Minor Details

For me, and many women that I have spoken to who have endometriosis, a difficult part of living with endo is the feeling that everyone around us is busy changing, growing and enjoying themselves while we remain unchanged, just trying to focus on making it through the day. Sometimes, it's as though the world is turning while we stand still...

Minor Details. The little things in life that are often left unnoticed. The middle toe on my daughters foot that’s bigger than her big toe, the way my son’s fine blond hair forms a triangle at the nape of his neck,  and a birthmark, no larger than a grain of barley, on the inside of my husband’s ear. Those tiny little oddities, undetectable unless deliberately searched for, that individualize every person, situation, and object.

 

I’ve been noticing the minor details a lot more often these days. All of those imperceptible building blocks that make up each part of my life with endo. The way I blink twice as often as usual nowadays since I am inexplicably and unbearably exhausted. The exact way I can curl my body while lying on the couch so that the pain that courses through it becomes a tiny drop less agonizing.  The way the crack on the ceiling that I stare at for hours when I am bedridden looks just like a bunny. And the way my daughter’s smile falters, just slightly, when I tell her for the umpteenth time, that I don’t feel well enough to play with her.

You see, when the world passes you by, second by second, minute by minute, as you lay glued to your couch or bed in a fetal position, you begin to notice the little details in your life that have changed without your involvement. You suddenly become aware that the tree that stood bare and severe yesterday has grown a tiny, fragile bud, and it occurs to you that you completely missed a winter of building fat snowmen and drinking hot chocolate while you screamed hysterically in pain.  You notice that your son is tying his own shoe and a stab in your heart reminds you that someone else taught him to do it while you slept the day away.  You observe the tiny orange-brown freckles on your daughter’s nose, and realize that it is summer, and your daughter graduated preschool while you lay in a hospital room receiving IV narcotics.

Minor details can be used to create depth and dimension to make life a little more beautiful, giving a sense of individuality and uniqueness to every person and object. But for me, it is through the little details that I comprehend the harsh and painful truth about my life with endometriosis: as the world changes and morphs consistently and predictably, as my family grows, develops and improves with each passing minute, I remain stagnant and unchanged, fighting for the day in which I will notice each miniscule detail of my life and feel proud that I was involved in creating them.