Period.

“Your uterus is not a normal uterus,” he shrugged.

I was vulnerable. Feet on stirrups. Butt slid down on a examination bed covered only by large tissue paper. Exposed.

Yet I could hear my voice’s steely determination not to be intimidated or punked into something I knew made little sense. I repeated myself. And told my gynecologist I was not taking the medicine anymore.

My confidence was backed by the voice of a nurse from the drug’s manufacturer who confirmed what I felt. “Your intuition is right. That is not what the medicine is supposed to do.”

Instead of reducing my periods and shrinking my uterine fibroids, I had experienced extremely light to extremely heavy bleeding for the past four weeks nonstop.

I reached out to my doctor’s office two weeks ago to ask if that was normal.

“No reason for concern,” he assured me then.

Here, two weeks later, he held that same air.

“I would like you to stay on the medicine,” as he casually laid out a web of future procedures.

“What happens if I don’t have the surgery,” I asked.

Hysterectomy eventually. Which meant infertility.

In addition to nonstop bleeding, the sonogram revealed my ovarian cist had ballooned while the fibroids remained roughly the same size.

I found out about my polyps, fibroids and cist four years ago. Then they were small and not bothering anything my doctor advised. We tried to remove the polyps during a day surgery to see if that helped with my heavy periods.

No luck. They had moved apparently since the Xray.

“What did you take out then?” I gawked.

Some of the pieces, she replied nonchalantly. She said they could do a more intrusive surgery to remove them. I declined.

I wasn’t prepared for failure. I wasn’t prepared for the dilation of my uterus to allow the surgical procedure and the cramping and bleeding it would cause.

I never returned to that gynecologist, a black woman who appeared to be near my age.

Even after she advised a follow-up xray was needed to keep an eye on everything to determine if things were growing or staying the same.

I was disheartened. The surgery was the day after my 30th birthday and offered hope of a life without the heavy periods I had grown accustomed to since my 25th year on this planet.

That hope was dashed.

My current doctor was the opposite. Older. White. Male. He asked me about kids and fussed at me for not having them sooner.

He asked me to lose weight. Despite the scale, I work out 4 to 5 times a week and eat healthy 80 to 90 % of the time.

I came to him for a totally different problem. Found him on ZocDoc and signed up for an appointment based on his rating as one of the best in Dallas.

Fast forward to today. Laid bare literally, legs open as the instrument inside me broadcasted my uterus on the screen. I told him I had never experienced anything like this. Nonstop cycles that kept going and going and going. There’s no doubt in my mind the medicine was the cause.

I’ve been crying. I’ve been praying. I had enough. Cramping. No idea what was going on with my body. No idea of when it would end. Not to mention the inconvenience and expense of having essentially four periods in a month.

My sentiment was backed by the surprising candor of the manufacturer’s nurse crackling through the phone early this week.

“Even if they want to keep you on the medicine, you have the right to say no,” she advised.

Those words. MY right. My voice didn’t waver.

And here he was saying that the medicine wasn’t necessarily responsible. Blaming my body, my uterus, my ovarian cist for the abnormalities.

“Pray about it and let me know,” he joked.

I had already prayed. And knew there was no way I could affront my body again by ingesting this medicine.

I’m seeking a new doctor. I’m also seeking natural ways to help stop this current cycle and then shrink the things inside. How to streamline my diet even more.

I’m praying for direction. I’m praying for healing. And I’m praying for the right resources. Praying for relief.

In the meantime, gospel music and scriptures have been a balm.

“All things work together for my good.”

“My body is blessed.”

“Waymaker. Miracle worker. Promise keeper.”

“Send the word.”

“All is well.”

Ase.

Amen.