Ask Me About My Uterus

Ask Me About My Uterus Plot Summary

Introduction

In the sterile corridors of yet another hospital, a young woman clutches a meticulously organized binder filled with medical research, preparing to face doctors who have repeatedly dismissed her pain as psychological rather than physical. This moment encapsulates the extraordinary journey of Abby Norman, a writer and patient advocate whose battle with endometriosis transformed her from a promising dance student at Sarah Lawrence College into one of the most compelling voices in women's health advocacy. Born into a childhood marked by neglect and instability, Norman would later channel the self-reliance she developed as a survival mechanism into a formidable ability to advocate for herself and eventually thousands of others navigating a medical system designed to doubt women's pain. Norman's story illuminates the intersection of personal resilience and systemic failure, revealing how medical gaslighting continues to impact women's health outcomes in the 21st century. Through her journey, readers gain insight into the profound challenges faced by those with invisible chronic illnesses, particularly conditions affecting female bodies. More importantly, her evolution from isolated patient to powerful advocate demonstrates how individual suffering, when articulated with precision and courage, can catalyze collective change. Norman's refusal to be silenced—despite childhood trauma, despite medical dismissal, despite the loss of her dreams—offers a masterclass in turning personal pain into purpose and isolation into community.

Chapter 1: Childhood Shadows: Growing Up Without Maternal Care

Abby Norman's childhood unfolded in the shadows of her mother's consuming eating disorder. Growing up in a trailer in rural Maine, young Abby navigated a household where her mother's anorexia and bulimia dominated the emotional landscape. The refrigerator was often empty, not from poverty but from her mother's complex relationship with food. Blankets covered the windows, creating what Abby would later describe as "its own kind of bizarre sensory deprivation; time and place, day and night, were simply lost" to a child trying to make sense of her surroundings. Despite the material and emotional deprivation, Abby's mother inadvertently provided one crucial gift: unrestricted access to books. "While Mum may have denied me some food and some love, she never denied me a book," Abby recalls. This early exposure to literature became both escape and education, nurturing an intellectual curiosity that would later serve as Abby's most powerful tool for self-advocacy. She developed a voracious reading habit, devouring everything from fiction to medical texts, finding in books the stability and answers that adults in her life couldn't provide. The boundaries between mother and daughter were disturbingly blurred. Her mother insisted on washing Abby's hair until she was nearly a teenager and applied makeup to her elementary school face, actions that reflected an uncomfortable need for control rather than nurturing care. Meanwhile, Abby watched her mother's body deteriorate from self-starvation—ribs protruding severely, once-beautiful black hair thinned and cropped close to her skull, face hollowed with eyes sunk deep into their sockets. This visual education in physical suffering would later inform Abby's understanding of her own body's betrayal. When Abby was twelve, her mother was hospitalized for severe malnutrition, weighing approximately as much as an eight-year-old child. This crisis marked the end of Abby's life with her parents, though she didn't know it at the time. She moved in with her grandmother, beginning what would become years of unstable living arrangements. Despite the chaos of her home life, Abby maintained exceptional academic performance, intuitively recognizing that education represented her best chance at creating a different future for herself. This determination to excel academically despite personal turmoil foreshadowed the resilience she would later need to navigate the medical system. By sixteen, Abby made the extraordinary decision to pursue legal emancipation, a process requiring her to prove she could support herself financially and emotionally. Working with a lawyer named Mr. Fenig, she prepared a compelling case that demonstrated both her maturity and the untenable nature of her home situation. On June 19, 2007, in a hearing that lasted less than twenty minutes, Abby Norman became legally responsible for herself. This unprecedented step toward independence reflected both the severity of her childhood circumstances and her remarkable capacity for self-advocacy—a skill that would become essential in her later battle for medical recognition.

