I've heard before that chronic illness is a full-time job, except without pay or any sort of benefits whatsoever. I'd buy that. In fact, you get a nice assortment of careers with endometriosis: detective, researcher, advocate, dietitian, wellness expert and, of course, your own personal life coach.

But I'm here to talk about a specific job that endometriosis has gifted me: illusionist.

It's not even just tricking everyone around me into thinking I feel well when I absolutely don't but absolutely have to. It's also tricking myself into believing everything is fine when everything isn't.

Do not try this at home.

Lately, my role as an illusionist has been a 24-7 commitment. As I mentioned a blog post or two ago, my symptoms seem to have changed, and since I won't see my doctor until next week, I've been doing my best to cope. Or, you know, straight-up ignore said symptoms.

I've recently started experiencing pain before I even wake up, which is just downright cruel. Shouldn't that be the one place endometriosis leaves me alone? I mean, I didn't even know this was a thing.

But sure enough, around 3 a.m. every single night, I start to hurt. And then I wake up in the morning and realize it's actual, real-life, happening-right-now pain, not just some terrible dream pain. But I crawl out of bed - with some help from a dog who really wants to go outside - and tell myself that everything is just peachy.

I won't walk you through each and every one of my new symptoms, but I'll say they've been really unpredictable. The hardest to deal with, as I often say, is the fatigue. I've faced that for a long while, but it's been exceptionally irritating lately, especially when I just don't have the mental energy to even talk some days. (AND I LOVE TO TALK.)

Despite this uncontrollable fatigue, I often try to trick my body into thinking we have all the energy in the world! And that even on days when every flashing red light is going off inside of me, hey, everything is fine. Because we have things to do, and I don't have time for this.

Lately, that's shown up at the gym. I've been working really hard to stay in shape, endometriosis be damned, with varying results. Part of this is an effort to stave off some of the pain, manage my other symptoms and also keep my scoliosis from getting worse. It's also because I'm delusional and believe that even with endometriosis, I can have INSTAGRAM-ABLE ABS.

Oh hey, Thor... <3

I'm pretty happy with where I am right now, but it's taken a WHOLE LOT of work to get there. Pain and fatigue have disrupted my gym routine countless times, and when that happens, I'm pretty hard on myself. Even though I can't control my disease, part of me still likes to think I should be able to do so.

At my worst, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I drag myself to the gym when I don't feel well. I try to work out whenever I feel okay (like above a 6 or a 7 on a scale of 1 to "I'm definitely dying"), so that I can balance out those bad days. But sometimes, my illusionist self thinks it can do more than it actually can.

This happened a week or so ago. I was frustrated with a few different aspects of life to begin with that day, but I insisted that my husband, Andrew and I go to the gym anyway. I wanted to blow off steam, I hadn't done a great job of exercising the weekend prior, and I needed something I could control to regain my sanity.

Joke's on me. I don't "control" anything!

About ten minutes into being on the elliptical and watching my beloved Property Brothers, my brain went into "screw it" mode. 

[Why can't I find a gif of Jonathan taking a hammer to a wall or something?!]

"What am I doing here?" I thought. "Why am I doing any of this? It's pointless. As soon as I feel sicker, I'll have to stop working out, and my body will go right back to where it was. None of this is worth my time. I can't manage my symptoms, my disease is progressive, and it doesn't even have a cure, so why am I bothering?"

I realized I didn't want to be anywhere except curled up in a ball at home. I got off the elliptical and went to find Andrew.

When we got home, I broke down into tears. I'd had a stressful week to begin with that was further complicated by just how awful I was feeling. I ranted to Andrew how I didn't want this to be my life, how I was so scared this was as good as I was ever going to feel, how I knew there were only a few treatment options even available to me, and how eventually I'd run out. How I'd need to go into surgery again at some point, how that wouldn't even matter because the endometriosis would grow back again, and how oh my gosh if we want kids some day how will we ever afford fertility treatments or adoption or anything.

This quickly led into my next spiral, which went something like this: "I don't want people to think I'm sick. I don't want to look sick or be sick or anything. I don't want it to get in the way of me doing things that I want to do. I don't want to disappoint people or let them down or miss out on things or-"

Andrew interrupted with "Why won't you just accept that you have a chronic illness?"

