Field Notes From a Garden and a Body in Recovery

I’ve wanted to write about my endometriosis diagnosis for a while. I mean, jesus – it has rocked my life over the last year. But the last thing I wanted was a sad tale, because honestly? This diagnosis has been one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Related, unrelated: Since moving into a sun-drenched rental with a backyard that’s both overgrown and a blank canvas, I’ve started gardening. And look, I know gardening metaphors are terribly overused, but the parallels between gardening and endo are just too clear to ignore. So today, you're getting my field notes on gardening and endometriosis.

The diagnosis: Digging deep (for once)

I went to Lisbon knowing my body was waging a war against me. Just like a struggling plant showing mysterious signs of distress – yellowing leaves, wilted stems – I had symptoms I couldn’t ignore. But I kept trying surface-level fixes: new diets, countless supplements, yoga. Doctors had diagnosed me with adenomyosis (endo inside the uterine lining), and I accepted it as an explanation, even though the pain persisted. (I’ve been gaslit so many times I’m a supernova.) 

So, like a gardener ignoring signs of root rot, I kept pushing forward. Lisbon, with its beautiful azulejos and cheap vinho verde, felt like an escape, but reality caught up quickly. One night, the pain became unbearable, and I ended up in the ER. 

The ER doctors found nothing on their ultrasound, but thankfully referred me to a specialist. Little did I know, that random referral would connect me with Portugal's top endometriosis expert. Within five minutes in her office, she diagnosed me with deep infiltrative endometriosis and sent me for an MRI.

The MRI was grim, at best. Every possible organ was covered in endo. My ovaries were connected to each other connected to my colon. Everything was adhered. My fallopian tube might rupture. My kidneys were at risk. 

Finding this doctor was like discovering why all my plants had been dying despite my best efforts. Someone dug deep enough to uncover the roots that had been strangling me for years.

The surgery: You’ve got to cut back to grow

We returned home in August. No, we didn’t cut our trip short. Instead, I doubled down on happiness – we traveled, I went to yoga and pilates three times a week, I walked every inch of Lisbon. I did this all in terrible pain. And it was some of the best times of my life.

Back in SF, I quickly started interviewing surgeons. After choosing one, I scheduled surgery early in the year, in hopes of feeling good by summertime. It took place three weeks ago. 

So, now: I hurt. In gardening, you learn that some plants need a hard cutback before they can really flourish. My body has been pruned, cut back so it could regrow. They removed my tubes, the left ovary, cut endo out in 14 places (including off my bowel in three places and my bladder in 2), removed diaphragmatic endo and ablated my uterus. 

It was a hard pruning – but I’m ready to grow back. And it will be something else. 

The new now: Some things grow wild, whether you want them to or not

Weeds don’t care about your plans. Neither does chronic illness. No matter how well you prepare, something always pops up where you don’t want it, like the 4,000 clovers in my backyard. Endo doesn’t have a cure. Surgery helped, but it’s not gone. I have to stay on top of it, managing symptoms, taking birth control 4eva, adjusting my lifestyle.

But you know what? My daughters think clovers are beautiful (and tasty!) and fuck if I don’t see the sense in it. As kids, we don’t label things as weeds; it's only as adults that we let these labels stall our growth. Maybe it's time we accept our journey as a whole – the good, the bad, and everything in between.

And while I’m knee-deep in garden metaphors, let me offer one more: we all need tending. I'm incredibly grateful for Johnny, his mom, and everyone else who's tended to me along the way.

Healing is a long game

You don’t plant a garden and get flowers overnight. It takes time, effort, patience – all things I’m famously bad at. But here’s the thing: one day, when you’re not even thinking about it, you look around and realize things have grown. My crocuses just came out and I sure as hell didn’t give them 1000 chill hours because I did not know what that was. My body still has a long way to go, but I’m standing, I’m here. And my balcony, once just a sad empty space with a broken grill, is now bursting with nasturtiums, lavender, sweet peas. 

If you’re dealing with endo, chronic illness, or just life knocking you flat, get yourself a garden. Or a houseplant. Or hell, even a single sprig of rosemary on a windowsill. Grow something. Watch it struggle and survive. Watch yourself do the same.