This part of the story comes with content warnings. There are mentions of infertility and menstruation. If this story is too heavy my dear reader, please take care of yourself first.
Sunshine on My Smile
I lay in a sunny spot on the living room floor silently crying with India Arie singing, “Slow down baby. You’re going too fast. You’ve got your hands in the air with your feet on the gas. You’re about to wreck your future, running from your past. You need to slow… down… baby.”
In my early to mid 20s, I genuinely hated myself and my life. Existence was excruciating emotionally, and functional depression was my average state of being. Despite freedom, Larry’s post break-up crashout took a toll on me mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
Stalking, break-ins, and assaults lead me to the darkest nights I’ve ever known.
I dated people who made me hate myself more, was no-low contact with a majority of my family, and ruined friendships with my carelessness. Can’t really blame anyone who left my life during that time. To them, I was losing it – and they were right, I was.
Anyway, one day, I’m laying in my living room, sun warming my skin – listening to an album I’ve heard a million times – and it just hit me different. The music overwhelmed me and I heard the song fully for the first time. It was like she jumped through the speaker and cradled my face. She spoke directly to me. I couldn’t help but cry.
I was going way too fast in life.
Years, months, hours, and minutes hating my very own existence. That self-loathing drove me into foul situations. It was exhausting.
What I wanted most in that moment was out of the cycle of darkness – to feel better about myself and experience the light.
So, I decided I needed to stop running and be someone I could love.
To begin loving myself, I had a visceral need to hear an apology. I do apologize to myself often now, but this moment in my life around 23-24 was the first time anyone has truly apologized to me. It sounded like this:
To myself, who I have at times hated, I am so deeply sorry. I should’ve loved you better. I will love you fiercely now and every day forward to make up for it.
I started taking my health seriously. Turned pages in books about traditional African spirituality and black women’s empowerment. I educated myself on queer issues. I went to therapy. Yoga on the wake up and dancing into the night in my spare bedroom. Celibate. Hell I even became an annoying vegan.
Yes…my life was breathing, expanding, and healing.
I loc’d my hair.
My body became my temple. I owned it. I learned to love me, and that’s the first time I felt what real love could be.
Results are in…You’re Not Crazy
Have you ever been gaslit by a medical professional? It’s a truly eye opening experience, especially for someone with a naïve mind. Beginning around age 24-25 I began experiencing medical professionals denying an obvious reality. A swollen thyroid filled with nodules left completely untreated to this day and this was just the beginning of my health struggles.
Because I was so interested in improving my health, I fought past my anxiety about having to be convincing, and went to the doctor as I saw fit anyway.
The doctor’s office is about 3 degrees too cold and the shitty paper sheet over the exam bed crinkles as I shift my weight from one hip to another.
The office is decorated with advertisements for anti-aging injections, smiling women with perfect teeth and airbrushed skin, and an entire vulva sculpture stares at me from the hand washing station.
A few weeks before, I had an ultrasound because I was cramping so bad and bled for like 2 weeks straight – I was over it. I had already tried the in-arm birth control and I’d been on the pill since I could remember. Recently tried to ween my body off of the hormones, ya know vegan things, and it was going well until it wasn’t.
At the ultrasound the tech was like, “Here’s your uterus, your left ovary, and here’s the right ovary. You’ve been told you have PCOS right? That’s why the right looks so much larger than the other one.”
“No, you’d be the first to mention PCOS…” The look of pure confusion on my face must’ve stunned her into silence.
She didn’t say another word for the rest of the ultrasound and neither did I.
By the time the official results came back, and I had my appointment, I was right back on my period.
Back to present day, in the doctor’s office, a faint cramp twists my right side. I sharply inhale then slowly exhale into it. I learned this little trick to center my mind and relax my body from a therapist. Breathing techniques are the only thing that help me feel in control. Does it work for real? Hell if I know, but I did it anyway.
I hear three swift knocks at the door. Nurse Emma comes into the room – her usual cheerful face looks… different. I’ve seen Nurse E. at least 3-4 times a year for 4 years – the longest I’ve ever been loyal to a doctor’s office. Immediately I’m thinking like she can’t hide her emotions at all. It’s just PCOS.
