The Secret Inside Me

Growing up, our Chicano household was loud and boisterous. There were eight of us in one small house with one small bathroom. All five of us girls shared one bedroom so there was not much privacy, if any. Watching my sisters go through their puberty was isolating—I was never on the receiving end of the secret whispers and knowing looks I saw my mother exchange with my sisters when they started menstruating. It made me feel “different” and excluded from that mother–daughter connection. My only comfort was that my sister, who was one year younger, had not started her period either, and we shared our fears that we were different from our other sisters.

In 1979, when I was a senior in high school, I approached my mother and assertively told her that I had made the decision to seek out a doctor as soon as I turned eighteen years old because I felt I needed to get answers for myself and my sister. I was positive that something was not right. From the time I was about twelve years old, I would question my mom about why I hadn’t started my period. She always shooed me away saying that I was a late bloomer and that every girl starts at different ages, some at nine, some at fourteen years old. However, I always knew something was not right. I just knew.

My mother was annoyed, but she said, “Alright mija, I’ve just been worried because you are a virgin and I don’t think I want anyone probing you down there.”

I remember telling her something like, “Mom, at this point, if that is what needs to happen for me to find out, then so be it. But can you come with me to the doctor? Please?”

She said, “I know; I’m worried, too and yes, I’ll go with you.” My mom and I hugged, and I could feel the worry and tension in our hug. I was not sure if it was coming from me or her.

The day of my gynecology appointment finally came. I had been looking forward to it for so long. This was my first experience as an adult other than having that grownup feeling the day I graduated from high school. The nurse told me to undress and to put on the paper gown and then left the room. I told my mother to stay sitting in her chair, that I did not want her to leave me for a second. The young doctor entered the room and introduced himself to us and asked me to sit on the examining table as he asked, “So, what is the reason for this visit?” I told him, “I want to know why I haven’t started my period. I feel like something is very wrong with me.”

He had me lay back and put my feet in the stirrups, instructing me to relax. I reached my hand out to my mother and she stood and came by my side and held my hand tightly.

He squeezed some gel on his gloved hand and again asked me to relax and to just let my knees drop back. His fingers with the cold gel probed and after a few seconds of probing he looked up and said,

“What the heck?! There’s no cervix?”

My mother and I looked at each other in confusion and then he said, “There’s nothing!”

He then stood up and said, “Please get dressed and the nurse will show you to my office.” He exited the room, leaving us to look at each other with tears in our eyes, stunned at his outbursts.

I will never forget his reaction or his words.

A sympathetic nurse led us into the doctor’s office and we sat down.

He looked at me and said, “You need to have surgery immediately or you will die of cancer.”

I turned to look at my mother and we both started tearing up. I asked, “Why? What do you mean? I have cancer?”

He said, “No you don’t. Not right now...