One Year Later and I Have My Life Back

One year.

Honestly, I can hardly believe it.

When a friend asked me last weekend how long it had been since my surgery, I realized I was coming up on this milestone. My first thought was, "Has it really only been a year?" It feels so much longer than that. So much life has happened over these last twelve months that it almost feels like I'm looking back at a different version of myself.

Over the past year, I've seen more and more posts in the May-Thurner support groups asking questions like, "How did you feel one day after surgery? One week? One month? Six months? A year?"

I understand those questions completely.

When I was preparing for surgery, my way of coping was research. I wanted every study I could find, but more than anything, I wanted real people. I wanted honest stories. I wanted to know what recovery actually felt like because uncertainty felt scarier than surgery itself.

That has been my goal with this series from the very beginning.

I’m not here to convince anyone to have surgery or promise anyone the same outcome. It’s just to share one real experience so someone else feels a little less alone while they're waiting, wondering, and hoping.

If I Could Answer One Question...

If someone asked me today, "Was it worth it?

My answer is simple.

Absolutely.

If you told me I had to go back to July 28 and do it all over again, I wouldn't hesitate.

That answer comes with perspective, though.

The beginning was incredibly hard.

Recovery wasn't just physically painful. It was emotionally exhausting because so much of it was unknown. You go into this surgery after what is often years of searching for answers, hoping this might finally be the thing that gives you your life back. At the same time, you're terrified that you'll go through another difficult recovery only to end up disappointed again.

One of the hardest moments of my entire journey happened during my follow up appointment in Denver while I was still dealing with severe bloating, pain, and discomfort. I was told that no one really knew how I would recover and that they had only seen one other patient react to the stent the way I had. That patient, they said, only experienced about a five to ten percent improvement.

I still remember the feeling that came over both Andrew and me.

Hopeless.

Even now, thinking back to that appointment makes my stomach turn.

For the first couple of months, I questioned whether I had made the right decision. Recovery was slow. Some days I felt worse because I was recovering from the procedure itself while still waiting to see whether my original symptoms would improve.

Looking Back at the Woman I Was

If I could go back and talk to myself on surgery day, I'd tell her this:

Trust yourself.

You were right.

You weren't imagining it.

You weren't overreacting.

Something really was wrong.

I spent years questioning myself because so many people questioned me first. Even after being diagnosed with endometriosis and adenomyosis, part of me knew there was another piece of the puzzle. I kept advocating because deep down, I knew my body better than anyone else.

I just wish I had trusted that voice sooner.

Today

Today, my life looks completely different.

I run up to five miles.

I'm doing interval training without watching my heart rate every second.

I'm back squatting 188 pounds.

I play pickleball because it's fun.

I play soccer and kickball in the backyard with my kids.

I can work out until I'm completely exhausted without wondering if I'll spend the next week doubled over with pelvic pain, nausea, bloating, or that heavy "bowling ball" feeling in my abdomen, wanting to scrape out my insides to feel better.

Next week, I'll be coaching Addy's soccer team.

One year ago, I never would have committed to something like that because my pain was too unpredictable. I never knew when I'd have to cancel.

Now I don't think twice.

Even more meaningful than the workouts are the moments I never expected to notice.

Last weekend, we were driving to catch the train for an SDFC game. I had squeezed in a quick workout, jumped in the shower, threw on a pair of jean shorts without thinking, and rushed everyone out the door.

As we were driving, it hit me.

I felt... light.

That's honestly the only word I have for it.

My stomach felt light.

I hadn't spent ten minutes deciding what clothes would hurt the least.

I hadn't packed medication "just in case."

I wasn't mentally calculating how long I'd be standing, walking, or sitting.

I wasn't wondering how swollen I'd be by the end of the day.

I just...

Felt normal.

It sounds like such a small moment, but if you’re reading this searching for answers, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about.

What Has Improved?

Most of the symptoms that once dictated my life are simply gone.

The nausea with exertion is gone.

The heavy pelvic pressure is gone.

The exercise induced flares are gone.

The pelvic pain that used to control every decision I made is gone.

I still have occasional bloating, maybe once a month, but it isn't tied to exercise, my cycle or what pants I wore and usually resolves by the next day.

I still have some intermittent right lower abdominal pain that I'm continuing to work through with my doctors. As both a patient and a physical therapist, my mind naturally goes into differential diagnosis mode. Is it vascular? Is it myofascial? Is it something else entirely? I don't know the answer yet, but it's a very small piece of what I used to experience.

My POTS symptoms are also better overall. I still notice some heart rate fluctuations with position changes, but they no longer dominate my daily life.

More Than a Stent

If I'm being completely honest, I don't think this transformation came from one thing alone.

The stent changed my life.

My hormone replacement therapy after surgical menopause changed my life.

Learning to prioritize sleep changed my life. (People that know me would never believe my Oura sleep score is typically 90!)

Improving my nutrition changed my life.

Taking recovery seriously changed my life.

Trusting my body instead of fighting it changed my life.

Over this past year, I've worked incredibly hard to rebuild my strength, improve my aerobic capacity, prioritize recovery, average over 10,000 steps a day, drink less alcohol, and finally give my body the care it had been asking for all along.

The biggest difference is that my body finally feels like it's working with me instead of against me.

What My Family Got Back

If you asked Andrew or my kids what changed, I don't think they'd start with my symptoms.

They'd probably just tell you...

Mom is back.

I don't have to say, "Mommy can't do that because my tummy hurts."

I'm more present.

I'm more involved.

I'm more fun.

For Anyone Reading This While You're Still in the Beginning

I want to be careful here.

I don't want my story to become someone else's expectation.

Pelvic pain is incredibly complicated.

May-Thurner Syndrome rarely exists in isolation. Many of us have multiple diagnoses, overlapping symptoms, and years of medical trauma.

I truly believed my hysterectomy would be the surgery that changed everything. It helped some things. It made other things worse. So I had to keep searching.

This surgery happened to be life changing for me.

That doesn't mean it will be for everyone.

But what I hope you take from my story isn't that surgery is the answer.

It's that you deserve answers.

Keep asking questions.

Keep advocating.

Keep trusting yourself.

Looking Ahead

A year ago, I wrote that all I wanted was to be able to work until I was completely out of breath without paying for it for weeks afterward.

I smiled when I reread that.

Because now...

I don't even think about it.

And maybe that's the biggest gift this past year has given me.

The ability to run.

The ability to play.

The ability to coach my daughter's soccer team or work out hard or wear jean shorts without fear.

I finally trust my body again.

I know I still have room to grow. I want to get stronger. I want to continue improving my fitness. I want to keep learning and taking care of myself because I genuinely believe my best years are still ahead of me.

For the first time in a very long time, I can honestly say I'm excited about what's next.

My twenties taught me resilience.

My thirties taught me how to advocate for myself.

I have a feeling my forties are going to be the healthiest, strongest, and happiest years yet.

And that feels pretty incredible to say.