Mind you, I hated to do shit on my period. Tylenol wasn’t doing a damn thing for cramps. Midol never worked. And I was pissed most of the time. Who wouldn’t be after pain and discomfort for 2 weeks straight one week off and right back to it?
She tucks brown hair behind her ear, neatening her always chic bob. She’s lost weight since her last kiddo.
“Hey girl. How’s baby doing? How’s your hubby?” I greet her.
“They’re good! How are you doing? By the look on your face not too hot huh?”
“Yeah. I’m on my period again. It’s so ridiculous…” I roll my eyes.
It grows quiet for a brief moment.
She looks at her pink clipboard, “So we got your test results back, and I want you to know that you’re not crazy.”
I laughed humorlessly followed by grabbing my side as another cramp kicks, “Okay cool. I’m glad it’s not in my head. I knew something was off…”
I look at Nurse E. She really does look different. Her eyes are so sad.
Permanent and Progressive
“So you have PCOS. Do you know what that is?” Nurse E. eyes me carefully.
“Not really. But the ultrasound lady said I definitely have it, so I was expecting you to say that. It’s okay.” I don’t know why I tried to reassure her, but I was putting on a brave face.
She hands me a pamphlet, but I had already looked it up online.
Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome aka P.C.O.S.
Most common symptoms: irregular periods, hormonal problems, acne, weight gain, infertility.
PERMANENT
BUT TREATABLE…
E. chats on about red flag symptoms for insulin resistance, statistics, and pregnancy may be difficult, but not impossible if you stay active and eat right… there’s even IVF…
There’s a loud ringing in my ears.
The room feels smaller somehow.
I notice the wide smile of the pregnant woman on the poster behind the nurse. Some advertisement for pregnancy massages…?
I get the look on her face now. She knows my dream as my OB.
What is she saying? I meet her gaze trying to tap back in to the conversation.
“Blah blah blah and Adenomyosis can cause blah blah blah. Do you have any questions?” She looks like she wants this conversation to end.
I am jolted back to reality, “Wait what was that word you just said? Ad…what?”
Adenomyosis aka Endometriosis ugly lil sister
Most common symptoms: extreme pelvic pain, excessive bleeding during menstruation, infertility
“Adenomyosis. It’s one of the most painful medical conditions people can experience. Most uteruses are like a watermelon.” She explained. A second pamphlet finds its way to my now clammy hands. “There’s clear delineation between the uterus lining, endometrial tissue, and the muscle. Your uterus is more like an abstract art watermelon where the lining, muscle and endometrial tissue are mixed together.”
PERMANENT AND PROGRESSIVE
“Meaning it’ll only get worse over time?” I ask. At this point, the tears are plopping onto the exam bed and I can see her heartbreaking for me.
“Right. We don’t know why it occurs and…”
“So what can I do then?” I wipe my face determination setting in. “There’s gotta be something I can do.”
“There is no real treatment. We can only try to address the symptoms. The only ‘cure’ is a hysterectomy since adenomyosis is confined to the uterus, but you should know you may also have endometriosis which is not curable. The odds are about 80-90% for overlap and…”
Damn.
Double probably triple… infertility. I would have to try for a baby right away if I wanted the best shot, but I was 25 and without any serious prospects for a partner.
I was going to have to endure years of ever worsening pain if I wanted to be a mother or give up my dream entirely by having the hysterectomy but living pain free. At this point, the devastation hit me. I was already limited on walking during my period. Was it really going to get worse? What would that even look like?
They can’t prescribe me pain meds. I don’t want to become addicted to anything – addiction runs too deeply in my family for me to risk it. So… am I meant to suffer?
The tears wouldn’t stop. I sat alone in that doctor’s office face in hands feeling the weight of not being crazy.
Strike 2 towards my dreams left me in a permanent state of grief for the mother I would never be.
-Z. Nova narrating through B.W.’s eyes 2025
This post happens to be released on my mother’s birthday based on my scheduling. Happy birthday Mama.