Reaching for His Robe: Faith Through Endometriosis

The month of March marks the beginning of Autumn here in the Southern Hemisphere - the season of change, of slowing down, of rusty reds, burnt oranges, and deep yellows. Whilst we don’t see so many of these seasonal colour changes in Australia (at least not in Queensland), the foreshadowing of the death of winter begins to linger in the air, the crisp afternoons remind us to start rugging up, and the approach of Easter reminds us to hope. Which is why March as International Endometriosis Awareness Month seems so fitting to me. With the yellow ribbon as the emblem, endometriosis has many parallels with Autumn. The ever-changing pain, the impending dread and fear of death to the womb, and therefore one’s womanhood, and yet the long-suffering hope that things one day just might get better. 

Endometriosis is not an easy disease. The tissue that normally lines the uterus finds itself growing externally as well, attaching to and scarring not only the reproductive organs, but often also surrounding organs, such as the bowels and bladder. It wreaks havoc on the nervous system, causing chronic pelvic pain, irregular menstrual cycles, fatigue, and even infertility. Yet despite it affecting 1 in 7 women, it often takes on average 7 years to be clinically diagnosed (Endometriosis Australia 2024). Many girls, like myself, have struggled for years with debilitating pain and confusion as they struggle through doctor appointments, emergency hospital trips, medication trials, and sleepless nights wrapped in heat packs, all while suffering the indignity of being poked and prodded to the point of exhaustion only to be told a variation of “we don’t know what’s wrong with you” or “just take some more Panadol.”

My journey began when I was 16, after a trip to the ER told me the reason I had passed out from pain was because of a ruptured ovarian cyst and not appendicitis. Little did I know that I had a long road ahead of me to find out what was really going on with my body. As is the case for many women with endometriosis, this road was riddled with potholes of doctors who lacked compassion and understanding, specialists who refused to acknowledge that my pain could possibly be anything other than ‘bad periods’, procedures that were painful and trauma-inducing, and vomiting so often from pain that for years I was a walking skeleton. From spiels of “your uterus loves you, your pain is in your head” (despite ultrasounds and MRIs that said otherwise) to trialling new medication that left me puffy with bald patches from so much hair loss, to taking all sorts of weird and wonderful herbs and tonics from well meaning naturopaths, I was willing to try whatever it took to help myself before I would try surgery. I was so nervous that laparoscopic surgery would only be another letdown, and I had heard too many horror stories of women who had regressed with increased pain afterwards rather than showing any improvements. 

During these long, painful years, my faith was stretched, and I was pruned in what felt like the extreme. I had begun to think so lowly of myself and my worth as a young girl entering the world after high school that I entered a relationship with a guy who took advantage of my weak physical and mental state, and over the course of our seven-month relationship, he became quite abusive in every sense of the word. Whilst seven months may not sound like a long time, one question I ask people is, “How long would seven months feel if it were your daughter? Your sister? Your niece, your friend? Would you want them to experience something like that for a day, let alone months?” These seven months, as long and as terrible as they felt, couldn’t compare with the year and a half long police court battle that only further isolated me, increased my trauma, and affected my physical and neural pain. I became a shell of myself. And yet. 

It still makes me emotional to remember, and frankly, tears will always be blurring my vision for this next part of my story. For the Lord met me in this darkest of places like I had never experienced before. Yes, I had always had my faith in Him, and it had certainly been tested many a time before. But to experience such suffering, with constant excruciating physical pain, a mental fog of depression and heartbreak, and a spirit so downcast I couldn’t possibly see a light at the end of the tunnel, I found a wonderful and constant companion in Jesus. For who could understand my suffering better than He could? The accusations I had experienced from my peers after my break-up - Jesus heard far worse from the jeering crowd on His way to and on the cross. The thorn in my flesh that still had no diagnosis - Jesus had a piercing crown of them, with whippings and nails to boot. The shame of my sin, my anxiety, my life - Jesus said I was forgiven. And the disease that caused so much bleeding - His perfect blood covered me. Suddenly, my suffering, whilst absolutely still present, was diminished in the presence of my Saviour. As I prayed and read the Word, Jesus was renewing my mind. I was learning to hold the uncertainty of my future lighter. The fear that I may never find a husband turned into a peace that I belonged to a Man who would always love me. The worry that I may never have children became an opportunity to bestow more love on the unloved. The terror that I might live with pain all my life now brought joy knowing it drew me closer to the Lord and the promise of Heaven with Him. 

This is not to say that I didn’t hope for physical healing, because I absolutely did. I trusted in the Lord’s sovereignty, and I knew that the Lord could heal if it was His will. Many people of great faith have anointed me with oil and prayed for physical healing for me over the years; however, the Lord chose not to heal me then. Yet I would read the story of the woman who bled for twelve years in the Bible, and I remained hopeful. For those who don’t know, the account goes like this:

“And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.” And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’” And he looked around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” (Mark 5:25-34 ESV). 

