I Like to Believe in Science But it Doesn’t Like to Believe in Me
Photo from @the.happy.pelvis on Instagram.
They say a traumatic birth sets the stage for negative karmic energy throughout one’s life. Not only was I a twin, but my mom lost the twin, and I was born far too early. So early that they miscalculated my due date, forced my mother into labor for 36 hours straight, only for her blood pressure to skyrocket, and my heart-rate to skate the line of death (like, I was about to die within the womb). My mom needed an emergency c-section to save both of us. They had primed her with an epidural, but they had to operate immediately, so she felt the whole thing. Scalpels and all. They didn’t even have time to escort her to another operating room. My birth was very much of the back-alley botox variety.
At 4:01 p.m. on September 1st, 1998, in Santa Cruz, CA, I was born and shoved in an incubator for weeks on end. I was nothing but a mini vanilla cupcake that needed more time in the Easy-Bake Oven. At least at my wee five pounds, I had my Virgo sun, Capricorn moon, Capricorn rising going for me. Five pounds of pure earth, baby. My mom said I rose from the womb Lion King style — puny and frail, with my eyes wide open. There was no crying, no screaming, just wide-open giant blue eyes. I must’ve known, even then, that I was shocked by the idea of existence.
As you can see, the negative karmic energy that’s stacked against me is a result of me being a twinless preemie.
When my mother gave birth to my little sister, she not only found out that my sister was disabled upon delivery but that she had a severe case of endometriosis. So severe that the obstetrician pulled out a massive tennis-ball cyst.
“How have you lived like this for so long? This must be incredibly painful. You have one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.” He asked my mother.
“You could say that.” She replied, tired of delivering traumatic births.
Endometriosis is a chronic pain disorder where the tissue that normally lines the uterus, grows outside the uterus, often up against reproductive organs or other vital organs (ouch). It’s basically a tissue free-for-all in the pelvic region that can lead to infertility or subfertility. There’s no known cause, no known cure, and takes an average of eight years to diagnose since it’s so underfunded in terms of research. Successful treatment varies from person to person.
I’ve always known I have it. Women on both sides of my family have it, leaving me pre-exposed and vulnerable. My mother has always handled it with grace, strength, and resilience, much like everything in her life (hi mom, you’re my hero). It wasn’t until recently that I had pain so severe in my lower right pelvis that my boyfriend pressured me to go see my ob/gyn and schedule an ultrasound. He’s pre-med, thank god. Usually, you can’t catch endometriosis on an ultrasound. Not only did they find a massive cyst on my right ovary, but cysts all up in my uterus and cervix, and thick endometrial tissue. Cute and cozy!
“I want you on a hormonal IUD,” my ob/gyn told me. “Endometriosis can be successfully managed with hormonal birth control.”
It triggered wartime hormonal birth control flashbacks.
After severe cyclothymia with Depo-Provera, which was specifically designed for women with endometriosis, I vowed to never touch hormonal birth control again. I traded injections for copper (Paragard IUD) back in 2019, and finally, a semblance of normality was restored mentally and emotionally.
I actually wanted to be social again (lmao). I didn’t hate myself as much (weird). I wanted to cultivate a sense of identity (gross). I got SSRIs in conjunction with non-hormonal birth control and started to feel OK — something I had never felt before.
Little did I know that the Paragard IUD is the worst for women with endometriosis because it is non-hormonal. Despite severe blood loss during that time of the month, nausea, vomiting, and pelvic pain so severe I couldn’t move, it was fine! The physical does not equal the mental or the emotional. I was dissociating from my reproductive organs. I have always wanted to break away from my body and fly out of it and this time has been no different. No pain physically means no gain mentally.
Alas, here I am once again, at the bottom of the emotionally exhaustive well of hormonal birth control. The cysts and endometriosis are at the top, luring the bucket down saying, “Here, take the Liletta and we’ll go away,” to which I say, “No.”
I believe in science. I believe in all the global catastrophe that has been plaguing us, namely COVID-19 and climate change. I’m very pro-science on a global scale. I will believe in anything that threatens my existence, as I believe everything threatens my existence. The threat is always very real, except when it directly impacts me and turns the internal battle between mental and reproductive health into a WorldStar-esque viral Twitter smackdown.
Though I feel like science doesn’t believe in me. It’s giving me very blue pill/red pill vibes. Take the blue pill, you have severe endometriosis and no mental health issues. Take the red pill, you have severe mental health issues and no endometriosis.
I wondered if the cysts were because I had one too many cheat meals in the last few months. Like, “Damn, it must’ve been the one time I ate Taco Bell in the last two months. The Taco Bell gave me the cysts.” Instead of blaming it on a genetic predisposition, I want to blame myself. I think if I cultivate an idea of what it means to be ‘healthy’ and turn it into a lifestyle, I am immune from pain and suffering. If I stray from rituals that make me feel safe, there will always be certain impending doom.
I wish I was confident enough to blame forces larger than me and be like, “OK, the patriarchy is responsible for underfunding research for women’s reproductive health disorders and I am a byproduct of the gap between mental and reproductive health.” Logically I know all this. I’m still ~internally~ learning how to blame the societal forces stacked against women. Though I can’t help but feel that my preemie negative karmic energy wants me to be the martyr guinea pig for closing the said gap between mental and reproductive health issues. They say blame the patriarchy but sometimes I just want to blame myself even when it’s not my fault because it’s comfortable. I don’t want to go outside myself unless it’s on a global scale, where I feel a sense of community in the realization that we’re all screwed. Doomsday scenarios are where I feel the most simpatico with humanity. I will always find a way for something to be my fault unless it concerns absolutely everyone. It feels strange to blame anything or anyone but myself.
Perhaps I should have more faith in science and modern medicine when it comes to myself but I always feel like I’m being personally singled out. We are living in an age where American healthcare and the federal government are failing a lot of people, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I am once again, a drop in the ocean of people who feel like they have to weigh their options. I will take hormonal birth control so I can have a family one day, but just like, let me bitter about it, at least for five minutes.
