Essure- steals lives, kills babies, and crushes dreams. It feeds corporate greed, turns doctors into unfeeling machines, and turns good people into broken husks of pain and shame. Essure is the lock on the closet door holding thousands hostage.
Essure stole over a year of my life. Essure stole my family. Essure killed my friends. Essure almost ruined my career.
Every day I see more posts about losing another life to Essure, another miscarriage because of Essure, another surgery cancelled because the Essure migration was inoperable, another second-third-fourth-fifth surgery because the Essure exploded and caused necrotic tissue, the irreparable damage that Essure causes, and worse- how most suffer even after removal.
I was one of the lucky ones. I lost over 15 pounds in a month and was unable to EAT for over 2 months. I was one of the LUCKY Essure victims. Because it only opened my fallopian tube like a broken zipper, what I went through “wasn’t a big deal”.
It was so not a big deal in fact, that only my mother, spouse, and child realized the limitations imposed during my healing, and even they overlooked what healing from major surgery with an incurable illness and complications would be like. Even family members did not understand or respect my surgeon’s mandate to STAY SITTING DOWN OR LAYING for the majority of the duration of my healing. Even now I’m met with questions about why I can’t do things, or the absolute most hurtful- “well we’ll just see how you’re feeling then”. During my healing, I was visited by two people, my brother and my spouse’s best friend. Everyone else conveniently kept living, because if you are healthy and without trauma, it is very easy to forget those who can’t help themselves.
I’ve lost over a year. Time that I will never get back. The worst part about Essure and Endometriosis is knowing that the world will leave you behind and nobody actually really fucking cares. The world keeps making happy memories until you get buried, forgotten, and lost. The world will keep turning, faster even as you begin to lose more and more days. People will fall in love and happily forget about your pain, bragging the life that comes so easily to them, while they gleefully lock the door to keep you hidden away from unleashing your survived trauma on the world.
As long as you don’t talk about Essure, mention how scary it was, or think about how “lucky” you are to survive this near death experience, then everything will be ok and they’ll send your slow descent into living death off with smiles and waves. It’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to a happy life, the smiling faces of the world joyous to see you leaving it, eager to remove your infection from their life.
Don’t talk about Essure. Don’t think about Essure. Don’t live in the world after you’ve survived Essure.