I cannot begin to fathom how isolated and alone this woman would have felt for those twelve years, particularly with the laws that surrounded women and being ‘unclean’. And yet, I had such a strong affinity with this woman that I couldn’t and can't read this story without crying. The bleeding, the many doctors, the money spent. I could and can completely relate to her. What truly blows me away about this woman, though, is that she had the courageous faith to enter a crowd of people who would surely shun her if they knew her disease, and believed that despite all her failed efforts with the physicians of the day, this Jesus could surely heal her if she could simply touch Him. What remarkable and inspiring faith! And while I could go on about this story for ages, about the richness and depth of the original language and the significance of Jesus’ garments representing actual ‘healing in His wings’ (how beautiful!!), what often truly resonated with me about this story is that Jesus not only called the woman to step out of her fear, but He also acknowledged and claimed her in front of the crowd as His daughter, then sent her on her way in peace, knowing she was healed of her disease. 

Some may say, “See, you need to have more faith, and then you will be healed!”, and unfortunately, I heard this message proclaimed more than once. But what some people fail to realise is that this woman bled for twelve years. That’s 4,383 days. Are we able to say with certainty that this woman didn’t have enough faith over this many days? This many years? No. Do we know why she wasn’t healed sooner? No. However, I wonder if it isn’t because without her twelve years of suffering, she may not have been desperate enough for Jesus when He appeared in front of her. Maybe she needed the shaping and moulding that only suffering can produce. Or maybe it is simply so that a girl like me, 2,000 years later, could read this story and see the heart of Jesus for His daughters.

This story has been one I have returned to many times over the years, particularly as my physical pain has also worsened with time like the woman’s in the story. But during this time, I have also been incredibly blessed. I have gained a new confidence in my worth as a daughter of the King. I have a wonderful husband who has diligently cared for me with a selflessness and compassion I never thought I would experience outside of my family. I have a job in a Christian school that is far better than any of the many rejections I experienced applying for laboratory jobs. And only last year, did I finally reach the point where I considered the option of laparoscopic surgery because of the amazing doctor who journeyed with me and tried every avenue with the best of intentions and knowledge. Also having a Bachelor of Biomedical Science means that I can hold the miracle of modern medicine in one hand and the miracle healing of Heaven in the other. And so after discussing with my doctor what the possible outcomes would look like, I felt I would be okay with surgery, even if it did not help ease my pain or only made a marginal difference. Because slightly less pain would still mean less pain. 

This surgery endeavour was not a small one. Due to the public system having a huge waitlist, my husband and I decided to commit to ‘self-funding’ my op. We really relied on the Lord’s provision in the lead up to the surgery, and multiple people showed unexpected generosity during this time which we are incredibly grateful for. As I entrusted my guilt over so much money spent on myself and my fears of an unsuccessful outcome to the Lord, He provided me His mercy and grace. And in January this year, nearly nine years after my first trip to the hospital, do I finally have a diagnosis. Endometriosis and Endosalpingiosis, a rare tissue scarring disease similar to endometriosis, have caused all my years of pain. Whilst there will still be some challenges to face down the road with this Endosalpingiosis, my surgery was successful! All scar tissue was removed and the pelvic muscle botox (a relatively new treatment) was effective, but on top of that, miraculous heavenly healing occurred as well. For prior to my surgery, for years I had been told during ultrasounds that my reproductive organs did not move well, likely due to scar tissue - not a good thing. Yet during my post-op appointment with my surgeon, she informed me that when they cut out the scar tissue, all my reproductive organs moved well and looked good! Praise the Lord!

For the last few weeks, since the major part of my recovery, I have felt like a new person. I have experienced healing, and for the first time in a long time, I feel capable of enjoying my life without collapsing in an exhausted, pain-riddled heap. One day, children would be lovely, and if it is the Lord’s will, I believe it will be possible - although my husband and I have also learnt to hold onto that hope lightly, and we will cross that bridge when we get there. In the meantime, however, I’m looking forward to enjoying my life in a way I haven’t since I was a young teenager. But I never want to take for granted or forget the years of suffering and pain, without which I would not know my Saviour like I do now. For each high and low in that time has taught me a new facet of His character, a new chamber of His heart, a new glimpse of His glory. And I also know that as long as we are on this side of Heaven, there will undoubtedly be more suffering to come. But I want to encourage you during this month of Endometriosis awareness, a month that brings to light many women’s pain, heartaches, and years of struggles. That despite your pain, your hardships, the unfairness of what life (or our bodies) may throw at us, that we may “glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5 NIV). 

Do not give up hope. I can say with certainty: Jesus heals. And I would say this whether I was walking in my physical healing like I am now, or whether I was still drifting in and out of fitful sleep on the floor of the bathroom at 2 am. Because whether we see the healing of our bodies here on earth, or we must wait until we reach Heaven and are given new ones, when we entrust our lives to Him, Jesus is healing us - day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, carefully stripping away our sinful flesh, softening our hearts of stone, and pruning us into beautiful, fruit-bearing creations for our good and His glory. So again I say, do not lose hope. If you, or someone you know, is experiencing the very real and very hard path of navigating pain and the diagnosis of endometriosis, think of Autumn. Think of the changing and the coming death of Winter as something to look forward to. Because what is after Winter, if not the new life of Spring? 

Endometriosis Australia 2024, Understanding Endometriosis, Endometriosis Australia.