# data[].attributes.body
My name is Madelyn Morneault and I am a proud artist, activist, and author. I have created an online platform and website, entitled Miss Misdiagnosis, to collect my interdisciplinary projects in one place and brand myself as an artistic activist. Miss Misdiagnosis was created to normalize believing womens’ pain, encourage patients to take control of their own health narratives, and promote bodily acceptance through artistic projects.

I have experienced some level of chronic pain for as long as I can remember, but especially after I started my period at age 13. By 16 years old, I was missing school on a monthly basis and was prescribed birth control to manage my irregular and painful periods. The thought of eating breakfast before attending school became repulsive due to my intense daily nausea and cramping; rarely subsiding before lunchtime. After years of misdiagnosis and being told my painful periods were simply an “initiation into womanhood”, I was diagnosed with Endometriosis at 21 years old through my first laparoscopic surgery. 1 in 10 AFAB (assigned female at birth) patients live with Endometriosis, yet most live their whole lives without a formal diagnosis or treatment. At the age of 23, I finally received life-changing excision surgery in addition to being diagnosed with Adenomyosis at the Center for Endometriosis Care in Atlanta, Georgia on June 10, 2021; a full decade after my symptoms initially began. This decade of dismissal and false diagnoses such as "hysteria" was the inspiration behind the title, “Miss Misdiagnosis”.

I am forever grateful for my Endometriosis specialist that removed disease from seven organs and even discovered it in my respiratory, digestive, and urinary system. Unfortunately, it was a grueling journey to find the proper treatment. I even had to make the heartbreaking decision to take a 3 year leave from my undergraduate studies and teaching theatre arts therapy. I’ve spent most of my years hearing things from doctors like, “There is nothing that warrants your pain, the cause much be psychiatric”, “it’s just a bad period, every girl deals with this”, “you need to evaluate your mental health, you may have an eating disorder”, and was even blamed by a surgeon for being responsible for giving myself endometriosis from “self-examinations” and masturbation.

I share my story as an artistic activist so those still waiting for a diagnosis, young girls missing out on their education, and all chronic illness warriors can empower themselves through credible information, positive self affirmations, and build meaningful connections. I use artistic photo editorial projects and community organizing, such as co-hosting the 2020 Austin Women’s March to form collaborations with like minded artists and convey my message with the world.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
March is hailed as the official month for national Endometriosis Awareness! I was honored to collaborate with the Australian period-proof underwear brand, ModiBodi to share my story and spread accurate information about the disease.
... Continue readingEndometriosis Awareness Month

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
March is hailed as the official month for national Endometriosis Awareness! I was honored to collaborate with the Australian period-proof underwear brand, ModiBodi to share my story and spread accurate information about the disease. ... Continue readingEndometriosis Awareness Month

# data[].attributes.body
When given the opportunity to create new work, I always utilize my core artistic values as a guide to manifest my creative intentions behind a project. I personally feel I am more productive as a creative when asking the “why” before the “what”, allowing my intentions for the audience’s experience to guide what kind of project I should create. Most often, the intention is to create a piece that utilizes the stage to empower its viewer; an agent for change which sparks dialogue outside of the theatre and inspires action.This can mean empowerment through education, debunking misinformation, amplifying unheard yet shared stories/lived experiences, or simply offering barrier free access the arts. These values directly led to the collaboration of a New Works Festival Design Pitch: Side-Effects. This interactive art installation, constructed out of a maze of medical curtains decorated with side-effect pamphlets of prescription medications, is designed to provoke conversations about informed consent regarding medical practices for chronically ill and disabled AFAB patients. I thoroughly enjoyed collaborating with my partner, who shared a similar drive to create a commentary on accessibility in the arts, so she sketched out an accessible pathway with ramps for mobility aid users in the center of our maze. Our shared values led to an exciting and smooth collaboration; I will always have a passion for projects that embody justice for the disabled and chronically ill community.