He wasn't accusatory or mean or exasperated at all. He said it in the most loving and kind way imaginable. By saying this, Andrew told me that it was time for me to give myself permission to be sick.

You would think that I'd done that already, given this blog and how vocal I am about endometriosis. And when I'm mentally at my best, I do a good job of accepting my illness. But when things get bad, I start to resent my body, as if being angry will change my circumstances. When, really, it probably just puts more stress on my body and makes me feel worse.

The truth is that my inner illusionist tries its hardest with myself. I try to outsmart my own disease, forcing my brain to ignore what it needs some days so that I can travel, run errands, exercise or sometimes do really dumb, pointless things just so that I feel personally accomplished that day.

I've never been good at allowing myself to rest or take any sort of break. Just look at how many days off of work I don't take, and you'll see that I do not make time to just relax and exist and, you know, be a person. I see it as idleness or laziness, rather than an essential part of managing my illness and my sanity.

If you've been following my blog for a bit, this isn't news. It's a constant struggle of mine, and I'll probably come back in four months (or less) and write a similar blog post to this one. But hopefully by typing it all out, I'll force the illusionist to take a vacation and let my body take its own mini holiday.

In chatting with one of my college friends the other day, I reminisced about an old redheaded heartbreak. (There are actually two from my college years. This one is the latter of the two. Hah.) I said, "It's good we never worked out. I really don't think he'd ever accept my illness." But how can I expect other people to accept and understand endometriosis when I don't even let myself do it, most days?

This isn't a message to me and other people with chronic illness to just give up on ever feeling well, forget about going outside and stop trying to take care of yourself. Not at all. This is permission to feel like complete crap. Permission to spend days in a row on the couch. Permission to cry and be frustrated and then watch HGTV re-runs all day because endometriosis is terrible. Permission to let yourself be sick. And permission to do all of that without guilt.

You spend so much of your time managing your chronic illness to begin with. Let's cut out the magic tricks.

And here's another gif of attractive men to send you off.

As you may know, the day before Valentine's Day is commonly referred to as Galentine's Day - a day for women to celebrate the female friends in their lives. If you're unfamiliar with it, you need to watch more Parks and Recreation, but here, I've got you covered:

So anyway, I'm technically a day late in posting this, but it was something I wanted to talk about in my last blog post regarding Lena Dunham's personal endometriosis announcement. But to avoid packing too much into one post, I decided to recognize Galentine's Day by delivering the following message:

ENDO SISTERS, SUPPORT EACH OTHER.

Now, if you don't know why I'm emphasizing that in bold font, that's actually great. It means the infighting that's sprung up in support groups, Twitter feeds and comment sections hasn't been very noticeable, unless you're really involved in those realms.

But this is a message for all women, regardless of whether or not you have something like endometriosis. This is a message to ask women to stop tearing each other down, cease the petty arguments and build each other up.

When a bunch of articles came out about Lena Dunham, I read a shocking number of comments like:

"Must be nice to be able to take time off. She should just get over it like the rest of us have to."

"I have endometriosis, and I've NEVER had to take time off for it! She needs to suck it up."

"Wish I had that luxury. But I have to work ## hours and take care of a family and also feed a goldfish and make time to write mean comments like this one."

Okay so, like, why are we saying to each other all of the things we're tired of hearing?

I would never tell another endo sister to "suck it up" because I went years being told the same thing before my pain was given a name. I would never compare my symptoms to another woman's and say that mine were worse than hers. I'd also never give a long list of my responsibilities, as if that invalidates her pain because now mine is more legitimate.

Doesn't this sound familiar to The Sick Games?

Women, when we fight among ourselves about anything - not just endometriosis - we weaken our message. We make it harder for other women to find a place in our community and get behind our movement. When so many women are being alienated in their professions, organizations, social groups and - not to mention - doctor's offices, why are we perpetuating this isolation by picking each other apart?

I get it. I really do. Sometimes it's frustrating when you've fought for something for so long, and it looks like it's just so easy for another person. It's why we got mad at those kids in school who didn't have to study but aced every test.

Or maybe you've been fighting to be heard for years and years, and it's frustrating to see a celebrity or another woman so embraced and given a platform to say what she wants. Especially if you still feel like you're being ignored.

Okay, sure. It's a little irritating for some. But doesn't that voice amplify your voice? Doesn't another story, another face and another experience add to the collective female and endometriosis communities?

