Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 19 and went to the doctor and told them something was wrong.

I was called an anorexic drunk and sent away.

Nobody cared about my uterus at 25 when I went to the doctor after hemorrhaging blood for months.

I was told to get an IUD so my husband would be happier.

Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 28 and I wasn’t getting pregnant.

The doctors told me to exercise more, eat less, and try IVF.

Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 29 and it would bleed so hard it would go through a menstrual cup, a pad, jeans, and pool on the floor in seconds.

I was told to try hormones, but nothing was wrong.

Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 31 and would hide on the ground in parking lots while it was stuck in contraction for hours, trying not to be seen.

I was told being a woman hurts.

Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 32 and a surgeon botched a surgery he was unqualified to do, and as my uterus contracted in post-op, he silenced my complaints by drugging me so hard I was unable to stay conscious for almost 12 hours.

I was told they had done everything they could.

Nobody cared about my uterus when at 32 they left my ovary in the wrong place and told me I was fine while I left bloody handprints through my house.

The doctor yelled at me on the phone not to be pushy.

Nobody cared about my uterus when I was 33 and a lawyer tried to help me get insurance coverage with an endometriosis specialist so that my third surgery, after 14 years of doctors, would be done by someone who could help.

Insurance denied all appeals. I paid in cash.

Nobody cared about my uterus when it was removed and I was only 33 years old and what they found was an organ beyond repair.

Wow. You had a hysterectomy? So, you didn’t want kids? That’s too bad, they said.

No. I wanted kids. And I wanted help.

And now, suddenly, you care about our uteruses?

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