The Waiting Room

written by Ella mordarski

Art by Ella mordarski

In the least deranged way possible, I’m a people watcher—have been since I was a child. I enjoy looking through townhouse windows and listening to dinner conversations. I’m by no means doing it to be creepy, in my mind, it’s an anthropological study into the lives of people around me. An innate trait I use to connect to and understand the world.

When I was 13 years old I got my first period. The menstrual cycle is one of those experiences women talk about with both pride and horror. “It means you have become a woman…but it fucking sucks.” I distinctly remember my stepmother-to-be handing me cheap grocery store flowers to congratulate me. I was both confused and embarrassed by this gesture. Why would I get flowers for bleeding?

Within 24 hours of my first cycle, the “normal” symptoms I had been taught about in health class turned dire. Lying on the floor, screaming in pain, I felt terrified and confused. Was this it? Is this the magical female experience I had been told about my whole life? Am I being overdramatic?

A few months later, I sat in an OB/GYN’s office for the first time. I was diagnosed with endometriosis: A reproductive disease where tissue, similar to the lining of the uterus, grows elsewhere. It’s commonly associated with pelvic pain, irregular periods, and infertility. For many, it takes an average of seven years to receive a confirmed diagnosis. However, with a strong family history and even stronger symptoms, I was lucky to receive mine early. I left my first visit with life-altering news and a fresh prescription for birth control.

My teenage years were often spent in the waiting room of an OB/GYN’s office. Stiff chairs, a strong smell of hand sanitizer, and dated magazines kept me company. I would watch the staff and other patients as entertainment.

In the years following my diagnosis, providers helped me find interventions to control my endometriosis. While there is no cure, thanks to modern medicine there are many ways to ease symptoms. At fourteen, I underwent laparoscopic surgery to remove some of the endometrial tissue and boost future fertility chances. Before moving to college I had an IUD placed, which aided in significantly reducing pelvic pain.

Although I spent a fair amount of time in waiting rooms, the actual waiting never got easier. When anxiety got the best of me, I always turned to my familiar comfort of people-watching. I began to notice just how diverse the waiting room population was. The room was a perfect example of all the unique facets of women's reproductive health. Some were there for pap smears, abortions, and contraception. Others were weeks away from becoming mothers or seeking fertility treatments. All of these people are waiting for different things, yet all of them have something in common—reproductive healthcare.

March is Endometriosis Awareness Month and for me, this year, the recognition seems more poignant than ever. Reproductive healthcare is becoming harder to receive. I look back at all the essential care I have received from the moment I was diagnosed and am nothing but thankful. There are women all over the world who need this care, but don’t have access to it. This is not just a healthcare issue, and it’s not just a women's issue. When reproductive healthcare is restricted, human rights are too.
So in honor of Endometriosis Awareness Month, I challenge you to watch people. Look around and note every single person who may need any kind of reproductive healthcare during their life. If you do the exercise correctly, you should notice it's everyone.