We're all here to promote awareness for our illness, so that other women don't have to wait 10+ years for diagnoses. If we push a woman away from the endo community, that's one less voice making heard our mission. From an organizational standpoint, we can't afford to eliminate a voice when endometriosis is so little-known. But from a feminist and humanistic standpoint, we shouldn't be silencing or belittling other women.

So I'm asking not only endo sisters, but all women to lay down the gauntlet. If you see a woman in need, support her. Build her up. Show her that we're a family, and we're here for each other.

Stop competing for airtime because all women deserve a voice. Quit the nitpicking and take your sisters at their word. Please don't invalidate experiences that might not be like yours, and please don't belittle women who might have opportunities you currently don't have. Celebrate those opportunities and differences.

This Galentine's Day, let's all - myself included - do a little better at loving each other and supporting other women. Let's share stories that might be different than ours and celebrate what makes us all unique and diverse. Let's bring to the table more women who might not look like us, talk like us or live like us.

Because, as I've said before, we're all in this together. You poetic, noble land-mermaids.

Even if you're not a part of the World of Endo,™ you probably heard about Lena Dunham's uterus yesterday. In short, she's taking some time off of promoting her show, Girls to manage her endometriosis.

This isn't the first time she's talked about her experience with this disease. A few months ago, I had the privilege of being mentioned alongside her in an article by Prevention Magazine, following a blog post she made after her diagnosis.

She's also not the first famous woman to have endometriosis. But judging by reactions to her very personal and very vulnerable announcement, she's apparently the most polarizing. (Yes, it seems as though not even Hillary Clinton could be as polarizing as Lena Dunham...)

Before I launch on a rant about my feelings, let me be clear that I wholeheartedly love and appreciate what Lena is doing. I've really never taken much interest in her work, so I'm not going to pretend I'm some big fan of hers. But I am a big fan of talking openly about endometriosis and women's health in general. So my emotional venting has nothing to do with Lena.

It completely and 100 percent has to do with how we treat women and their illnesses.

So anyway, I'm going about my life this week and see that the disease I've been fighting for about 14 years is trending. You know, the one where I had to google my symptoms because I'd never, ever heard of it. YAY!

"What an excellent opportunity to raise awareness and share stories about women with endometriosis!" I thought. "It's so exciting that more people will know about it, and maybe more women won't be afraid to talk about it, and maybe we can encourage more research, and maybe there will be better treatment for people with debilitating symptoms, and maybe we'll find a cure, and maybe - ummm why aren't these Internet commenters as excited about this as I am?"

I should really take one of my own pieces of advice to heart. Never read the comment section. But I did because I'm a masochist, I guess.

Here's a nice preview of said comments that The Endo Challenge put together:

Here is some required viewing for everyone, especially those who have or love someone with a chronic illness. It's a video from Royal Society of Arts, based off of a talk by Dr. Brene Brown.

This blog post will make a little more sense if you actually watch the two-minute video, but if you have a short attention span like I do, I'll do my best to walk you through it.

The narrator begins by summarizing the two like this: Empathy fuels connection. Sympathy drives disconnection. You know the empathetic people in your life. The ones who not only listen, but hear you. The ones who help you understand feelings that you might not even know you're experiencing. The ones who you consistently return to because they refill you.

There are four qualities of empathy, she goes on to say...

When you're in a dark, scary and lonely hole in your life, empathy says, "Hey, I know what it's like down here. And you're not alone."

Sympathy, on the other hand, looks down from above that hole you're in and says, "Oof. That's pretty bad, huh?" You know those people, too. The ones who say you can vent to them, but it seems they're not connecting with you. That their mind is completely somewhere else.

Whereas empathy is a vulnerable, self-aware choice, sympathy distances itself, drawing a silver lining around whatever you're experiencing. As the narrator says, no empathetic statement has ever started with "At least..."

I'm sure you've heard them, if you have a chronic illness.

"At least you don't have cancer."

"At least you're not dying."

"At least you have health insurance."

"At least you're not as sick as this other person I know."

Truth is, we've all done this, whether intentional or not. I know that I've done it to people, and I know that I've done it to myself. I've distanced myself from my own emotions and issues with statements like this. Because they're painful sometimes, and they're not always easy to manage.