If I had to choose one person who has influenced my values most as a teaching artist it would be Dede Clark, owner of kidsActing Studio and lifelong mentor. Her lessons of empathy and inclusion exemplified throughout my childhood can be summed up in her quote, “It’s about letting each person be safe in discovering who they really are… We have kids in shows that range from being really timid to wildly outgoing. We have kids with a various range of disabilities that we teach. We have kids on every gender spectrum. And it’s all good. It’s all wonderful because that’s who they are.”

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The artistic director and founder of kidsActing casts a light on the lessons she's learned from teaching theater for 37 years.
By Amanda Pinney, Photo by Stef Atkinson
Dede Clark could never get enough of the blinding stage lights and rolling cameras. After receiving her bachelor's degree in theater education from the University of Kansas, Clark worked in theater in New York City before completing her master's degree in film at the University of Texas.

Clark realized she wanted to bring her love of theater and acting to children of all ages and talent levels, and in 1980, she founded kidsActing in Austin.

With a host of programs suitable for all acting levels, ranging from young beginners to advanced performers, the studio features everything from summer camps and musical-theater classes to audition workshops and full-scale productions. The emphasis at kidsActing is on making the kids feel welcome by providing an inclusive environment for everyone.

To commemorate her 37 years spent working as a theater teacher, Clark reflects on the top five lessons she's learned from being a mentor for kids, whether it was in front of or behind the curtain.
Her Lessons:
1. Cherish each individual. "You have to cherish each child for who they are and whatever they bring to the table. They don't have to be a certain type of person to be successful, to have their lives enriched, to give to the community. It's about letting each person be safe in discovering who they really are. This is a safe place for that. We have kids in shows that range from being really timid to wildly outgoing. We have kids with a various range of disabilities that we teach. We have kids on every gender spectrum. And it's all good. It's all wonderful because that's who they are."

2. There's a solution to every problem. "Screaming at people doesn't get you anywhere. Everything can be handled, and when you work in this business, you know that stuff happens. It just happens. You always have to be able to go, 'OK, how are we going to solve this?' It also translates into life. Instead of worrying about something, you just say, 'OK, all right.' When you work with kids, having the ability to not freak out is really valuable because they are mirrors. If you're tense and crazy, then they're going to be tense and crazy, and then everybody gets crazy. Ultimately, it all works out in the end."

3. Everybody bonds without a cellphone. "I have a rule that when [the kids]walk in the door, they put their cellphones in a basket. They power them off and put them in a basket. My attitude is simply that you're here, there's a community engagement, there's creativity, we're going to build something together. If you're texting, you're not building anything but your thumb muscles. What happens is everybody bonds so much more because there is real interaction. When we first started doing it, I had parents that said, 'My kid can't be without their phone,' and I said, 'Oh yeah, they can.' I haven't lost one yet. I've been doing this for 37 years, and I haven't lost a kid yet."

4. Hard work pays off. "That's all there is to it. Theater is about that. It's about responsibility, teamwork, creativity, hard work-all of that in one. The kids thrive on hard work. They'd rather be here than other places. So, the long hours are not a problem because everybody is working toward the same goal and everybody wants the best show possible. They love what they're doing, so they're engaged. I think the value of hard work paying off comes from the value of discipline in doing something that you love. These kids are doing [theater]because they thrive and they love it."

5. Be kind. "It's really important to me that all the kids treat each other with respect and kindness. Sometimes you get a young kid who's very successful, gets a lead [role]and all of a sudden, they start to cop an attitude. Well, we nip that in the bud really fast. One of the things we do here is I triple cast all my advanced shows so, for example, there will be three Belles in Beauty and the Beast. When they're not playing the lead, they play a chorus part. I call it my diva-prevention plan, and it works. What happens that is beautiful is instead of the kids wanting to be better than one another, I see kids work together. We want them all to really get that they're a team, that if one sinks, they all sink. If they all float, then it's great."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
From the Desk of Dede Clark - Austin Woman Magazine

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
By Amanda Pinney, Photo by Stef Atkinson Dede Clark could never get enough of the blinding stage lights and rolling cameras. After receiving her bachelor's degree in theater education from the University of Kansas, Clark worked in theater in New York City before completing her master's degree in film at the University of Texas.

