It all happened about a month ago. It was January of this year so 2025. It had again been a normal day. Seems like everything always happens on normal days. I was sitting in class listening to my lecture, trying to take notes. My stomach began to cramp and ache. I brush it off my shoulders because I had just started my cycle that day, so cramps were to be expected. A couple minutes passed, and the pain became unbearable. I stepped outside to get some air thinking that maybe walking around will calm it down. I was outside for about 15 minutes when all of a sudden it hurt to sit. To stand. To walk. Every motion felt like the air was being knocked out of my lungs and knives were pushing against the walls of my ovaries and my lower abdomen. I knew something's wrong.
About twenty-five minutes later the ambulance arrived and it was decided that I would be taken to a hospital. My mind flooded with what ifs and a million different possibilities. when the doctor came to my room, he suggested that I have an ultrasound. My mother pushed for me to oblige because she knows how bad my health anxiety is I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't do the ultrasound. I agreed.
I waited for about forty-five minutes in my room after having the ultrasound done. My mind continued to race, and my hands shook with anticipation. I heard a soft knock at my door and my heart started to pound. He came in with a weird vibe. Taking long pauses between words and sentences. Sighing after saying certain things. I didn't understand. you made me more nervous. it almost felt like he was annoyed that he had to do his job and deliver my results. like I was just another part of his long night rather than a person anxiously waiting for answers. He told me that during the ultrasound they had found a dermoid cyst on my right and left ovary. That I would need to make an appointment with the gynecologist to review my results. He didn't go into detail of what that meant or if it was a serious matter or not. He just told me and left.
A couple weeks prior to this incident, we had watched a film in my class called “Wit” directed by Mike Nichols. I followed the story of a woman who discovered she had cancer. Every moment since the day she had found out, people treated her like an object. Like an experiment. Like a number on a patient record sheet. It highlighted the perspective a cancer patient. How certain comments that seem supportive or comforting do more harm than good. there in that hospital bed my mind thought of that film (Nichols, 2001). It clicked. Already I was getting words of “comfort” and stories of “something similar happened to me.”. And it clicked. These words we're like kicks in the gut. I felt frustrated. I felt angry. I felt truly alone. I thought back to my grandma's experience and I felt guilt. How she must have felt suffocated by everyone around her telling her that they understand when they never truly will until they are in the same shoes.
I hated hearing these words. I knew that the people delivering these words were telling me these things with best intentions but it just made me feel worse. While you sit there and contemplate life and whether you've lived it correctly or not. Whether you're going to get the chance to fix it or not. While everyone around me feels pity and sadness. Their emotions made me feel angry. On one hand it feels good to have people who care about you but on the other, you're mad because whether you're ok or not they get to continue. They get to move on with their life like nothing happened while you, you are stuck in this awful reality, and you can't detach from your body or your mind.
Trapped.