A lot of times, as Dr. Brown says, when you share these problems or frustrations with other people, they'll try to fix them or say something to make it better. But as you already know, it's unlikely that a response will make you forget about what's bothering you. It's the connection that makes you feel better.

That's why sometimes the best thing to say is "You know, I really don't know what to say. But I'm so glad that you told me."

[End video summary. Begin commentary.]

I love this because we've all been there. Whether we've vented about an illness, a break-up, a death or even just a problem at work, we've all experienced reactions from empathetic and sympathetic people.

This video really encouraged me to be mindful of how I talk to others. Although I can't pull out specific examples, I know there have been times I've defaulted to being the sympathetic person, instead of the empathetic person. 

As the video points out, it's just easier and less painful sometimes. But I also know that hearing these type of responses tends to make things feel more uncomfortable, rather than encouraging.

There have been times I've walked away from conversations with sympathetic people and felt drained and discouraged. Maybe I really shouldn't be complaining because other people have it worse than I do. Maybe I need to stop whining about my pills not working or feeling sick for weeks because, hey, I'm not dying.

As I've said in previous blog posts, yes, absolutely. There are millions of people out there who have it worse than you, no matter what you're facing. But that doesn't invalidate your experience, your feelings or your pain.

I always say that I hate when people say things like, "I feel sick... But not as sick as you, I'm sure. I should stop complaining." No! I want you to complain! I want to connect with you and support you and maybe even realize something about my own concerns in talking to you about how you're feeling. 

I don't care if you just have a cold, and that's all that's bothering you. Tell me about it. I never want to drive away someone just because I "have it worse" than they do.

In knowing all this, I realize it's my responsibility to ensure empathy in my relationships goes both ways. I've been guilty of being so absorbed in my own problems that I don't want to be empathetic at that moment. There are times I do want to judge or refuse to take another person's perspective, just because it isn't the one that I would have.

But at the end of the day, when does that ever help another person? You can't change what a person feels. But you can love them and support them through it.

So I'm committing to being a more empathetic person, even if there are perspective and feelings that are difficult to take on. Because I know how important that personal connection is to me and how much I need to give it to other people.

If you want proof of how quickly endometriosis can turn around and bite you, look no further than this photo of me jumping in a trampoline park last weekend. I also kind of look like an overjoyed demon, so that's cool. I had woken up feeling pretty okay that day and decided to be an adult with my husband, a fellow endo sister and her husband by jumping on trampolines all day.

Fast-forward 24 hours later, and I was down for the count. I thought that maybe it was just from trampolining for an hour, which (shocking to me) kind of feels like running a marathon but jumping all of it. My husband and I made the mistake of buying a two-hour pass the first time we went to this place...

But one day turned into two... which turned into a full week of pain. And then I realized something. This pain feels different than usual.

Okay, don't panic. Take a symptom inventory. 

Stomach? Ehhh same ol'.

Left ovary? Also about the same, although it hurts a little more than usual. 

Right ovary? Ouch. Owww owww it's radiating down my leg. Uhhh that's certainly new... 

Rest of the uterus? WHY DOES MY ENTIRE UTERUS HURT?! ALL OF IT?!?

My endometriosis was found on and around my left ovary and burned off fairly easily. But since I did not see an excision specialist, there is a high likelihood of recurrence and of the endo spreading. I'm honestly not even sure if there is an excision specialist in my state... But if you happen to know a good specialist in the Midwest, hit me up.

I knew that, which is why I'd been holding my breath ever since my one-year endo anniversary came and passed. I looked at myself as a ticking time-bomb, and it's partially why I've devoted so much effort and energy to working out. If I can stave off the pain - which exercise often can do - then maybe I won't need another surgery. At least not this soon.

So anyway, up until recently, my pain had mostly hung out around my left ovary with occasional pain in other places. Oh, and with pain shooting down to my left knee. That leads me to believe there's a spot putting pressure on my sciatic nerve, but hey, I'm no doctor. I just diagnosed myself on Google...

Another fun fact. Endometriosis can spread to organs outside of the reproductive system. Oftentimes, implants accumulate on the bladder, bowel and other nearby areas. Without subjecting you to gross details since I do that enough, I'm pretty sure the endo has spread to my bowel.

What really sucks about endometriosis is that I can have a laundry list of symptoms, and I still will have absolutely no idea what's going on until someone cuts me open. As I learned the first time around, ultrasounds and pelvic exams will generally reveal absolutely nothing about the present state of my condition. Only a laparoscopy.

