Yellow represents warmth, love, and joy. The warmth that is toasty but not too hot, and the love that you don’t have to question or second guess, it just is. The kind of joy that fills your cheeks with giggles and causes you to smile involuntarily.
Yellow is not just the colour of emojis, it is the colour of hope. Hope for Endometriosis Warriors. It is an invitation to speak. It is the essence of who we are, a symbol of the type of days we long for.
Endo Sisters East Africa have launched the Yellow Nails Movement to start the conversation about Endometriosis.
You can have your nails done at a discounted rate at one of the participating salons. These are Ashleys Coiffure and Spa (Nairobi, Nakuru and Mombasa), Urban Hair (Nairobi), Blessed Salon (Nakuru), Mitch Beauty Parlour (Nairobi), Nail Perfection (Nairobi), Grace beauty Salon (Thika), Miracle Salon (Zimmerman) and Geanna Beauty World (Kisumu).
If you’d like to have your nails done at a non-participating salons but desire an information pack within Nairobi, you can pick an Endometriosis information flyer at Cablanche Boutique in Adams Arcade and at Rimis Men’s shop at Ridgeways Mall. You can also contact Endosisters on Facebook.
Yellow is the colour of hope, joy, peace and love.
The sight of blood changed my mind. It wasn’t so much the sight, as it was the experience as a whole, the texture, the colour and the pain. As a little girl, I spent hours daydreaming of myself treating little children and seeing them smile again. Having been well acquainted with the pediatrician, it was only natural for me to follow in her footsteps.
My dreams trickled away, I can’t tell you the day the tap run dry, but I can tell you the days there was short supply. In all of the tales, my period is the constant. For someone who thought they could handle sick people and blood, I was awfully grossed out by my own blood, and worse still, it made me sick.
My energy was sapped, I’d writhe around in pain on the cold tiled floor and finally lie in a pool of my tears. My periods killed my dreams.
When I started working, it only got worse. The pain was disruptive and destructive. It came anytime and lasted as long as it wanted. My reproductive system dictated my lifestyle and work schedule. I had lovely employers who accommodated me and my body’s failures. My second place of work was not as flexible and the stress of the workplace took a toll on me. I cried everyday without fail, my body hurt, and my mind was never at rest, so I left. I left to rest and to start a life that could accommodate my life and my body’s quirks.
An endo-sister recently shared with me how she’d have made different choices in her career if she knew it was Endo. I completely understood where she was coming from. My endo journey has taught me that it is okay to start over, to learn a new skill, and to figure it out as you go. My greatest lesson is: It is good to plan, but when your plan is disrupted, adjust to what life hurls your way.
My girls talk a lot about diapers, my little one is potty training herself. No, really, she woke up one day thia6 week and declared that she was a big girl who didn’t need to wear diapers. So she graduated to knickers when we are home, this isn’t without accidents and a love-hate relationship with the potty. But, the bottom line remains, diapers are for little girls.
One of the things that I loathed about my periods was that I always received the el-nino version, complete with hail stones, also known as the clots. It was heavy, messy and destructive. It had me longing to stay indoors, to stay tucked in bed, except, it stormed in bed too, and sheets aren’t woven to absorb the red sea.
I’ve legit thrown away some garments before. I made the grande error of washing off – more like, attempting to wash off – a blood stain with hot water. It bonded. The red carved a home in the threads and refused to leave. I’ve been terribly embarrassed by my periods. Had my self esteem plummet during my periods. I couldn’t trust my uterus not to let me down. The flow sometimes felt like a breast-milk let down, urgent, forceful and absolutely beyond my control.
I’ve layered and improvised to try to contain the flow. I’ve set reminders to wake up and turn during the night, because the pad just wasn’t loyal. Even layering the pads was not effective in holding back the red sea.
An endo-sister recently shared with me that the one thing she wished that she knew is that adult diapers were an option. I never thought of them as an option, in fact, I always considered maternity pads the next best thing. I think it’s a brilliant idea. A lifesaver, and self esteem redeemer.