The story of Christina
My nutcracker story involves a dance, but none involving pointe shoes or ballet. No, I decided it was far more fun to “pole dance” on my IV pole in the hospital. If I’m going to have a chronic illness, then I should be able to have some fun with it, right?
That attitude that kept me afloat in the eight years that my nutcracker syndrome was undiagnosed. Chronic illness was nothing new to me when I started getting “weird cramps” and “really bad pelvic pain” in 2015. I had already lived with hearing loss, chronic ear infections, migraines, food allergies, skin disease, and ten surgeries by the time I turned eighteen.
This medical history fueled the fire of doctors and loved ones that accused me of making excuses. Their belief was that I was faking sickness so I could be a lifelong patient and avoid work. Even when an ultrasound showed pelvic congestion (varicose veins across my uterus and ovaries) in 2020, their answers were still flippant.
“Whatever, you can still work, you just need to toughen up.”
“Just get an IUD and you’ll be fine.”
“Pelvic congestion is a diagnosis doctors make up so patients feel better about themselves.”
I masked my symptoms in a dance of 600-1000mg of naproxen and four shots of espresso per day. Fighting the people accusing me of faking felt pointless because I wanted that energy to do other things. I wanted to advocate for others with chronic illness, travel abroad, and share my stories with the world. Pain or not, I didn’t want to miss out on joy and life, but that meant ceasing the battles with medical gaslighting.
Only in 2023, when I stayed with a friend after losing my job, was I finally able to get some help. She knew I was sick before, but she was horrified to see what my life had become. I was showering every four days, only changing my clothes to leave the house. Plenty of days, I was curled up into a ball with pain so severe I thought I was going to throw up. When I couldn’t welcome her cousins from Cameroon, I knew it was time to find a resolution.
Endometriosis was the original diagnosis, but it could not be confirmed without surgery. Having spent my youth in the O.R., I did not want a surgery based on “maybe.” When I heard pelvic congestion could have vascular causes, I knew it had to be investigated before signing any papers. It was part of the dance required to maximize the efficacy of any procedure. While the vascular surgeon was skeptical, he respected my conservatism around surgery, and gave me a new set of steps: a CT scan and an ovarian reflux ultrasound.
Both confirmed that nutcracker syndrome (compression of the left renal vein) was causing ovarian reflux and pelvic congestion. After years of dancing through masking symptoms, medical gaslighting, and participating in life, we finally had an answer. I was going to receive an exploratory procedure followed by an ovarian vein transposition in October and November 2023, respectively. It was my Nutcracker Suite, so to speak, with The Nutcracker as the bad guy and The Mouse King (aka my surgeon) as the hero.
My I.V. pole dance was the beginning of a new dance, based upon recovery and reclaiming my life. While I still love lattes, I will never drink four shots of espresso ever again. Physical therapy helps any pelvic pain that may linger post-operatively. Little by little, I’m finding my way back to the writing world after years of limited participation. I’ve got a long way to go before my recovery is complete, but I know one thing to be true. As long as I raise my literary voice, honor my intuition, and keep a latte in my hand, I will always lead the dance in this journey, my Nutcracker Suite.