So I spent a lot of the week laying on the couch, trying not to feel sorry for myself. But finally, I broke down last night after feeling too crappy to make it to the gym for the third or fourth time that week. I didn't cry, since at that point I was too cranky to do so, but I threw a pillow off the couch, dramatically flopped my arms over my eyes and so eloquently ranted:

"Ughhhhh WHYYYY is this disease so stupid and pointless?! It makes NO. SENSE. A lot of illnesses are just because your body is confused, it's like, (insert high, squeaky voice) 'Ohhhh! I'm just trying to make new things for you because I'm a good body, and I think you need this!' But NO! NOT THIS ONE. It's seriously the dumbest disease EVER. It's all, 'Here! Have some endo because I don't want to be a normally functioning uterus anymore! I want to be in pain ALL the time, and also, let's NEVER make babies and be forced to pay a crap-ton of money to making sure I function like a normal organ should! IT'S. SO. DUMB.'"

My supportive husband listened sympathetically while trying not to pay attention to the much more interesting and well-written show that was on TV. I couldn't blame him. I was being a bit over-dramatic. There are plenty of people I know who are sicker and have more to complain about than I do, although I never like it when people say that about their own conditions to me.

But I had enough that week. I was exhausted. It was a fight to get out of bed every morning, and I'd probably have kept sleeping if it weren't for my dog gnawing at my hair and pawing my face. And I had work obligations that suddenly became harder to  deal with, now that my changing symptoms were taking over the majority of my mental energy. (I also was pretty pissed about my state defeating a tampon tax exemption that morning, but that's another story for another day...)

I'm an impatient person sometimes. I get frustrated when my emails aren't answered within minutes. I yell at traffic jams, and I roll my eyes very obviously when people walk too slowly. I also apparently belittle my uterus when it's not being a productive member of the House of Tracy. I don't deal well with ambiguity, and I hate not having all the information that I need.

But that's the reality of endometriosis and other chronic illnesses. In fact, this blog post doesn't have a happy ending where I learned something about myself and resolved to be more positive and a better sick person. I'm still angry. And it's okay to be angry, as long as you don't stay there forever.

So I'm getting ready for this weekend and next week, picking up some disposable heating pads and hoping that Aleve will get me through until my ob-gyn appointment because it's the only painkiller I have. It's hard to stay strong when the odds are so stacked against you, and you've been "strong" for way too long. But sometimes, you don't have a choice. You just keep your head down and power through.

And if that fails, that's why there are electric blankets, ergonomic pillows and naps. And David Bowie records.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

It's one of those benign statements that drives me up a wall.

Behind this seemingly innocent remark is what they're really saying to me.

"You owe me an explanation."

I thought maybe I was being too sensitive to assume that was the real meaning, until I started explaining my illness and watching people's expressions. They instantly transformed from an air of condescension and patronizing to empathy and understanding.

And the people I didn't explain my "chronic pain condition" to? Well, they probably still think I'm a flaky, lazy piece of crap.

I honestly don't like to explain my illness to people, especially those I don't know well. I generally don't feel like people owe others explanations. And I hate to make people think I'm just making excuses when what I'm really doing is hanging out in pajamas all day, watching TV and not being a productive member of society.

Obviously.

But the thing is, I'm skipping out on your social events not just because it's easier on me. It's easier on you, too.

As I've said before, chronic illness has probably one good feature and one good feature only. You become very aware of your body's warning signs and needs. I typically know when I wake up if I'm going to have a bad pain day. Or if I'm going to be in a mental fog and unable to focus on the easiest of tasks. Or if I'm going to fall asleep sitting up while you're trying to talk to me.

(Hilarious aside: After I talked in my last blog post about my pain level being relatively low, it decided to shoot up and make my life difficult. Thanks, endo!)

So when I stay home, it's not because I don't want to be there. I really do. But it's honestly better if I'm not there, for everyone involved.

I've been in a lot of situations in which I've been unable to drive myself home because I was too sore, too exhausted, too nauseous or a combination of the three. There were a few times before my husband and I got married that he had to drive my car back to my apartment while his roommate followed in his own car. Or when I had to stay the night and then wake up super early to drive home and make it to work on time.

Or when I've been wide-eyed and silent during social events because I'm focusing all of my energy on hiding the fact that my body is about to implode upon itself.