Chapter 2: The Path to Independence: Emancipation and Education

The path to legal emancipation required Abby to develop skills far beyond those of typical teenagers. At sixteen, she methodically called every attorney in the county until she found Mr. Fenig, who agreed to take her case. The process demanded that she articulate a clear plan for self-sufficiency, explaining how she would support herself financially while completing high school. Her written statement was so eloquent that Mr. Fenig initially suspected an adult had authored it, unaware that Abby had been effectively functioning as her own parent for years. The court date fell inconveniently during her final exams, a scheduling conflict that highlighted the collision between her academic ambitions and her struggle for basic stability. The emancipation hearing itself proved anticlimactic. Abby arrived at the courthouse prepared for confrontation, only to discover that her parents wouldn't contest the petition. Her father briefly appeared but left without objection, while her mother remained absent entirely. "All you have to do now is go in there, read your statement, and keep from crying," Mr. Fenig advised. Twenty minutes later, Abby emerged legally independent, a status that granted her freedom but also confirmed the painful reality that her parents had effectively abandoned their responsibilities long before the court made it official. With her legal status resolved, Abby focused intensely on her education, viewing academic achievement as her ticket to a better future. Despite the chaos of her personal life, she maintained her position as fifth in her class while serving as class president. She secured housing with a woman named Estelle for her senior year, creating enough stability to concentrate on college applications. When her acceptance letter from Sarah Lawrence College arrived, it represented more than academic recognition—it was validation that she could create a future different from her past. Her English teacher's surprised reaction—"You did it. You got in. You actually got in"—revealed how many had doubted her capacity to overcome her circumstances. Sarah Lawrence College became Abby's first true home. The prestigious liberal arts institution offered not just education but community, structure, and mentorship she had never experienced. She embraced the dance program despite limited formal training, finding joy in the intellectual aspects of choreography and critique. Under the guidance of Sara Rudner, former muse to choreographer Twyla Tharp, Abby discovered new ways of inhabiting her body with confidence and purpose. The college's seminar-style classes and one-on-one conferences with professors nurtured her natural intellectual curiosity, while friendships with peers like her roommate Ali provided emotional support she had rarely known. For eighteen precious months, Abby thrived in this environment, experiencing what it felt like to be valued for her mind rather than defined by her difficult past. She developed close relationships with professors who recognized her potential and encouraged her intellectual pursuits. Her psychology professor Elizabeth became a particularly important mentor, gently guiding Abby as she explored topics like maternal attachment that resonated with her own history. This period represented Abby's first taste of normalcy and belonging—a foundation of happiness that made the health crisis that followed all the more devastating.

Chapter 3: When Bodies Betray: The Onset of Chronic Illness

The first signs appeared during what Abby would later describe as "the worst shower of my life." A sudden, stabbing pain in her abdomen left her dizzy and nauseated, forcing her to abandon her morning routine and stumble back to her dorm room. Her roommate Rebecca found her curled in bed instead of attending class, an unusual occurrence for the academically dedicated student. Though Abby initially dismissed the episode as a passing illness, the pain persisted and intensified over the following days, marking the beginning of a health crisis that would permanently alter the trajectory of her life. After a week of worsening symptoms, Abby found herself in a New York emergency room, alone and terrified. The attending physician immediately assumed her distress was related to sexual activity, a presumption Abby firmly corrected by informing him she was a virgin. This interaction foreshadowed what would become a pattern in her medical care: doctors making assumptions based on her age and gender rather than listening to her actual experience. Discharged with antibiotics and instructions to drink cranberry juice, Abby returned to her dorm with her condition unresolved and her pain unabated. As her symptoms escalated, Abby made the difficult decision to take a medical leave from Sarah Lawrence. What she initially believed would be a temporary pause to address her health became a permanent departure from the life she had worked so hard to create. Returning to Maine with nowhere else to go, she consulted with Dr. Paulson, a gynecologist who ordered multiple ultrasounds before recommending diagnostic laparoscopic surgery. The procedure revealed a large "chocolate cyst" that had twisted her fallopian tube backward behind her uterus, along with endometriosis on the wall behind her uterus. Rather than removing the cyst and potentially affecting Abby's fertility, Dr. Paulson drained it and wrapped it with surgical fabric, assuring her she would begin to feel better while warning the cyst might return. The physical deterioration happened with alarming speed. Abby lost nearly fifty pounds as eating became increasingly difficult due to constant nausea. Her once-energetic body, which had danced for hours each day at Sarah Lawrence, now struggled with basic movements. The pain in her pelvis was relentless, accompanied by extreme fatigue that made even simple tasks challenging. Perhaps most disorienting was the cognitive impact—the "brain fog" that made it difficult for Abby to concentrate on reading or writing, threatening the intellectual identity that had been her anchor throughout childhood trauma. Living in a small apartment in Maine and struggling with mounting medical bills, Abby faced not only physical suffering but profound grief. The contrast between her vibrant life at Sarah Lawrence and her current reality was stark and painful. The dream she had fought so hard to achieve—a prestigious education that would be her pathway to stability—had slipped away, replaced by a medical mystery that doctors seemed unable or unwilling to solve. Yet even as her body betrayed her, Abby's mind remained determined. She began keeping detailed notes about her symptoms, tracking patterns and researching possible causes—early signs of the self-advocacy that would eventually become her hallmark.

