I NEEDED an endometrial biopsy.
I was bleeding for months. Passing clots the size of my palm. Fainting at work. Iron levels in the basement.
Doctor looked at my chart and said:
“You’re only 27.”
“Pain is normal for women.”
“Have you tried losing weight?”
“Sometimes women exaggerate cramps.”
“What if this is just stress?”
I said I can’t function. I can’t stand up without seeing stars. I’m scared.
He said:
“Let’s not jump to invasive procedures.”
“What if you want kids soon?”
“A biopsy can cause scarring.”
“You don’t want to risk fertility over heavy periods.”
Heavy periods.
Not hemorrhaging.
Not anemia.
Not collapsing in the shower.
Heavy periods.
He offered birth control for the fourth time.
I said, “I don’t care about preserving fertility. I care about not blacking out.”
He paused.
“Have you discussed that with your partner?”
So I brought him.
Doctor to him:
“Are you okay if she can’t have children?”
“You’re young. You might want a family.”
“Would that be a dealbreaker?”
Him:
“She needs to stop bleeding. That’s the only family planning we’re discussing.”
Suddenly the biopsy was scheduled.
Pathology came back: precancerous cells.
But sure.
Let’s center hypothetical babies and imaginary men while a woman is actively deteriorating in front of you.
Misogyny in medicine isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s just asking a dying woman if a man might want kids someday.
Let me be very clear. If bringing down the largest child sex trafficking ring in history will “collapse the world as we know it” then the world as we know it needs to collapse.
My father once told me the secret to a happy marriage.
“Stay out of the kitchen. Let her handle the holidays.”
I was 19. He was in his recliner.
My mother was cooking for 14 people.
She’d been up since 5 AM.
He’d been up since the football pregame.
I didn’t think anything of it.
That’s just how it was.
Fast forward 20 years.
I’m in the recliner.
My wife is in the kitchen.
She’s been up since 5 AM.
I’ve been up since the pregame.
My daughter walks by and I see her watching.
Not the TV.
Her mother.
Then me.
Then her mother again.
That’s when it hit me:
She’s taking notes.
My father taught me that holidays were for men to rest and women to work.
He didn’t say it.
He showed it.
Every Thanksgiving.
Every Christmas.
Every Easter.
The recliner passed from him to me like an inheritance I never asked for.
This morning I woke up at 4 AM.
Not for content.
For the turkey.
My wife found me in the kitchen at 6.
She didn’t say anything.
She just stood there.
Then she cried.
Your kids are taking notes.
Not on what you say.
On where you sit.
The recliner is an inheritance.
Be the generation that stands up.
the average wait time for an endometriosis diagnosis is 7 years & if you want to access the gold standard of endo surgery to try & manage your pain (excision surgery) 95% of the time you have to pay for a private consultation & wait an additional 2 years btw… but yay football🤗