COMMUNITY STORIES
Not Boring. Not Normal: Why GYN Cancer Awareness Month Matters for Young Adults
This is not a cancer story. I have been unfortunate to have cancer touch my life in many ways, but fortunate not to have had the disease myself.
But this is a story about the gaps in care that plague young women, and the systemic failings in medical research, education, and advocacy for gynecologic health. Failings that also shape the experiences of trans men and non-binary people, who often face even greater stigma, erasure, and dismissal.
When I was 21, I was hospitalized with pelvic swelling and pain. My husband was on his second deployment to Afghanistan, and I was alone in Jacksonville, North Carolina. The doctors ran some tests, made sure I wasn’t dying, prescribed anti-inflammatories and oxycodone, and sent me home. “Follow up with a women’s care center” was my prescribed plan.
At 27, pregnant with my first child, I voiced ongoing pain through two trimesters. My OBGYN gave me a big smile and said cheerfully, “Mama, you’re boring! Everything looks perfectly healthy.” It was meant to be reassuring, a kind of pat on the back, before she rushed off to see dozens of other patients. But underneath that lightheartedness, my real concerns went unanswered. By 32 weeks, I rushed to labor and delivery twice, and was placed on bed rest until my due date.
At 29, after nearly a year of trying for a second child, my cycle was all over the place—sometimes 30 days, sometimes 90, sometimes 3. Every period was an excruciating blend of pain and swelling. After a quick exam, my OBGYN reassured me with a smile: “It’s probably just COVID stress. You’re boring!”
At 30, I ended up in the ER in the middle of the night, doubled over in pain eight weeks into my second pregnancy. Fifteen hours and half a dozen doses of fentanyl later, the ER staff finally called for an OB consult. Only then was an ultrasound performed, and six hours after that I was rushed into surgery for ovarian torsion caused by a cyst. The last thing I remember before going under was the on-call surgeon muttering, “This is bullshit, she should have been in surgery hours ago.” The cyst was benign, and my OBGYN’s cheery reassurance afterward was the same: “This was a normal cyst, you’re totally boring!”
For years, I lived with debilitating pain, swelling, mobility issues, and menstrual problems that disrupted every aspect of my life. But because my ultrasounds looked “boring,” I suffered on, believing this was just the cost of being a woman.
Finally, at 33, after another dismissive follow-up, I pushed harder. A referral to an endometriosis specialist led to laparoscopic surgery. I woke up from surgery and my surgeon explained what she had found. Endometriosis lesions were growing in at least two different areas of my abdomen, attaching themselves to organs and tissues that should never have been touched. She removed them, along with two boring ovarian cysts that had once again taken root. She also told me she suspected I had adenomyosis, a painful condition where endometrial tissue grows into the muscular wall of the uterus itself, causing heavy, irregular bleeding and relentless pain. Together, endometriosis and adenomyosis affect millions, yet both remain chronically understudied, misdiagnosed, and minimized for decades.
My surgeon’s words were a lifeline and a warning. She said, “When you and your husband are done growing your family, and if the pain and symptoms continue, the best course of action will likely be a full hysterectomy.” It was a future I thought I had time to consider.
But less than two months later, I knew I couldn’t wait. I messaged her, admitting that the pain had already returned, the symptoms were worsening, and I was exhausted from a cycle of suffering that had defined more than a decade of my life. I asked the question I feared would be dismissed: “Was it irrational to want a hysterectomy now?”
I braced myself for the familiar response—that I should wait it out, manage the symptoms, see if it “cleared up” on its own. That I was still “too young” to make such a life-altering decision. Instead, her words stunned me: “Absolutely not. If you are ready to do this surgery, we should do it.”
For the first time in this thirteen-year journey, a doctor not only believed me but trusted me to know my own body. I had never felt such relief.
Just one week later I was back in the operating room. This time, my surgeon removed my uterus, fallopian tubes, cervix, and surrounding ligaments. She also discovered and excised more patches of endometriosis that had been deeply embedded, and hidden from view in the first surgery. For the first time, the decision around my health was mine, and my future, and my pain were finally being taken seriously.
Through all of this, I know how fortunate I was: To have a husband who prioritized my health. To work in a place where my leadership gave me the support to recover. To have health insurance that covered three surgeries in five months with minimal out-of-pocket costs. To already have children, and not face the fear of never becoming a parent. And to have found a doctor who listened—who has dedicated her career to hearing patients with so-called ‘boring’ symptoms and trusting them when they say something is wrong. That combination of support, resources, and care is the exception, not the rule.
This is not a cancer story, but as we recognize Gynecologic Cancer Awareness Month, it’s a relevant one. My lived experience and the closure I found is not the reality for so many others. Too many young adults navigating a gynecologic cancer diagnosis go through the same hardships around dismissal and delayed diagnosis that I did, but without the safety nets that helped me make it through. They don’t have the supportive partner, or the boss who understands, or the insurance plan that covers the care they urgently need. They face not just the physical toll of the disease, but the crushing weight of medical bills, lost wages, isolation, and doctors who are unprepared or unwilling to take their concerns seriously. For them, what I endured as years of pain and disruption can mean something far more devastating: a later-stage diagnosis, fewer treatment options, and, too often, lives cut short.
The facts are sobering:
- Gynecologic cancers, including ovarian, uterine, cervical, vaginal, and vulvar, are increasingly being diagnosed in young adults–most often women, but also trans men and non-binary people.
- Early signs can look like “routine” issues: missed or irregular periods, painful cysts, bloating, pelvic pain, heavy bleeding.
- Because the medical system has long under-researched and underfunded women’s health, these symptoms are often dismissed as “normal” or “boring.”
- That dismissal can delay a diagnosis until treatment options are limited, or until it’s too late.
That is why I’m sharing this. Because the system was not built for us.
So if you are a young adult who sees an OBGYN please: advocate for more. More tests. More referrals. More second opinions. More questions.
We spend too much of our lives taught not to trust ourselves, not to trust our gut when something feels wrong. But our instincts matter. And when we lean on our community, family, friends, patient navigators, we can push for the care we deserve.
Because our lives don’t just depend on treatment. They depend on being trusted.