Chapter 4: Medical Gaslighting: The Battle to Be Believed

"You were probably molested as a child and this is just your body's way of trying to handle it." These words, spoken by Dr. Wagstaff during one of Abby's many medical consultations, exemplify the dismissive approach she repeatedly encountered. Despite physical evidence of endometriosis found during her surgery, many physicians seemed determined to attribute her symptoms to psychological causes rather than investigating physical explanations. This pattern of dismissal—what Abby would later recognize as medical gaslighting—became as debilitating as the physical symptoms themselves, eroding her confidence and delaying proper treatment. The medical establishment's response to Abby's pain followed a disturbingly predictable pattern for women with chronic conditions. Her articulate self-advocacy was often interpreted as evidence of hypochondria rather than intelligence. When she arrived at appointments with research about her symptoms, doctors frequently responded with condescension, suggesting she was "Googling too much" or trying to diagnose herself. One physician mockingly praised her for being "very clever" while implying she was fabricating or exaggerating her symptoms. These interactions left Abby questioning her own perceptions, wondering if perhaps her pain was indeed psychological despite her certainty that it was physical in nature. Abby's research led her to understand that this dismissal of women's pain has deep historical roots. From the ancient Greek concept of "wandering womb" to the 19th-century diagnosis of "hysteria," women's physical complaints have routinely been attributed to emotional or psychological causes. She discovered the story of Gilda Radner, whose ovarian cancer was misdiagnosed for ten months while doctors suggested her symptoms were due to anxiety, depression, or taking too many vitamins. When Radner was finally diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, her response was telling: "Thank God, finally someone believes me!" Similarly, writer Karen Armstrong suffered from undiagnosed temporal lobe epilepsy for fifteen years while doctors attributed her symptoms to psychological causes. The subjective nature of pain created additional barriers to diagnosis. When asked to rate her pain from 1 to 10 in emergency rooms, Abby found herself overthinking her answers, wondering if she was "failing the test" by choosing the wrong number. Her mother had instilled in her a tendency to downplay pain "so that I wouldn't inconvenience other people," making it difficult to communicate the severity of her suffering in a way that medical professionals would take seriously. She noticed that when her boyfriend Max later accompanied her to appointments and corroborated her symptoms, doctors suddenly seemed more attentive and concerned—confirmation that her suffering alone wasn't enough to inspire action. Despite these obstacles, Abby persisted in seeking answers. She began conducting her own research, using her access to medical journals through her job at a hospital to learn about conditions that might explain her symptoms. When she discovered information about endometriosis and chronic appendicitis, many pieces of her medical puzzle began to fall into place. The specificity of her pain at McBurney's point—the anatomical location of the appendix—combined with her other symptoms, suggested to Abby that her appendix might be involved, possibly affected by endometrial tissue. This theory was met with skepticism by most doctors, who considered it far-fetched or dismissed it as another example of her supposed hypochondria.

