el.is.in.wonderland

Somewhere between 3 pm two days ago, or 1 pm yesterday, or 4 pm today, I was curled up — not in my bed — waiting for a painkiller to work. Not dramatically, just quietly: grasping the table, almost crying, sometimes forgetting to breathe. Two hours later, I made tea and got on with my day. Nobody knew (except those who were in the same room with me). I barely acknowledged it myself.

That’s adenomyosis. And that, more than any personality trait or philosophy, is why I don’t really do long-term plans.

I have this VIP pouch — Very Important Pills — filled with all types of medication. Mostly ibuprofen-based, plus something to ease stomach spasms. Diarrhea pills, flu pills, and opioid pills have also joined the club. Just in case.

Adenomyosis, endometriosis’ twin sister, is a condition where endometrial tissue — which normally lines the uterus — has grown into the muscular wall of the uterus. I often describe it as water seeping into a crack in the wall, creating damage from the inside: difficult to clean, and the only definitive solution is a hysterectomy. My case, however, involves inflammation and pain in the front and back, without a period. To learn more, you can always Google.

Because of its frequent pain episodes — and how they disappear after painkillers — my brain has simply learned from the pattern. When your body can cancel any plan at any moment, making long-term plans starts to feel almost naive. Time begins to feel like episodes, not a straight line. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected. “Probably within the next 3 hours, this tummy will act up again — please ignore my whining or tiny sobs, this too shall pass,” I once told my colleague at the next table. She already understood.

After an hour — sometimes 1.5 to 2 — of my body wiggling like cacing kepanasan (or, worm in heat), cold sweat running down my forehead and back, with my little electric blanket on level 3 heat tucked underneath me, the pain gradually disappears. Then I return to whatever I left behind. “Good windows” become precious — you fill them, not plan through them.

Living for today sounds like a lifestyle choice, a cute Instagram caption. But when the pain is hidden, there are many moments where I am just very, very tired. Dealing with pain — whether an acute flare-up or an ongoing chronic condition — is physically and mentally draining. Your body is constantly working in overdrive to heal, fight inflammation, and manage stress responses, which depletes your energy faster than most people realize. I have the option to rest and do absolutely nothing in pursuit of a pain-free moment (which I often do) — or — stop waiting to feel “ready,” because ready is a luxury. I am trying my best to do the second one. I am learning — or more precisely, pushing myself, forcing my mindset — to be fully present in the good moments, knowing they can shift.

These experiences have taught me there is no “right time.” No right time to write a blog, to draw, to iron my pile of clothes, to tidy my messy bedside table, or to clean my makeup brushes. There will never be a “right time,” because, again, ready is a luxury.

I’m not saying chronic pain made me enlightened. I’m saying it made me practical. The present is what I have reliably.