My mom was diagnosed with fibroids in her 20s. Back then, she was an immigrant from Uganda with no money and no insurance. At the time, she didn’t have kids but wanted to have them one day. So, she went to a clinic after feeling a lump in her pelvis, worried it was cancer — and petrified she may never be able to conceive. It turned out to be fibroids.
By the time I got home, I was bleeding so heavily I had to put myself in the bathtub. I was passing clots. Did I need to go to the emergency room? Thankfully, I texted that question to my friends, who answered with an immediate YES. What I hoped would be a short visit in the emergency room quickly became an hours-long process filled with IVs, physical exams, ultrasounds and a smattering of questions. I was admitted at 10 p.m. and discharged hours later, at 3 a.m.