Chapter 5: Becoming Her Own Doctor: Self-Education as Survival

Faced with a medical system that repeatedly failed to take her pain seriously, Abby turned to self-education as a survival strategy. Her position in the medical records department of a hospital provided unexpected advantages, giving her access to medical journals, textbooks, and the everyday language of healthcare that most patients never encounter. During breaks, she would slip into the hospital's small medical library, methodically researching conditions that might explain her symptoms and copying articles to study later. This immersion in medical literature became both intellectual lifeline and practical necessity—if doctors wouldn't solve the mystery of her illness, she would have to do it herself. Abby approached her research with scientific rigor, creating detailed records of her symptoms and tracking patterns that might reveal underlying causes. She wrote what she called a "History and Physical" of herself, using proper medical terminology and formatting it exactly as a doctor would. This document included everything from her pain locations to her menstrual history, creating a comprehensive picture that no single doctor had bothered to assemble. The process reflected both Abby's natural analytical abilities and her desperate need to make sense of what was happening to her body. "I focused on unraveling the scientific basis of my situation so that I could feel detached from it," she explains, describing how intellectual understanding helped her process her physical experience. Her research led her to focus on two potential diagnoses: endometriosis, which had been mentioned almost in passing during her first surgery, and chronic appendicitis, a controversial condition many doctors didn't believe existed. The specificity of her pain at McBurney's point—the anatomical location of the appendix—combined with her other symptoms, suggested to Abby that her appendix might be involved, possibly affected by endometrial tissue. When she presented this theory to Dr. Wagstaff, he responded with a mix of admiration and doubt: "You're either brilliant or the most well-educated hypochondriac I've ever met." Despite his skepticism, he agreed to perform another laparoscopic surgery, if only to rule out her theories. The vindication came when surgery revealed exactly what Abby had predicted—a chronically inflamed appendix with adhesions. The appendix was "extremely long and densely adherent," confirming that the infection had been ongoing for years, just as she had theorized. This discovery validated not just her specific diagnosis but her entire approach to self-advocacy. It also highlighted how many years of suffering could have been prevented had doctors listened to her earlier. The experience transformed her relationship with the medical establishment, reinforcing her belief that patients must be active participants in their care rather than passive recipients of doctors' judgments. As her health gradually improved following the appendectomy, Abby continued her research into endometriosis, recognizing that this condition remained a significant factor in her ongoing symptoms. She discovered that despite affecting approximately one in ten women, endometriosis research receives far less funding than conditions affecting similar numbers of people. The prevailing theory about its cause—retrograde menstruation—dates back to the 1920s and has never been conclusively proven. This lack of scientific progress reflected broader patterns of neglect in women's health research, where conditions primarily affecting female bodies receive disproportionately less attention and funding.

Chapter 6: Finding Voice: Transforming Personal Pain into Advocacy

What began as personal journaling evolved into a powerful platform for advocacy when Abby started sharing her experiences online. After the Huffington Post published one of her pieces about endometriosis, she was flooded with messages from women thanking her for articulating experiences they had struggled to explain to doctors, partners, and even themselves. The refrain "Thank you for making me feel like I'm not crazy" appeared in countless emails, confirming that Abby's individual struggle reflected a much broader pattern of women's pain being dismissed or psychologized. This realization transformed her understanding of her suffering—what had seemed like a cruel interruption of her promising future became the foundation for work that helped others. Inspired by these responses, Abby created "Ask Me About My Uterus," an online platform where people could share their experiences with reproductive health issues. The site quickly grew into a community of thousands, providing both validation and information to those navigating similar medical journeys. Through curating these stories, Abby identified patterns in how people described their experiences with chronic pain and medical dismissal. When she analyzed the most frequently used words across all submissions, she found that after "pain" and "doctor," the third most common word was "time"—reflecting the years lost to suffering and searching for answers. Five years after her diagnosis, Abby was invited to speak at the Endometriosis Foundation of America's annual medical conference. Rather than focusing her talk on the doctors in the room, Abby spoke directly to fellow patients, acknowledging their struggles and validating their experiences. This approach resonated powerfully, with many women approaching her afterward in tears, grateful that someone had finally spoken to and about them rather than treating them as medical curiosities or problems to be solved. The conference also connected Abby with leading researchers and advocates in the field, expanding her understanding of the condition beyond her personal experience and providing new avenues for her advocacy work. Through interviews with other patients, Abby discovered the universality of certain experiences—the struggle to articulate pain to dismissive doctors, the years spent seeking a diagnosis, and the isolation that comes with chronic illness. She found particular resonance in the stories of patients from marginalized communities, who faced even greater barriers to care. Social epidemiologist Jhumka Gupta described endometriosis as a social justice issue, calling it a "social pathology" rooted in "gender inequality, social injustice, and attitudes of society that keep women and girls from fully reaching their potential." Abby's advocacy extended to challenging the framing of endometriosis as exclusively a "women's disease." She highlighted the experiences of transgender patients like Ren, who found medical resources about endometriosis "dehumanizing" because they consistently referred to it as a woman's condition. She also uncovered case studies of cisgender men diagnosed with endometriosis, further challenging conventional understanding of the disease. By broadening the conversation beyond traditional gender boundaries, Abby created more inclusive spaces for all people affected by the condition, regardless of how they identified.

