One of the worst things of having MRKH is the difficulties in carrying on a conversation with other women about periods. It first began when my mom bought me a period book, and attempted to explain what "becoming a woman" is all about, from menstruation and cramps to sexual intercourse and having babies. Although this is generally a right of passage for most girls going through puberty, for me, it was not. Our doctor first assumed it was because of my size (I weigh anywhere from 86 to 97 pounds) and that I would develop slower or not have a period just because of my weight. He advised us to wait until I turned 16 to look into things further.
At 16, on December 16, 2010, I was diagnosed with MRKH. And now, when hearing other women carrying on about how bad the pains are, the fact that their tampon leaked, and the mood swings involved, I am not the least bit sympathetic. Most women I talk to aren't aware of my syndrome, and I do not advertise it. So for me to be unsympathetic, and even a little angry towards these women, is uncalled for. It is this insurmountable feeling of anger and of jealousy. It is frustrating for me to listen to these women complaining about their “normal” womanhood, while I sit and cry because I cannot ever experience any of the things they are so set against!
The hardest part of the conversation is after I’ve sat there and smiled and nodded and pretended to sympathize, yet never shared a “bad-period” story of my own, I start getting curious looks. Then the questions start, and I inform them of my syndrome. That is usually followed by a chorus of “You lucky b****!”, “I hate you!” and “That’s not fair!” These automatic and not-always-nice comments hurt me more than they would ever realize. They don’t seem to understand that because I do not have a uterus, and do not experience a monthly gift, that means that I cannot and will not ever carry a child of my own, something that most women take for granted.
At 16, on December 16, 2010, I was diagnosed with MRKH. And now, when hearing other women carrying on about how bad the pains are, the fact that their tampon leaked, and the mood swings involved, I am not the least bit sympathetic. Most women I talk to aren't aware of my syndrome, and I do not advertise it. So for me to be unsympathetic, and even a little angry towards these women, is uncalled for. It is this insurmountable feeling of anger and of jealousy. It is frustrating for me to listen to these women complaining about their “normal” womanhood, while I sit and cry because I cannot ever experience any of the things they are so set against!
The hardest part of the conversation is after I’ve sat there and smiled and nodded and pretended to sympathize, yet never shared a “bad-period” story of my own, I start getting curious looks. Then the questions start, and I inform them of my syndrome. That is usually followed by a chorus of “You lucky b****!”, “I hate you!” and “That’s not fair!” These automatic and not-always-nice comments hurt me more than they would ever realize. They don’t seem to understand that because I do not have a uterus, and do not experience a monthly gift, that means that I cannot and will not ever carry a child of my own, something that most women take for granted.