The story of Eva.
Living with a chronic illness
Can you tell us something about yourself?
My name is Eva Doğan, I am 43 years old, have been together with the love of my life for 22 years, and am a proud mother of three wonderful children: a daughter of 20, a son of 18 and a daughter of 12.
I'm a true family person, a go-getter, but also someone who loves beautiful things. My hobbies include working with social media, creating creative content, interior design, fashion, cooking, and anything cat-related. We have three cats who are truly part of the family. My husband and I run our own business: we install data networks for hospitals and government agencies.
The start of my illness.
My health problems began with a series of hernia surgeries. The first surgery went well, but the second, unfortunately, went wrong. Between 2016 and 2019, I developed scar tissue, which led to Failed Back Surgery Syndrome, a condition that causes significant nerve pain.
In 2021, I was fitted with a neurostimulator, hoping for relief. Unfortunately, I turned out to be one of the few people allergic to this system. After three months, it had to be urgently removed.
In the period that followed, my health deteriorated rapidly. I had suffered from endometriosis my whole life, but the symptoms were becoming more and more frequent. At 40, I decided to have my first cervical cancer screening. The first result was HPV, followed by Pap smear 3B, and ultimately, we decided to have my uterus removed. This took place in October 2022.
A few months later, in February 2023, I ended up in the hospital with suspected appendicitis, but it turned out to be a prolapse of my bowel and bladder. Meanwhile, malignant polyps grew in my intestines, I lost 40 kilos (88 pounds), lost two-thirds of my hair, and developed cysts in my thyroid. Several diagnoses followed: IBS, PMS, anorexia, depression—as if every symptom had a label.
The cysts have now been treated and are under control, but my weight remains a daily struggle. In June and August 2025, I had my 24th and 25th surgeries. Fortunately, the bowel and bladder prolapse was finally resolved then.
The process towards diagnosis.
The road to the correct diagnosis was long, frustrating, and arduous. I saw countless doctors, often feeling like I wasn't being taken seriously. Because I was still young, people often thought, "That can't be that bad." But MRIs proved otherwise.
I've learned that you really have to stand up for yourself. These days, I say exactly what I think and feel, even if it doesn't suit the doctor.
Impact on my daily life.
There are days when things are good, and I cherish those. Every three months I get a PRF treatment, and it makes a world of difference for me, even if it's only temporary.
Yet my world has become smaller. Things that used to be self-evident now take a tremendous amount of energy. Shopping, a day out, or a visit to an amusement park are now only possible in a wheelchair. There are more things I can't do than I can, and that remains challenging.
My days require adjustment. Mornings start slowly: I take a lot of medication, and if I take something in the wrong order, I feel nauseous for hours. Grocery shopping usually means I can't do anything the next day. Around 3 p.m., my energy is usually gone.
Physically and mentally.
I'm a naturally positive and cheerful person. I always try to see the best, even when things get tough sometimes. The times when I feel down are often when the weather is bad or when my thyroid is acting up.
The most severe symptom is the nerve pain in my leg, which is constant. It breaks me sometimes, both physically and mentally.
The mental impact is immense. I've mostly come to terms with it, but there are still times when it affects me. Especially at night, when the pain keeps me from sleeping and I'm stuck on the couch, I sometimes feel truly exhausted, both physically and mentally.
Treatments and aids.
I use morphine and methadone, along with many other medications and a TENS machine. I get injections, use crutches, and a cane. I also have a disabled permit and my own parking space.
The PRF treatments help me the most; they temporarily give me back some quality of life.
Support and environment.
Nerve pain or invisible pain is difficult for others to understand. Sometimes I notice that certain family members struggle with it, especially because you can't see much on the outside. My clothing and smile often hide how difficult it is.
Fortunately, I've found a tremendous amount of support and friendships through social media. Fellow sufferers, as well as people with other chronic conditions, truly understand what it's like to struggle every day.
For me, support doesn't mean someone always has to be physically present. A message, phone call, or text can be enough. During my last surgeries, I didn't get any get-well wishes from my in-laws, which was painful, especially because support is so important.
Advice to others.
To people who have just been diagnosed I would say:
Talk about it. Write things down. Think about what you can do, not what you can't anymore. Focus on small bright spots, because they make all the difference.
To healthy people I want to say:
Nothing is what it seems.
The moments we laugh, we sometimes cry inside. The moments we walk, we crawl in pain at night.
Future and hope.
I know I won't recover, and I've accepted that. But I keep hoping that one day a neurostimulator will be developed that I'm not allergic to.
And despite everything, I keep dreaming. I'd love to travel to a tropical country again, do something crazy, experience something new, just feel like I'm living without limitations again.
Love,
Eva