Chapter 7: Reframing Female Pain: Challenging Medical Patriarchy

Throughout history, women's pain has been systematically dismissed, misunderstood, and misdiagnosed by the medical establishment. Abby discovered that her struggle to have her endometriosis symptoms taken seriously was part of a much larger pattern dating back centuries. From the concept of "wandering uterus" in ancient times to the diagnosis of "hysteria" in the 19th century, women's physical complaints have often been attributed to emotional or psychological causes rather than legitimate medical conditions. This historical context helped Abby understand that her experience reflected systemic issues rather than personal failings—she wasn't being "difficult" or "dramatic" when advocating for herself; she was pushing against centuries of medical patriarchy. The medical establishment's approach to menstruation itself reveals deeply entrenched biases. Dr. Melanie Marin, a gynecologic surgeon Abby interviewed, challenged the notion that monthly periods are "natural," pointing out that "until the past century or so, women couldn't control their own fertility. For most of human history, monthly periods for thirty or forty years were not the norm." Yet many women with debilitating menstrual symptoms are told their suffering is simply "part of being a woman." This normalization of female pain creates barriers to proper diagnosis and treatment, as conditions like endometriosis are dismissed as merely "bad periods" rather than serious medical issues requiring intervention. Clinical research has systematically excluded women, often citing the "complexities of the menstrual cycle" as a barrier. A review of sports and exercise research studies found that women represented only 39% of participants, while drug trials have historically focused primarily on male subjects. This exclusion has real consequences—medications tested primarily on men may work differently in women or cause unexpected side effects. It wasn't until 1993 that the National Institutes of Health mandated the inclusion of women in federally funded research, a shockingly recent correction to centuries of gender-biased science. The knowledge gaps created by this exclusion continue to affect diagnosis and treatment of conditions primarily affecting female bodies. The case of "Anna O."—one of Sigmund Freud's most famous patients—exemplifies the medical establishment's approach to women's symptoms. Though Anna (whose real name was Bertha Pappenheim) experienced physical symptoms including fainting spells, they were attributed to emotional repression rather than potential neurological issues. Similarly, writer Karen Armstrong suffered from undiagnosed temporal lobe epilepsy for nearly fifteen years while doctors insisted her symptoms were manifestations of anxiety. When she was finally diagnosed, her neurologist was outraged that no one had ordered a simple EEG that could have identified her condition years earlier. These historical examples helped Abby recognize that her experience was part of a continuing pattern rather than an isolated incident. Through her research and advocacy, Abby began to challenge the patriarchal assumptions underlying women's health care. She recognized that "saying that endometriosis (like hysteria before it) is a disease exclusive to women, or even of uteruses, isn't just noninclusive—it's not true." By questioning these assumptions and sharing her own experience, she contributed to a growing movement to reframe how female pain is understood and treated. Her work emphasized that women's health issues are not niche concerns but fundamental aspects of human health that deserve equal research attention, funding, and clinical care. This perspective shift represents not just a medical necessity but a matter of social justice—recognizing that the right to appropriate health care extends to all bodies, regardless of gender.

Summary

Abby Norman's journey embodies the profound resilience required when navigating both personal trauma and systemic failures. From a childhood marked by neglect to her battle with a medical system designed to doubt women's pain, she repeatedly faced circumstances that might have broken a less determined spirit. Yet through each challenge, Abby found ways to transform suffering into strength, ultimately creating meaning from experiences that initially seemed only destructive. Her story illuminates how self-advocacy can become not just a survival strategy but a pathway to helping others, as she channeled her hard-won knowledge into resources that validated countless other patients' experiences. The most powerful lesson from Abby's journey is that legitimacy comes from within, not from external validation. When doctors dismissed her pain as psychological, when her education was interrupted by illness, when relationships strained under the weight of her health challenges—Abby continued to trust her own experience and seek answers. This unwavering self-trust, combined with rigorous research and articulate communication, eventually led to diagnoses that saved her life. For anyone navigating chronic illness, invisible disabilities, or systems designed to doubt them, Abby's example offers both practical strategies and the profound reassurance that persistence in seeking truth is never wasted, even when the path is longer and more arduous than it should be.

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Abby Norman

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