I really don't want to put other people in a position where they have to take care of me. Or where I look vulnerable and sick. Or where someone has to pick me up off of the floor or help me walk because I finally pushed myself too far.

Unfortunately, chronic illness is often about prioritizing. So maybe I'll skip out on a four-hour social gathering or work from home so that I have the energy to exercise for an hour (which helps keep my symptoms at bay.) Or go grocery shopping. Or attend a work function. Or visit my parents.

Or so that I can see you later in the week because you really are a priority to me! Just maybe not as much of a priority as something else on a particular day.

If you see me too often, it might not mean I'm feeling better. It might mean I'm pushing myself too hard.

You might say, "Well, that's tough! Take some medication and toughen up." The irony is that I've already done both of those things, and this is where I'm at right now. There are days my medication just never kicks in, and I have to face the cards that I'm dealt.

Yes, I also think that's an unreasonably difficult way to live, which is why I'm fighting so hard for better treatment and a cure for endometriosis. If it bothers you, then you should join, too!

So when I finally have the energy to put on makeup, do my hair and get out the door, don't say "I haven't seen you in a while."

Say "I'm glad you're here."

Or "How are things going?"

Or just don't say anything and treat me like a normal person.

Because I'm trying really hard to do what's right for me and for the people and things I care about. And that includes you. 

This is a topic I've wanted to discuss for a while, but I haven't really found a delicate way to approach it. I still don't think I have, so everyone hang on.

Chronic conditions like endometriosis are often called "invisible illnesses" because you usually can't tell that the person is sick by looking at them. I included a picture of me as an example. This was taken in June 2013, while I was still searching for a diagnosis and unable to eat anything or even go about my life without excruciating pain. 

However, I'm standing and smiling outside of Third Man Records in Nashville en route to Bonnaroo because I was not missing Paul McCartney for the entire world. Unless you took notice of how much weight I had lost over the previous few months, you probably would have had no idea that I was sick.

That's the nature of invisible illnesses. You become really talented at faking it. You learn to ignore certain symptoms and discomfort and push forward, despite the fact that your body is slowly smoldering from the inside out.

Some people fake better than others. Some aren't able to do that due to the severity of their symptoms on that particular day, week, month, etc. But at the end of the day, no matter how "invisible" your invisible illness is, it's still there.

With these invisible (and sometimes not invisible) illnesses comes something that I like to call "the sick games" - the constant competition to figure out who truly is sickest of them all. 

My sick kid cred was recently challenged because I'm able to go to the gym frequently. A few people made remarks like "LOL I wish I could even walk upstairs without being in pain" and "That must be nice to feel well enough to even think about exercising." They seemed to insinuate that maybe I didn't really feel that terrible after all.

It stung a little because I didn't understand why that somehow invalidated my sickness. This was just my experience. Yes, I know not everyone is well enough to go to the gym. So... I'm sorry?

I'll admit it. I don't hurt as severely as a lot of people with endometriosis or other chronic pain conditions. Recently, my pain level has been fairly low, but I'm well aware that can and will change soon enough. Endometriosis is a progressive disease, so right now, I'm treasuring the ability to work out, and therefore, I go to the gym as much as I can.

And maybe someone else can eat meat without going into a pain coma like I do. Maybe someone can crawl out of bed in the morning faster than I can or not fall asleep in social situations or have a not-painful love life - all of which are major, ongoing struggles for me.

But I have to ask: Why does any of this matter?

The thing I love about illness support groups is that you have the opportunity to share your experience with other people who personally understand what you're going through. People who understand why "I did it! I went grocery shopping today!" is such a big accomplishment. Or why finding a doctor who listens to you makes such a huge difference in your general opinion on life.

And the thing I hate about support groups is that, if they're not properly moderated, they can turn into an endless cycle of negativity and "I'm way sicker than you."

"My pills stopped working today, and I'm really frustrated."
"Oh yeah?! Well, my pills haven't worked in three weeks."
"Yeah, well, my pills haven't worked in months, AND I have new symptoms!"

"So? My pills have never worked, and also, my house is currently being invaded by lizard men who look like Ted Cruz."

This isn't exclusive to illnesses like endometriosis. My mom has been fighting cancer for the past five years, and she frequently hears conversations like this while waiting to get chemotherapy.