By Claire Rotchford
I was a late bloomer among my peers. At 13, I was a gangly 85 pounds and still wearing clothing from the kids’ section at Target. I wore bras to feel more mature, but I certainly could have forgone wearing them entirely. So, while my friends were moaning and groaning about their period woes, I was still waiting for mine to arrive. The day finally came about a month after I finished eighth grade. At long last, I was a woman! That sweet, innocent, bright-eyed version of me was utterly unprepared for the menstrual trials and tribulations to come.
On average, a period lasts about five days, and the blood loss amounts to about three teaspoons. Those who are burdened with heavy bleeding may lose nearly five teaspoons of blood and bleed for more than seven days. I was, regrettably, a heavy bleeder. But I was not alone. More than one in three teenage girls report regularly experiencing heavy periods. I could easily go through an entire box of tampons over the course of one period, and I knew many of my friends were victims of the same fate. The inevitable cramping that came with the bleeding was debilitating. In some particularly excruciating moments, it felt as if a thousand swords were piercing through my lower abdomen. The worst part was having no control over when the cramping hit. Whether it was in the middle of the night in bed, on the soccer field mid-game or at my desk in fifth period, I learned to grit my teeth and bear the pain.
By the time I was 17, my cramps were getting worse by the month, and my periods were heavier than ever. I was done accepting my circumstances as “normal” and I brought my concerns to my pediatrician. She recommended that I look into birth control pills to help alleviate my symptoms and directed me to a gynecologist.
Experts recommend that adolescents should see a gynecologist for the first time between the ages of 13 and 15. The initial appointment is crucial in establishing a trusting relationship between the patient and their provider, as this helps ease the discomfort around talking about topics that are often deemed sensitive. Gynecologists are responsible for addressing a myriad of patient concerns, including STIs, menstrual cycle abnormalities, ovarian cysts, birth control options, hygiene practices and sexual health inquiries. These issues are central to many teenagers’ lives, including mine. However, many young people wait until they turn 21 to make their first appointment. This is the age when clinicians encourage getting a Pap smear, a procedure in which a gynecologist obtains a tissue sample from the cervix to check for abnormal cells. These conflicting medical recommendations are confusing and can cause people to neglect seeking gynecological intervention earlier in life. Even with considerable privilege and involved parents, I, too, delayed getting care.
While I waited for the doctor at my first appointment, I picked up a few pamphlets on birth control and was struck by how many options existed. I had only ever heard of “the pill.” But as I skimmed through the pamphlets, I was taken aback by how little I knew about the types of birth control available to me. The wide world of injections, implants, and IUDs was at my fingertips. Had I been living under a rock?
My lack of knowledge was no fault of my own, though. Florida law does not mandate sexual and reproductive health education in public schools, and when it is taught, birth control methods are not emphasized in the curriculum.
The doctor’s affable personality and easy-going nature calmed my nerves automatically. I described my heavy periods and god-awful cramps, and she prescribed birth control pills to regulate my symptoms. I was hopeful for the relief that it would provide.
Flash-forward a few months later. I just wanted to finish my English homework as quickly as possible and hit the hay. Unfortunately, my body was not amenable to this plan. I was abruptly struck by a piercing pain in my lower right abdomen, and I cried out in agony. My mother rushed me to the ER, where a CAT scan showed I had a cyst about the size of a lemon growing on the wall of my ovary, and it was about to burst.
It is estimated that up to 30% of women will deal with ovarian cysts in their lifetime. Most burst before getting too large, but some can grow to be greater than three centimeters in diameter. For most cases, medical intervention is deemed unnecessary. My cyst was large enough to warrant a surgical consultation. After meeting with the pediatric surgeon and weighing the risks of surgery against the potential benefits, I decided against it. I was sent home with a prescription for oxycodone to help with the pain and a box of super tampons. A few days later, I began to feel like myself again.
It took my mother telling a nurse that I felt close to death before my pain was taken seriously. But I was lucky; many women are not. My story is one in a sea of thousands.
Women are taught to ignore their health concerns and smile through the pain. We are told that our pain is a burden we must carry without complaint, and that our cries for help are “dramatic” or “attention-seeking.” Counteracting these norms requires comprehensive sexual and health education courses in our public schools and encouraging gynecological intervention during adolescence. We must not think solely of ourselves, but of the generations to come. We must treat women’s health issues with the earnestness they demand.
Claire Rotchford is a third-year public health major.
“My Public Health Story” essays originated from an assignment on public health storytelling for a public health messaging and dissemination course led by Gaia Zori, Ph.D., M.P.H., coordinator for the social and behavioral sciences and public health practice concentrations in the Master of Public Health program