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Crystal A. Hernandez
Professor Batty
English 28
14 December 2017
The Painful Discomfort of Losing a Part of Myself
From the moment I had started menstruating I was told it was normal to have painful
cramps. I started fairly young. I was still in elementary school. My mother explained to me how
to wrap sanitary products in toilet paper before throwing them in the trash so I wouldnt leave
any evidence, as if it were a crime to menstruate. I remember days spent on the couch writhing in
pain. I remember the countless times I had to lie about why I was in such a bad mood, as if my
uterus lining contracting and expelling itself from my body wasnt a good enough reason. I
remember the pain gradually getting worse and worse until the pain became unbearable. But
even when there were tears streaming down my face and I was doubled over in pain people
chose to tell me that "everyone gets cramps" and that I should just "suck it up".
I had heard stories of girls with menstrual problems, women that skipped periods or
didnt get them at all. I never thought that the painful cramps I had been having increasingly over
the last few months had been anything more than menstrual cramps. I was wrong. At the
beginning of my sophomore year in high school I decided I had had enough with the pain and
that I desperately needed to go to the doctor. I felt helpless because over the counter medications
such as 'Advil' or 'Tylenol Extra Strength' wouldnt even touch the pain. I had nowhere else to
turn. My pediatrician palpated my abdomen and when she saw the discomfort in my face she
wrote me a referral to a gynecologist.
My first visit to the gynecologist will always be one to remember. My dad took me
because my mom was working. I remember the strange looks we got while waiting in the bright
mint waiting room. The look of puzzled nurses wondering why a girl so young was there. I bet
thoughts of pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases crossed their minds. I was called into
the doctor's office where they took my vitals, weighed me and got a brief medical history. The
nurses had me strip and change into a blue rough gown. The doctor came in to ask me if any
possible abuse could've caused the pain, the answer was always no. She continued to ask my
symptoms and I began to list them off "dysmenorrhea- or painful periods, trouble sleeping due to
the dysmenorrhea, bloating, fatigue, nausea and clotting." She continued by saying that the
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symptoms were normal for a girl my age and that eventually they would settle down. And with
that, she sent me home.
Over the next few weeks or so I began to bleed irregularly, I began to vomit
spontaneously and my pain tripled. I started missing days of school and I had little to no
motivation to even get out of bed. I had chills because of the cramps and hot flashes from the
warm water bottles that were put on my belly to ease the pain, a trick I had learned from my
mother. I made another appointment to see the gynecologist and once again went with my dad.
This time I told her how my mom thought it was best to get an ultrasound of my uterus and
ovaries to make sure nothing was wrong. You see, my mom had issues with both of her
pregnancies, had multiple cysts in her ovaries and would eventually need a hysterectomy from
all the pain her prior surgeries had left her with. And yet, when I told the doctor my mom had
pre-existing issues with her reproductive organs, she laughed in my face. She said "you're too
young to have an ovarian cyst and that performing the ultrasound would be a waste of time and
resources." In that instant I felt small and ridiculed, if my mom had all these issues how could
this doctor just determine with a glance that it had not been passed down to me through genetics?
Still I urged her to sign the referral to get an ultrasound. Begrudgingly she signed and sent me on
my way.
Two days later I arrived at the ultrasound center and waited to be seen. A nurse told me
to drink at least 5 cups of water so the imaging would be clear. Imagine being bloated, in pain
and having to chug 5 cups of water, needless to say I was very uncomfortable. After about an
hour they called my name and lead me to a dark room with a medical style reclining chair and a
computer ultrasound machine on one side. I was told to unbutton my pants and the ultrasound
technician put jelly all over my lower abdomen. As the images showed up she would pause, take
a snapshot and take measurements. She would then reposition her wand, press it back into my
abdomen making me wince and want to pee. The ultrasound tech kept a poker face throughout
the whole session and only wavered slightly when my dad asked if anything came up abnormal.
She said that she wasnt qualified to give me results but that she had a cousin who had a cyst on
her ovary and had massaged it to the point that it had ruptured. It was in that moment that I
started preparing myself for the worst.
Although I had a feeling that something was wrong with my body, I didnt expect it to be
found so quick. Right after the ultrasound I called to let my mom know what they had found.
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"I'm sorry mamash" she told me, she used my nickname as a form of consolation, but I felt as if I
couldnt be fixed. Another week passed and another scheduled gynecologist appointment would
finally lead to a diagnosis "You have a 4 cm cyst" the doctor looked at my hands " roughly the
size of your fist, on your left ovary." I balled up my fist and placed it over my left hip bone.
