hey you're not supposed to grow there
you'll be told you become a woman, legally, when blowing out the candles on your 18th birthday cake. you'll be told you become a woman, biologically, when you greet your period for the first time and sob dramatically into your pillow . you'll be told you become a woman, psychologically, when you behave according to you attitude. but in my case, I become a woman, quite literally, when I was told my insides were moving to places they shouldn't be moving and not to panic, even the slightest bit.
I greeted my period for the first time in eighth grade. Quite frankly, the months leading up to the momentous event was filled with me spilling my mouth about how excited I was to have it and to not be considered a little girl anymore. Finally, I would be able to talk with my friends, on another outrageous level, about the tractors harvesting our organs each month and how much it sucked that we couldn't dive into a swimming pool on a 40 degree day without someone thinking we had bled to death.
After receiving the news, I was quick to announce to all my friends. I suggested that we go out for coffee one weekend and talk, over a buttered croissant, about just how unfair it was that only women bled out dramatically each month. Except the weekend's would pull around and I had no where else planned to be, except under the covers, drenched in agony and crying my eyes out whilst my hormones tried to burst through the walls.
"Having your period isn't an excuse," I would hear from my teachers when practical days for PE would roll around. "Look at all the other girls participating, you're just exaggerating". Honestly, to some extent, I probably was. But it still felt like I needed to crumple at the waist for comfort and have someone rip out my stomach, only to replace it with a brand-spanking new one at no cost.
How could those girls, jumping over hurdles and throwing themselves over a stick, do that and feel this way? How do women actually go about their lives each month and not complain until they're fifty years old?
It wasn't until I was fifteen that I learnt there was something not quite right with my uterus and the pain I was feeling wasn't normal pain at all. Each month, when the dreaded flow would roll around, I would lose a little consciousness and fall right into the ground. This happened many times - when my mum was curling my hair for school, when I was going to retrieve my toast from the toaster, and even when I was rinsing the conditioner from my hair in the shower.
I learnt to adjust to my weird behaviour and eventually didn't get up and move at all until the first day of my period had passed. My mum, like every other single time, had other plans, and opted to drag me to a gynaecologist and have me spread my legs to a stranger. At least that's what I thought they would make me do, instead I just had to lay there whilst two doctors prodded away hard at my abdomen , scribbling notes and nodding simultaneously to one another.
I was later prescribed a birth control pill, not because I was sexually active and wishing to prevent a baby growing inside my uterus, but because I was no longer allowed to have my period - the prime instigator for all of my problems. Taking the pill helps with relieving the pain, but not for scaring away the incredibly frightening mood swings that sweep over me like a dark storm cloud with a motive. Suddenly, I am unpleasantly sarcastic and everyone is out to get me when i'm supposed to have my period - to uninvite me from their parties, to call me ugly and destroy my family. I am a terribly scary human being.
My doctor explained to me that having my period triggered the beginning of something called Endometriosis , a condition in which tissue that normally grows inside the uterus (endometrium) grows elsewhere, such as the ovaries and fallopian tubes. Each month, my period was basically the sick friend who would breathe out onto your face and infect you with unwanted bacteria until it was you that was hovering over a sick bucket and shoving endless tissues up your nose.
Unfortunately, I was aware of Endometriosis, as the condition had travelled almost consistently throughout my family. My Grandmother, my mum, my older sister... all shared this horrible disease in common. My mum was diagnosed with endometriosis after all of us children were born and in the end, her uterus was completely removed. My eldest sister is expected soon to have her second surgery, as the first surgery does not cure the endometrioses, instead just remove it temporarily. For me, I'm just constantly sitting tight, taking my pill everyday and wishing there was a cure for this condition that has so heavily impacted the people around me.
Endometriosis affects 1 in 10 women, which is approximately 176 million women in the world. I, one of those 176 million women, chose to share my story, wishing that more people, both males and females, were aware of this invisible disease. Sure, endometriosis can be treated with pain reliefs, birth control treatments and multiple surgeries, but the long-term struggle of not being able to have children, a pleasurable sex life and a social life can not.
Just by knowing what endometriosis is makes a difference. It makes you more aware of a condition in which so many people you may know - your friends, your sisters, your mothers, are constantly going through. By going to this link > https://www.endometriosisaustralia.org/about-endometriosis , you do not need to donate, instead just take the time to learn about the condition and what you can do to help.
It won't take one person, so do your part today and help make a difference to so many Australian women.
,ally (wishing you clear skin and happiness!!!)