From common cold to breast cancer

I was reading an article this afternoon, about how the stigma about women's menstruation, periods, is a cause of serious gynecological problems that many women experience further along in their life, in America.

As I was reading it, I remembered two things, the first being that I just had a dream last night, in which I was having my period, as I am now, ( I have a fullmoon cycle), and I jumped into a swimming pool at an evening party, and spread clots of blood in it. No one noticed, of course, until much later, when there was light. And no one could determine who had caused it, since it had been night time, but I knew, and I was ashamed, and disgusted, as I looked on at the streaks of blood running through the pool, shallow end to deep end.

I usually have very lucid dreams. In fact, Lorenzo really thinks I should try magic mushrooms, as a result, and tap into what could well be a natural gift- the ability to have tremendously vivid experiences in this alternate dimension we offhandedly call dreams.

The second thought crossed my mind, at precisely the moment i read the passage below, which talks about the significance of including men, and fathers into the conversation on menstruation.

"Malinski, who has also tried, with less success, to get men to sign up for a puberty workshop with their daughters, says that involving fathers in the conversation on menstruation is a key to erasing that unease. “Men being able to talk to their daughters about that would be incredibly empowering and normalizing.” -Lisa De Bode

I had told my dad that I had a persistent cold and needed to see a doctor. He obliged and soon we were at the Aga Khan hospital checking in, and I was in this pervy middle-aged man's office alone, while dad waited outside. The truth is I was not there because of a cold. I was there because of my excruciating menstrual cramps, and suspiciously long periods, and I needed to seek some professional assistance. Panadol couldn't do it any more.

The most absurd thing, besides the fact that I had to lie to my dad, about a very natural thing- periods- was that I left the doctors office with a diagnosis of breast lumps and urgent instructions to undergo further examinations and eventually even had surgery. Now....here i was, telling dad, I am going into the doc's for some sore throat/cold watchumacall-it...and I come out and have to tell him,
"Ok, eh, dad, so they found breast lumps and I might need surgery".

Dad didn't say anything, fortunately, but it was all on his face...how did things turn up from cold to possible breast cancer in minutes?????

Ahh...its all about that shame. That shame surrounding menstruation, periods, rolling, auntie flo, florider, and all the other names we have conjured to obscure the experience as much as possible from the rest of the XY population.

Now, as if matters couldn't have been worse, I was also feeling absolutely VIOLATED by that pervy doctor, who had a list of the lewdest questions to ask me when I told him that I was having irregular and painful periods, (digging incessantly into a sexual history that I didn't even have, and going only short of charging that I was lying). He was not content with me telling him that I was a virgin, and had some issues with my menstrual cycle. He was also trying to prod for some type of STI history....if I can recall correctly, and then out of the blue, he said, he needed to check me for breast lumps. I was reluctant, but he said it was protocol, and I was powerless.

Checking for breast lumps meant pressing and pinching fingers liberally over , under, into my breasts for what seemed ages.

I hated it.

I hated him.

He then said that he needed to do some type of swab in my vagina for God Knows What ...but for that procedure he would call a female nurse to be present.

It was still horrible.

This was my first really invasive medical procedure, and the doc had already acted suspiciously enough, and I only thought his old ass was being a pervert!

I just remember having to spread my legs further and further apart, and being urged to relax. Relax? How on earth could I relax?

Meanwhile, through all this, I had no agency, and no parental assist.

Dearest dad was outside in the waiting area, thinking all I had was a cold.