# data[].attributes.body
Writing has always made me feel free. Free to express my deepest insecurities and greatest desires through the shield of the blank page and the anonymity of my computer screen. Ever since my health took a decline, I write as much of my life down on a page as possible, to remind myself not only of how far I’ve come, but how much further I’m capable of going. I also feel writing allows me to shed the shame of my insecurities, reclaiming my identity as a beautifully flawed creature discovering strength within vulnerability. These emotions are exactly what fueled my words in completing the “I AM” poem  from "Devising Critically Engaged Theatre with Youth: The Performing Justice Project" by Megan Alrutz and Lynn Hoare. I allowed myself to be vulnerable in expressing my identity as a chronically ill woman attempting to discover purpose through the pain. I’ve always believed vulnerability is a cornerstone, and often the spark, of collaboration. I even got the chance to prove this to myself when I shared my poem with my assigned group for the final project, which inspired the concept of everyone creating their own versions of the poem to be performed for our final collaborative piece.

The entertainment industry is riddled with competition, but I value my collaborative achievements on a much grander scale than my individual projects. This is because I value experiencing empowerment through community building. I hope to facilitate that for other people as well through my artistic activism. I believe that shame is the opposite of art and shedding a "same shame" through artistic expression builds community.

One of the most transformative experiences of my life where I was able to put this sentiment into action was co-hosting the Austin Women’s March in 2020. We successfully and safely completed our event despite an attempted hijacking from a national domestic terrorist group. Planning the event was an intensive workshop on collaboration; my two co-hosts and I entered as complete strangers, and now they are two of my closest friends. It truly taught me the deep value of building relationships through collaboration, vulnerability, and trust while remaining calm in the face of extreme chaos.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
On Saturday, Oct. 17, the Austin chapter of national equal-rights organization Women's March hosted a rally to honor the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg.
By Cy White, photos by Brandon McKinney
Women's March had various marches all over the nation. These demonstrations protested the Senate move to replace Justice Ginsberg's seat on the Supreme Court. Organizers Anna Sweeney, Mady Morneault and Lauryn Ott sought to be a part of these peaceful protests. So they aligned their march with others around the nation. Their first time ever organizing a rally.

They went through all the proper channels with the city of Austin to ensure everything went smoothly. Cleared Wooldridge Square Park as their location. Checked for permits for public demonstrations. Enforced a strict mask policy. Stayed on the sidewalk as instructed. They took every precaution with the safety of march participants (many of whom were children) at the forefront.

However, things took a dramatic turn. In a statement written by co-host Morneault, just as their rally was getting underway, a group of armed men who identified themselves as the Proud Boys stormed the gazebo where Women's March was set up. The three women weren't caught completely unawares. According to Morneault, they received a private tip via Facebook messenger about the impending pushback. A member of another organization in attendance informed Morneault that the same group had infiltrated one of their rallies. They stated this group had created their own event in response.

October 17 Timeline & Organizer's Statement

"It just seemed very aggressive and jarring to see this group of armed, large men in tactical gear," says Morneault. Their presence wasn't merely one of visual intimidation, however. The Proud Boys unapologetically identified themselves. Their clothing, weapons and shouted slogans as they bombarded the rally provided enough proof. But their crude behavior was a visceral example of who they really are. "They were telling us to take our clothes off. They were telling us to shake our asses," Ott says. "It was sexual harassment."

Throughout the interview, each woman described the illicit, at times violent, behavior. Citing that even the police liaison and the group of officers acting as security were bowled over. The liaison himself suffered a minor injury.

Despite the overt attempts to derail the rally, however, Women's March managed to execute a perfectly safe and inspiring event. "I felt like we really got to take back what was ours," Ott said.

