When Pain Becomes an Emergency: Living with PCOS, Endometriosis, and the Medical Unknown

Last Wednesday was one of the scariest days of my life.

At around 8 a.m. on January 21st, 2026, I was a few days into my period. The cramps were uncomfortable but manageable , nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. Then the cold sweats started. If you live with chronic pain, you know that moment when your body shifts and you realize something much worse is coming.

Within minutes, the pain became unbearable. I started vomiting. My roommates weren’t home. I was alone in my apartment, shaking, barely able to stand.

I somehow made it to the elevator, where a group of residents were waiting to get on. I asked them for help, and they immediately called 911 and stayed with me until paramedics arrived. I will never forget that kindness , strangers showing up when I physically couldn’t show up for myself.

I was escorted by ambulance to the hospital and given Dilaudid to control the pain. The workup was extensive: PAP smear, CT scan, blood work, urine analysis , everything they could reasonably test in an emergency setting. The results showed a uterine fibroid and the same 5 cm adrenal cyst I already knew about from my adrenal Cushing’s syndrome. No visible endometriosis was found.

And yet… the pain said otherwise.

Hours later, I was sent home with no clear answers , just exhaustion, fear, and that hollow feeling of being medically dismissed by results that don’t match lived experience. My mom drove up from Elizabethtown to Louisville to be with me, and I don’t think I could have emotionally survived that day without her. There is something profoundly grounding about having your mother beside you when your body feels like it’s betraying you.

The Invisible Hell of PCOS & Endometriosis

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and endometriosis aren’t just “bad periods.” They are systemic, life-altering conditions that hijack your hormones, nervous system, digestion, mobility, mental health , and sense of safety in your own body.

Pain like this isn’t dramatic. It isn’t exaggerated. It isn’t “normal.”

And yet, so many people with reproductive illnesses are conditioned to believe suffering is expected, that collapse is routine, that vomiting from pain is just another Wednesday.

Calling 911 felt like failure.

Like weakness.

Like overreaction.

But it wasn’t.

 It was survival.

The Worst Part Isn’t the Pain, It’s the Not Knowing

What lingers most isn’t the IV meds, the ambulance ride, or even the tests , it’s the emptiness of being discharged without

answers. When scans say “nothing’s wrong” but your body is screaming otherwise, it creates a uniquely isolating kind of trauma. You begin questioning your reality. You wonder if you’re imagining it. You fear the next episode , because now you know how bad it can get. 

And you also know it can happen when you’re alone.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m writing this because:

• PCOS and endometriosis deserve to be taken seriously

• Chronic pain shouldn’t require collapse to be validated

• Emergency medical trauma deserves space to exist

• No one should feel ashamed for calling for help

If you’ve ever been told your pain is “just cramps,” “just hormones,” or “just stress,” I see you. If you’ve ever been dismissed, minimized, or sent home still hurting, I see you too.

This wasn’t just a hospital visit. It was a reminder of how fragile access to real care can be , and how strong we are just for surviving bodies that fight us daily.

To the Strangers, EMTs, and My Mom

To the residents who stayed with me in the hallway , thank you. To the paramedics who treated me with care , thank you. To my mom who drove to Louisville without hesitation , thank you.

And to my body: I’m still learning how to live in you. But I’m listening.