Experiencing a heavy period is usually uncomfortable, but having it hit while performing on stage in front of an audience of five hundred people takes it to another level. It was one of those moments where everything felt exaggerated; the bright lights felt glaring, the audience blurred before my eyes, and the world tilted dangerously. A sudden gush of blood caught me off guard, making my knees weak and sweat trickle down my back as I struggled to deliver my lines. While the show went on, inside I was battling an internal crisis, fully aware that something was terribly wrong.
The reality set in the next morning when I found myself hobbling to the doctor’s office, still bleeding and feeling intense pain. My usual menstrual cycles were light, and with a contraceptive coil, it made little sense to be enduring this level of suffering. After weeks of waiting, I finally went for a scan, only to be informed by the sonographer that I had fibroids—non-cancerous tumors in and around the uterus. The diagnosis felt like a double blow; not only was I dealing with physical pain, but the casual way the sonographer said, “very common for people like you,” sparked panic and rage within me.
Curiosity led me to dive into the depths of Google. I learned that fibroids are incredibly common; around 80% of women will experience them by the age of 50, and that the incidence is notably higher in Black women—a disparity that remained largely unexplained. During a follow-up appointment, my doctor described the fibroids using fruit analogies: a kiwi, a couple of strawberries, and a tiny blueberry. It was a bizarre way to reference conditions causing my heavy bleeding, primarily because the fibroids increased blood flow to the womb, disrupting its normal function. However, when I approached my doctor about the lack of research into this issue, his remark to me was dismissive—perhaps I should take on that responsibility myself.
Frustration drove me to seek private medical care, but my experiences were disheartening. One doctor brushed me off, dismissively prescribing household roles like cooking dinner and suggesting I consider starting a family, while another nonchalantly proposed a hysterectomy as a solution. No one seemed to truly hear my pain, and after months of bleeding for ten days each cycle, I found myself exhausted and feeling invisible. On a packed bus ride home, the bleeding began anew, and I felt utterly alone in my struggle.
Then came an unexpected source of hope—social media. My sister encouraged me to search for support online, and one night, while scrolling through Instagram, I discovered a Black female gynecologist named Dr. Christine Ekechi, who radiated calm authority. When I finally met her, she offered what I had longed for: someone who listened. She carefully mapped out my fibroids, laid out various treatment options, and helped me feel seen and validated. For the first time, my pain felt acknowledged, and I began to regain a sense of control over my circumstances.
But my journey to healing had more challenges ahead. On the set of a TV show one afternoon, I caught a glimpse of my reflection and was startled by a noticeable bulge in my costume. Watching the footage later, I hardly recognized myself; I looked as though I were five months pregnant. It was shocking to see how one particularly large fibroid had grown, now resembling a mango, threatening my hopes of conception. Ultimately, surgery became my only option to reclaim my body and health. Dr. Ekechi performed a myomectomy with great care, and this time, my body responded positively to the intervention. My journey was far from over, but I felt a renewed sense of hope and empowerment.