On Friday, Nov. 6, Austin Woman presents the exclusive interview in full. In it, Morneault, Ott and Sweeney go into detail about the events that occurred that day. We get an in-depth look at three women who went through the trenches together. They take us through each moment of the rally. From set up to public responses, the Women's March Austin rally was a microcosm of the seething tensions pervading the nation. But it was also an example of just how much power women have when they raise their voices in unison.

The interview premiered Friday, Nov. 6. Check out the firsthand account of what can and does happen at a rally for justice.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Baptized By Fire - Women's March Austin Rally - Austin Woman Magazine

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
By Cy White, photos by Brandon McKinney Women's March had various marches all over the nation. These demonstrations protested the Senate move to replace Justice Ginsberg's seat on the Supreme Court. Organizers Anna Sweeney, Mady Morneault and Lauryn Ott sought to be a part of these peaceful protests.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
My first major publication on Health.com, explaining my story and how other patients can take ownership in their own healing journeys. 

# data[].attributes.body
As a student returning from medical leave, one of my biggest priorities this semester was to honor my body’s boundaries in relation to creating new art. I have left and returned to school three different times now, so I know how much more damaging it can be to my progress in the long run if I don’t listen to my body's limits. I hoped that some of the work I had the opportunity to create this semester could be intertwined into my journey of intentional healing. It can be extremely frustrating as an artist when you feel your work is limited by a part of you that you can not control or a physical barrier isolates you from the support of collaborators. But I’ve learned that it’s in those moments of deep frustration and disappointment where you need to take care of yourself the most. This sentiment was the inspiration behind my alternative assignment for “Retrospective Devising”, which provoked us to create “a performance segment that “surprises and invites” your audience in a simple yet profound way.” After missing a week of school due to illness, I knew I had to create something that fueled me as opposed to draining me. So I created a movement piece titled, "Redemption", based off of my yoga and meditation practices set to music, filmed in my backyard as a way to recenter myself. It can be extremely difficult to maintain self care practices through the chaos of going to work and school full-time, so I love being able to incorporate it into my art.

Confronting and continuing to heal from trauma has dramatically affected the work I aim to create. When we confront our trauma, we acknowledge the things we've overcome while intentionally deciding to no longer let it hinder our present; including our work. Voicing my experience with chronic illness on public platforms like Health.com after being labeled as "hysterical" for so many years was not only cathartic, but granted me the power to help other patients with a shared experience. If my work can influence just a single person’s life in a positive way or inspire them to explore their true identity as an artist free from patriarchal and ableist barriers placed by society, I will consider myself a successful artist.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
This article is part of Health's series, Misdiagnosed, featuring stories from real women who have had their medical symptoms dismissed or wrongly diagnosed.
I've been dealing with chronic pain for as long as I can remember. At four years old, I developed cyclical vomiting syndrome, a disorder that causes nausea and vomiting. As I got older the episodes went away. But when I was 13 and started my period, things began to ramp up again.

Every month when my period came, I'd get nauseous and fatigued. I was slightly concerned, but I was used to dealing with those symptoms when I was younger, and I also thought I was experiencing normal period pain.

By the time I was 16, my periods were super heavy and irregular. I bled pretty much three weeks out of the month. That's when I started thinking, This is not okay. I need to get this regulated. My ob-gyn put me on birth control pills. It helped me stay on somewhat of a regular schedule, but that only lasted for so long.

I went to college about three hours away from my home in Austin, Texas. That's when my body really started saying, Hey, you need to pay attention to me.

I was doing musical theater and taking dance classes, learning how to be a performer. I enjoyed it, but I was also frustrated and thought, Why can't I be as flexible as those other girls? Why can't I jump as high? I was so sore all the time and I didn't know why.

I would also have these random pain episodes that made me throw up, and I couldn't hold down water. I went to the emergency room four times freshman year. My doctors and I thought it was food poisoning, and then we thought it was a virus.