"They usually come and go over the course of your menses..." she continued speaking but I only
captured bits and pieces "observation" "we can place her on stronger pain medication" "this isnt
urgent" "it is possible she will require surgery". Surgery... surgery...surgery... it was the only
thing I could think about for the next couple days. As promised I was placed on slightly stronger
pain medication, naproxen 500mg. "It will help ease your pain" the doctor said. And it worked,
for the most part, well for the first month or two it did, but then the pain just kept getting stronger
and stronger and my body became used to the medication and it stopped working. My nights
became restless again, filled with pain and hot water bottles. My days became bloated and full of
dread, with no motivation to do anything, I missed more school. And eventually, went to a
follow up ultrasound to find out how my cyst was progressing. It had been three months since I
had been diagnosed but since the cyst did not dissipate the doctor decided it was time to
intervene. She said all the surgeons were booked and that it would take another couple of weeks
to get me scheduled but that she would put my name down for the waitlist.
The following Thursday my pain became completely unbearable once again, I was
headed back to the gynecologist, this time through urgent care and without an appointment. The
receptionist asked if I didnt mind seeing a different doctor because my usual doctor was
completely booked. With the dire situation at hand we gladly accepted. That day I met Dr.
Clayton and I am forever grateful that I did. When he finally saw me he insisted on doing an
abdominal exam. My dad told him about our previous visits to the other gynecologist and how
she had put me on the waitlist for surgery. Dr. Clayton reviewed that list for a while and said that
he couldnt find any trace of my name or information. He seemed to grow more and more
impatient when we told him how long we had been waiting throughout the whole process. I
wondered if this meant that I would have to wait more for a surgeon to see me. The doctor then
told us he needed to step out to speak to his colleague, a few moments later we could hear him
arguing with her sternly. He returned, apologized for her lack of timely action and he said that he
had an opening for that next Monday and that he could perform my surgery himself. A relief
swept over my family but brought on new anxiety for me : surgery.
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Monday I arrived to the hospital at 4:00 in the morning. I was hungry, I had not eaten
since lunch the day before. To be completely honest I was scared of surgery, more specifically
scared of feeling the urinary catheter or breathing tube being pulled out. I was terrified of the
thought of waking up during the surgery. Two hours before surgery they drew my blood to make
sure I was healthy enough to go through with the operation. An hour before surgery I begged my
mom to let me postpone it and to just let me go home. She reminded me of all the pain I had
been through and how hopefully this would finally help get rid of it, she reminded me that we are
fighters and that I wasnt alone. Even though her words comforted me I still cried when they put
in my IV, not because it hurt but because I was scared of how the following events would unfold.
After they put in my IV, it was time and they wheeled me out of the pre-op area. They rolled my
gurney down a maze of corridors and at some point they had put the anesthesia into my IV. The
nurses asked me to move from one gurney to what seemed like the operating table but by that
point everything was starting to get dark and fuzzy. During the transition a nurse asking me if I
had a boyfriend when I replied no she proceeded to say "Good! Boys are dumb and not worth
your time" and then everything went dark.
When I was coming out of anesthesia I remember the nurses reminding me to breathe, I
remember the beeps of the machines and the blurriness of everything. My usual pain was no
longer there, albeit I was on strong pain-killers a painful tearing sensation in my shoulders made
me cry. A nurse came over and tried to talk to me about where I was and what had happened. I
told her I was in pain and she informed me that it was the carbon dioxide gas that they had
pumped into my body to help with surgery. After fully awaking from surgery my mom told me I
had lost 75% of my ovary. I was devastated to say the least. Even though I was young, I never
imagined myself pregnant or with kids, but in that moment having that choice ripped away from
me was extremely heart breaking. Over the next few days I was in and out of consciousness. I
woke only to eat and take medication. During the times I was awake I would think about my
missing ovary too long I would begin to sob. I took two weeks off from school to deal with
recovery and makeup work.
I never thought twice about my painful periods but once I started noticing something was
wrong I should have fought more for my own health and well being. If I had the operation when
the first doctor said she was going to put me on the list, more of my ovary may been salvaged.
But due to the lack of belief from the first doctor and lack of experience with doctors, I lost 75%
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of my ovary. I am still saddened by the fact that it is missing but Dr. Clayton reassured me that
having children is still a viable option since I do have one full ovary left. The physical pain has
passed and I am left with only scars but the emotional trauma I went through will forever be in
my heart.