Her development started early. You see, her puberty began at age ten, and at age twelve, what should have been a normal process for her became a kind of living hell. Every month, she endured pain that would render her faint. Her summertime should have included laughter, swimming, and fun-filled days, but she stayed inside alone, separated from her playmates because of the nature and unpredictability of her pain. Every year that passed saw it get worse, yet she did not consult a doctor until she was nineteen.
Then came the terrifying part of her experience. Only four days after she completed her menstrual cycle, the cramping began. She passed the strange thing she couldn’t explain—a thing that was clear with red veins running through it. It was as if she’d experienced a miscarriage. She was a virgin. She was frightened enough of what was happening to save the strange mass she’d passed and take it to her family doctor. After examining the mass, the doctor told her that her cervix was tipped and that her uterus was working too hard. Her uterine lining was gone, decaying away in the mass that her body was expelling.
“This is a sporadic incident for someone of your age,” said the doctor, portraying the seriousness of the issue. “We do not get to deal with this kind of case before the patient is fifty years old. So you need a specialist and medication as soon as possible.”
Deep down, she had always suspected that she might have endometriosis, but this was a kind of endometriosis that was related to tissue on the outside of her uterus rather than inside. Her desires were not complicated—she wanted to be a wife and a mother. But as the years went by, her chances of realizing her second ambition seemed more and more tenuous. Eleven drugs failed before one of them succeeded. But “succeeded” didn’t mean that she was pain-free or that her menses weren’t so heavy that she could see her blood dripping down her legs or that tissue didn’t still periodically extrude.
She married her true love at twenty-four. They both had dreams of children, but wanted to enjoy their new life together before that happened. They decided not to have dogs or cats, but to raise chickens as pets instead. They coddled them as if they were their children while hoping for more all along. Eventually, her symptoms reappeared. She came to realize one day while crying on her way home from work, that her time to conceive might run out sooner than expected after a decade of trying.
However, a new doctor examined her further and discovered a tumor inside her uterus. To remove it, she said, could be detrimental to her uterus to sustain a life inside her. But to leave it could mean miscarriages, stunted growth, and difficulties during deliveries. The advice was loud and clear: have kids first, then remove the tumor afterwards. The couple, married only five months, was faced with a decision they least expected to receive so soon. Two months had passed since they had stopped the medication when she found herself alone in a quiet church sanctuary, praying at the altar. She was seeking clarity – either a swift pregnancy or acceptance of waiting. They had agreed to conceive for only one month.
For their surprise, pregnancy came almost immediately. Joy tangled herself in fear. Every trip to the bathroom loomed with terror, every second counting down toward possible loss. The first trimester had been harsh: relentless vomiting, agony with a simple sneeze, and dwindling bodies. Yet her baby grew strong. Seventeen weeks in, she felt the first kick. Now she is at the midpoint of her pregnancy, fear is present but hope abounds. The child is strong, the tumor holding steady. This could be child number one, or perhaps child number one of a long line of many to come. For now, she is thankful—for more than she ever could have realized, she is simply grateful to have made it thus far.