Things became very difficult and isolating for me in the first semester of my sophomore year. I was in so much pain every morning that I couldn't get out of bed. The worst of it was in my abdomen, hips, and lower back, but it would often radiate down my legs, too.

My parents and health care professionals kept telling me, "You're just anxious, you need psychological help." I remember asking my general practitioner to perform bloodwork to check my thyroid in the hopes of finding an explanation for why I was constantly fatigued. When the bloodwork came back normal, he encouraged me to seek out a therapist and said, "When you can get your anxiety under control, you can get your symptoms under control."

To be fair, I was anxious and depressed. But it was because I was physically deteriorating and losing my ability to train. I was like, "What am I going to do if I can't be a performer?"

My university put me on a three-month waitlist for a psychologist, and basically I had this mental breakdown and told my mom, "I don't know what's going on, but I can't get out of bed." I moved back home to Austin in December 2017.

I transferred to Austin Community College, and after another year of flare-ups and feeling depressed, I went back to my original gynecologist in March 2019. I basically begged her for a laparoscopy to see if endometriosis was the problem. [ Editor's note: A laparoscopy is when the doctor makes a small incision in the abdomen and inserts a thin tube with a light and camera to view the pelvic region.]

I'd started researching endometriosis after a friend told me about it. She said I might have it based on my symptoms, and I told the doctor I thought she was right and would like to look. The doctor agreed to do the laparoscopy and turns out I did have endometriosis; I was diagnosed with the condition on March 28, 2018.

Based on what she found, she also performed laparoscopic ablation surgery to remove endometrial tissue-but the procedure removes the surface layer of tissue only. It doesn't stop the disease, and in my case, the disease was progressing.

The very next day, March 29, my older brother took his own life. I remember running around trying to help my mom get things together and barely even resting from surgery. I got a diagnosis and then, bam, I had to focus on this other thing. It honestly feels like it happened so long ago because he left my life years before he died. But it was very difficult.

I spent the months that followed dealing with family stuff and managing symptoms. Then I wound up hospitalized for two weeks in August 2019. Again, I couldn't keep water down. I was in so much pain, constantly throwing up.

I was like, "I think it might be the endo." But the doctors told me, "It can't be endo because you had surgery in March." They took scans, and then said, "Well, we did all these tests. There's nothing that warrants your pain, so it must be psychological." I fought the diagnosis at first. But they just didn't care to continue down that road investigating what was going on because they didn't know.

So many doctors don't understand endometriosis, and they think that laparoscopic ablation or birth control pills solve everything, which they don't. And if a doctor doesn't believe that or doesn't know that, there's no way I'll be able to convince them.

One positive thing about that particular trip to the hospital was that my partner, Jacob, was with me. We'd met the month before, in July. He was absolutely the first person to believe me when I said I was in pain. Because when you have an invisible illness you don't have to just convince the doctors, you have to convince your friends, you have to convince your family, you have to convince your parents.

Even when people do believe you're in pain, they might not want to deal with it. I had a couple of friends who were like, "Oh well, you can't go out anymore so you're not invited to stuff." You fall out of the group chats. My ex-boyfriend before I met Jacob broke up with me after three years together because my endo pain was becoming a daily thing and it very much influenced our sex life (one possible side effect of endometriosis is painful sex). He just told me, "I don't want to do this anymore."

But Jacob wasn't like that. He never questioned anything I said. He took me at my word and respected my intelligence. I was able to have a healthy sex life with him. If it hurt or I said, "I need to stop," it was never a problem.

On January 23, 2020, Jacob was killed in a motorcycle accident-taken in an instant.

People in my life assumed that I was staying home and lying in bed because I was in grief, not because I was still in a lot of pain. But it was both. That's one of the hardest things for doctors to understand, too: They think that if you're struggling with something emotionally, it's automatically the only explanation for your physical pain.

That's what happened when I went to a doctor in late February to discuss excision surgery. This type of surgery cuts out the diseased tissue down to clear margins, unlike ablation surgery, which just lasers off what's visible.

