The Life of A Normal Girl With MRKH

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My family doctor (who I've known for years) was less than worried about it, but did recognize that I was. He decided that it would be best to send me to a gynecologist to check if everything was okay. My mom and I agreed, and it was scheduled for two weeks later.  

School instantly turned into a battleground filled with mines. I became anxious about the appointment, and questions like "how do they even check down there?" and "Is it going to hurt?" rang in my head. It drove me crazy. Anyone who tried to talk to me realized that I didn't want to talk to them, so they didn't. I just became too nervous.  

Somehow the date was pushed back until way later, because of many scheduling issues and lack of things to do in my town, so I had less to worry about. Still the doctor's appointment haunted me.  

Looking back on it, I probably shouldn't have been that nervous. If I had to think about it, I would have called it a severe case of anxiety.  

So, little days later, I'm in the waiting room, filling out the mandatory questions with my mom. When I read the questions I realized how pathetically young I was to be going there. All of the questions were about being pregnant and being sexually active.  

When I got called in I praised god that it was a young woman doing the examination. I had no idea what to expect. Was she just literally going to look down there? Was she going to send a camera up there? (Dear god that isn't even possible! Get your head together!)  

To make a long story short, it hurt. It hurt really badly. By the time she was done I was about ready to pass out from the pain. My mom looked worried. When I told her what she was attempting do to, she went pale. I didn't understand it, but I did, somehow, know that it wasn't right.  

After the embarrassment sunk in, I realized something was wrong. She was only trying to put a Q-tip up there and she couldn't do it.  

We went into her office, where she attempted to explain in a professional way that she had no idea what she was looking at. I was growing fine and I was a healthy, maybe a bit underweight, so she just blamed it on being athletic and a late bloomer. She explained that maybe if I ate a little more I would have it. 

She wanted me to get a blood test to make sure if my hormones were on okay. My mom and I quickly agreed, and we went home with more concerns than before.  

My mom and I are very close, so we both discussed our concerns. I never talked about that one sentence that haunted me, "eat more."  

I was not okay with the way I looked. It's considered a normal teenage thing that parents and elders brush off very easily, but it was serious for me. My weight is/was something I did not like. I was five foot two and exactly one hundred pounds. I considered myself vastly overweight. I didn't eat much, and I covered it up with sports.  

Before that blood test, I ate as much as I could at that point. I wanted this problem gone, and at that point I just couldn't care about my health. I began eating more like my sister, who was about the same height but one hundred twenty pounds. Eventually, I gained fifteen pounds in four months.  

In between those months I also was worrying less about my grades. School became very hard for me. I was going through something strange and confusing. I still had no idea what it was, yet it worried me to death. At one point I was even failing a class.  

I write about it like it is nothing, and just plain words on a page makes it hard for another person to feel emotion in it unless you give the character life, but showing myself in this is hard and I can't give life to something that is hard for me to write. Trying to explain the vast emotional flux I was feeling is almost impossible. I was in a torrential downpour and no one understood what I was going through. 

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