Opinion: Being a chronically ill young adult is hard enough. Finding information about my fertility is even harder
I recently turned 25. I should be taking risks, jet-setting with other Barbies, and flouncing around in tiny tops. Instead, this chronically ill Barbie spent her first four days of 25 in a scene from “Oppenheimer.”
On my birthday, I spent nine hours convening with specialists three hours away from home. I contemplated my mortality as we decided which of my overlapping chronic health conditions is the worst so we can make the most of the final year I’m on my parents’ health insurance. The next day, my boyfriend and I of two years broke up. The following day, something else broke: my foot. How did I break it, you ask? Wouldn’t we all like to know. The day after that I enjoyed a hysteroscopy to investigate 90 days of unexplained vaginal bleeding. Turns out the inside of my uterus looked like a rotten tomato forced through a cheese grater.