This doctor asked me, "How's your home life? Are you doing okay?" And I said, "Well, my partner passed away." That turned into the doctor saying, "Everything's fine. You're just in grief." And I was like, "Yes. I am. Very much so. But also, there are some other things going on."

He eventually agreed to do the excision surgery and put me through MRIs and different pre-op procedures. But then I had to come back for an emergency appointment because I was in so much pain. It felt like there was a 10,000-pound stone sitting at the bottom of my pelvis. I told the doctor, "I know my surgery is in a couple of weeks, I just want to let you know what's going on."

He gave me an exam that was so painful I was holding back screams. He literally said, while his hand was inside of me, "It just seems like you have a really low pain tolerance." And then he pulled his hand out and he's like, "The anatomy is normal. It's just a little inflamed. And we got your MRIs back and it's all clear, so I'm actually going to cancel your surgery."

I lost it. I replied, "You can't do this. If you said I had endo that needed to be removed before, doesn't it still exist even if it doesn't show on the MRI?" And he just wouldn't budge. It was very obvious that he made this decision before I walked into the room. And so I was like, "So there's nothing you can do to help me?" And he was like, "Well, we can keep giving you birth control."

He also advised me to stop touching myself, because I'd told him I'd given myself a self-exam. He was like, "Oh, no, no. You can't do that. You can't put things up your vagina. You can't put your fingers up there."

It was mind-blowing. Like, "Just ignoring it? That's your treatment for this horrible pain and disease?" And it's also very oppressive and violating to have doctor tell me I can't touch my own body. I ended up leaving.

My friend recommended I go to a specific medical office in Houston, which I did, and the doctor there referred me to another surgeon she called the "endometriosis queen." She told me, "You need to go see her."

So I went in, and the doctor looked at my case history and records and said, "It looks like you have stage 2 endo, so we need to get that excised as soon as possible."I just started crying.

I had my excision surgery on June 16, 2020. The doctor handed me my pictures afterward, and I thought, Holy crap. This was what my body looked like inside? There was brown-and-red splattered endo adhesions everywhere.

The first time I stood up after the surgery, I didn't have any of the hip pain that plagued me for so long. That's because I had endometriosis growths on my hip ligaments, and the growths were removed during surgery. I believe this explains why I couldn't get the splits in college and struggled with my legs in dance.

Unfortunately, they also found endo on my diaphragm, and my gynecologist is not trained to operate there. So I'll need to have another surgery.

I personally feel like I would have received proper treatment much sooner if I didn't give dismissive or rude doctors second, third, and fourth chances. I should have just kept looking for a doctor who listened to me right off the bat.

So my advice to women in a similar situation is to remember that you don't owe a dismissive doctor anything, and the more you educate yourself about your condition and rights as a patient, the better you can advocate for yourself. Now I have a medical journal and a file of medical records that I take with me to every doctor's appointment; I write down my symptoms, questions, and goals for the appointment beforehand.

I also started speaking out about my experience roughly a year ago, after that traumatic doctor's appointment in February 2019, when the doctor told me I needed to stop touching myself. I've written articles, shared my story on Instagram, and created a website where I can advocate on behalf of myself and others who are fighting this disease.

My mom and dad were a little worried at first about how public I've made my journey. They were like, "We don't want you to focus on that so much. We don't want that to be your life. It's not what defines you."

And it's like, I get that. But it is my life right now, and I am constantly thinking about this-so why not channel it and figure something out where I can be useful? Because I know there are other women out there that are suffering in silence, and I don't feel comfortable not doing anything.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
This Woman Had Endometriosis Since She Was a Teen, but Doctors Kept Insisting Her Symptoms Were All in Her Head

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
This article is part of Health's series, Misdiagnosed, featuring stories from real women who have had their medical symptoms dismissed or wrongly diagnosed. I've been dealing with chronic pain for as long as I can remember. At four years old, I developed cyclical vomiting syndrome, a disorder that causes nausea and vomiting.