, regardless of the source of our trauma, her use of the term strips away the legitimacy of our condition; our suffering; our stories; our trauma.
She can walk away from her fame; she can say she’s done. Sadly, I can’t. As I type this entry, I am home recovering from my latest surgery performed one week ago. I don’t even know how many I’ve had anymore as the number doesn’t matter anymore. One surgery from defective birth control is too many, and for so many of Essure victims, it is more than one. This procedure, performed by a surgeon who specializes in Pelvic and Abdominal Reconstruction, was to remove scar tissue, fragments, and a mass that size of a grapefruit from my lower abdomen. All this from a defective birth control device.
I wish I could walk in the shoes of Alanis Morissette and say I’m traumatized by fame. Those aren’t my shoes. My shoes are to walk everyday living the best life I can not knowing how long I’ll be pain free this time, not knowing how long I’ll be healthy; not knowing if I’ll need another surgery. But at least I’m here to take the walk and I take it with my PTSD and with my 10,000 e-sisters who walk the same journey I did.
Alanis, want to walk in my shoes? This is one jagged little pill you couldn’t handle. You couldn’t last a day in my shoes.