My Uterus Has Had a Personal Vendetta Against Me Since High School

My Uterus Has Had a Personal Vendetta Against Me Since High School — and I Want to Speak to Management

Let me start by saying this clearly so nobody thinks I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect:

My uterus has been trying to take me out since I was a teenager.

Not inconvenience me.
Not “slow me down.”
Not “give me discomfort.”

I mean full-on internal assassination attempts.

And the crazy part? For YEARS, doctors kept looking at me like:

“Hmm. Weird. Anyway.”

I am about to be 48 years old, and I have been dealing with endometriosis symptoms since before anybody bothered to give it a name. Back then it was just called:

“Bad cramps.”

Sir.

Respectfully.

If cramps feel like being stabbed from the inside with a folding chair, that is not “bad cramps.” That is an eviction notice from your organs.



🚑 The High School Years: Sponsored by the Emergency Room

We’re talking 15, 16, 17 years old.

Other girls worried about prom dresses and lip gloss.
I was worried about whether my uterus was going to drop me to the floor in public.

I was in and out of the hospital so much the ER staff recognized me.

Tests. Scans. Bloodwork. Ultrasounds. Shrugs.

“Everything looks normal.”

That sentence should be illegal to say to a teenage girl who is crying in a hospital bed from pelvic pain so bad she can’t sit upright.

I had cysts rupture that felt like somebody set off explosives in my lower abdomen.

One rupture knocked me clean out. I passed out standing up in my bathroom getting ready to go out. Hit my head on the sink. Concussion. Ambulance ride. Whole production.

My son had to call 911.

Nothing humbles you like your child seeing you laid out by an organ the size of a lime.



💉 The Treatment Plan: Throw Hormones At It and Hope

Doctors decided the master plan was:

Birth control everything.

The pill — failed.
Arm implant — failed.
Uterine device — OH HELL NO. That thing made my pain worse. I told them take it out before I take it out myself with barbecue tongs.

Then came the long-term toxic relationship:

Depo-Provera.

The three-month shot.

Started in high school.

Read that again slowly.

High school.

Every three months like clockwork.

Nobody sat me down and said: “Hey, maybe being on this for decades could be a problem.”

Nope.

Just jab → see you in 90 days → good luck with your bones.



⚖️ The Weight Gain, The Weight Loss, The Accusations

First three months on that shot — I gained weight so fast my clothes thought I was being replaced.

I ballooned.

I stopped it after a while because I couldn’t deal with it. And when I stopped? My metabolism said:

“Oh thank God — emergency purge.”

Weight dropped FAST.

Too fast.

My math teacher called a meeting with my mother because she thought I was on drugs.

My mother walked into that meeting, dropped the medication box on the desk with my name on it and said:

“She’s not on drugs. She’s on prescribed hormones so she doesn’t pass out from pain.”

Then we left.

No apology required apparently.



🧠 Male Doctors and Pain That Didn’t Translate

Most of my OB-GYN doctors over the years were men.

Some were great. Some were not.

Some heard me.
Some heard “female exaggeration.”

You can see it in their face:

Pain described by a woman = multiplied by doubt.

“Rate your pain 1–10.”

Sir, this is a felony.

This is a prison sentence.

This is a scream-into-the-void nine and a half.



🪓 What These Cramps Actually Feel Like

Let me clarify something for the record:

These are not cramps.

These are internal combat situations.

It feels like Harley Quinn is inside my uterus with a nail bat and unresolved rage issues.

It feels like a construction crew is remodeling without permits.

It feels like my insides are trying to unsubscribe from existence.

Women reading this are nodding right now.

Men reading this are uncomfortable — and you should be.

Education is happening.



🧾 The Long-Term Damage Nobody Warned Me About

Finally — at age 42 — ONE doctor said:

“You’ve been on this way too long.”

Sir where were you 20 years ago??

Now I have:

Degenerative disc disease
Osteoporosis
Vitamin deficiencies
Low calcium
Chronic nausea
Nervous system weirdness
Short-term memory glitches
Random head pain like brain freeze with no cold drink involved

My body looks at me like:

“We survived — but you’re gonna pay.”



📺 The Lawsuit Commercials That Make Me Yell At My Phone

Now here’s where it gets wild.

You’ve probably seen the commercials.

“If you or a loved one took Depo-Provera…”

I call.

I fill out forms.

I explain:

“I was on this from age SIXTEEN to FORTY-TWO.”

You’d think they’d say:

“Ma’am please come in immediately, you are the case file.”

Instead they say:

“Have you been diagnosed with the specific cancer?”

No because I don’t currently have insurance.

“Sorry — you don’t qualify.”

Let me get this straight.

I took the drug for over two decades.
My body is falling apart like a used lawn chair.
But because I don’t have the magic diagnosis code I’m invisible?

Sir.

I AM the long-term study.

Run the labs. I’ll bring snacks.



🔥 The Humor Is Survival — Not Denial

I joke about my uterus like she’s a hostile coworker.

I say she needs supervision.
A performance review.
A write-up.

Because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to sit on the floor with a heating pad and curse the moon.

Humor is how I stay sane.

But make no mistake:

This is real.
This is lifelong.
This is underdiagnosed.
And too many girls get told to “tough it out.”




📣 What I Want Women to Know

If your pain drops you to your knees — that’s not normal.
If you miss work or school — that’s not normal.
If doctors dismiss you — that’s not acceptable.

Push back.
Ask again.
Document everything.
Get second opinions.

Because “bad cramps” should not require emergency room visits.



🧾 Final Statement to My Uterus

Ma’am.

We have been through enough together.

Please retire with dignity.

I will sign the paperwork.

Immediately.