A Tale of Two Ovaries

A Tale of Two Ovaries begins…

For as long as I remember I have resented being a girl. I have never been very good at “Owning Pink” as my friend Lissa likes to call it. (And yes, that’s Lissa with two SS’s.)

I deduced having female reproductive organs was not a blessing, but a curse.  As a kid, I remember being told I couldn’t play with boys because I was a girl. I concluded that my involuntary ownership of a pair of ovaries placed me at a huge disadvantage. As it turns out, I was a victim in a SUPER-SIZED scam!

Getting my period for the first time was one of the least favorite times in my life. I was 13 years old, babysitting at my neighbor’s house, when I started to bleed. Big. Fat. Yukky, Yuk, Yukkerson! All the other girls in school couldn’t wait to get a front row seat on the period train but I dreaded the day womanhood would start.

Back in high school I remember making up new words to U2’s song Sunday Bloody Sunday. It became my period anthem. My main lyric re-write was “How long, how long will this curse go on? How long? How loooooong?”

Later, in my mid-twenties I remember making a painful trip to the ER in the passenger seat of my male date’s car.  Talk about embarrassing! Um, yeah, great date, a lot of fun and all. But I think there is an alien in my gut so, um, could you please take me to the hospital? NOW!

I don’t remember much from that day except the examination I received from a male gyno (we’ll call him MG).

The dreaded gynecological experience…

Up until this fateful day in the ER, all my gyno exams were performed by women. As Murphy’s Law would have it, I got a male doctor who obviously failed Bedside Manner 101 in medical school. So here I am, grimacing in pain with my legs in stirrups, hoo-ha completely exposed and lit from above with what seemed liked stadium lights from a football field. The whole  gynecological experience is mortifying. I would rather have a root canal than be exposed, spread eagle, to a complete stranger.

In an effort to lower my blood pressure and inject some levity into this uncomfortable and highly embarrassing situation, I smiled at MG and said in typical Christa fashion, “Hey, if you’re going to be down there, shouldn’t we head out for drinks first?”

With a stone cold judgmental face and condescending tone, the MG barked, “This is no time for jokes young lady!”

Humor Heals, didn’t he get the memo?

There I was, in the stirrups, thinking “That humor-deficient, stethoscope-wearing penis DIDN’T just say THAT? Did he? Apparently MG never read the Female Jokester Chronicles in medical school. If he had taken the time to check out Chapter 3, Humor Heals, he would have understood a fundamental rule all women know:

“One of the best times to utilize humor is when your gynecologist has one hand shoved up your crotch and the other hand pressing down on a soon-to-be-bursting cyst.”


Over the course of several years, I had 4 surgeries to help “fix” a common and often painful female condition called endometriosis. I spent years in pain. I spent hours of my life pissed off because I felt cursed. I felt like a victim scammed by God himself (I concluded a female God wouldn’t do this to me). I was probed, prodded, poked and processed in several Philadelphia area hospitals. I asked God “Why me? Why me?” over and over and again. I wish I had the mantra “Giggle On” in my vocabulary back then – I would have saved myself considerable misery.

Recently my female problems started up again. This time I am taking a different approach to managing the issue. I am not asking God “why me?” because now, I finally know why I am having this problem again.

My Ah-Ha! moment…

In the parking lot of my gynecologist’s office last week I had a HUGE ovarian mind-body-spirit revelation! This revelation didn’t come easy. My Ah-Ha! moment came only after I had a hissy fit and screamed a string of expletives at the sky. My rant would have made a longshoreman blush.

Here’s my revelation:All the pain, drama and bullshit I experienced while walking around in this girlie skin was caused by my very own thoughts.

It is all so simple. I thought I was cursed – so my body cursed me. I thought the pain controlled me, when in fact, I created the pain. AH-HAAAAAA!!!!

Wash, rinse, repeat.
And one more time.

So, now I promise to:

Accept the skin I am in.

Act in loving and nurturing ways toward myself.

Embrace my good health.

Raise a toast to my two ovaries.

Love myself unconditionally.

Nourish my female fabulousness.

P.S.  I still refuse to wear pink clothes, eat pink food or sip pink drinks. You can quote me on that!


  1. Nice I use to feel like my body just hated me then I realized it doesn’t hate me….God is just a man! Cheers from my ovaries to yours.

  2. No bigger killer than self loathing! Kudos to you for seeing through your victimization. Loving light to you on your journey.


  3. I’ve been in the opposite camp all my life – thanking God I was born female, even in the face of periods, childbirth, menopause and chin hairs. This gratitude grows with each passing day as I look at our male counterparts and realize that if men had to give birth, there might have been Cain, but definitely no Abel. We, my friend, would not be here.

    Don’t get me wrong – I love men, but I have a realistic view of their strengths and weaknesses.

    God knew to give women the task of bearing children and all that goes with it…there IS method to what appears to be (and often feels like) madness.

  4. You go girl! Now that’s Owning Pink for you, sista. Why should your girl parts be nice to you, when you’re always dissing them? You’d be surprised. Maybe now that you’re going to accept the skin you’re in and nourish your fabulous femaleness, you Yoni will be kinder to you. It’s pretty amazing stuff, all that Pinkness down there. You might find, one day, that you can be friends. I know it took me thirty-five years to do so, but I finally did it, and I’ve been happier ever since.

    Keeping it up, Pinky!
    Lissa Rankin

    Lissa Rankin, MDs last blog post..A Tale of Two Ovaries: (Reflections From A Reluctant Pinky)

  5. Hey Girly! Ever read “God on a Harley”? Very good, easy read, written mostly for women; however, even a knuckle dragger like me got something out of it. The principles taken from it are “Commandments to live by.” 1) Do not build walls, for they are dangerous. Learn to transcend them. 2) Live in the moment, for each one is precious and not to be squandered. 3) Take care of yourself, first and foremost (physically, emotionally, mentally). 4) Drop the ego. Be real. And watch what happens. 5) All things are possible all of the time. 6) Maintain universal flow. When someone gives, it is an act of generosity to receive. For in the giving, there is something gained.

    Keep on pluggin away, Darlin, and “Live generously…it does a world of good”

  6. Why do all our inherently favorite female activities and happenings have male dominated names? MENopause. GUYnecologist. MENstruation. What’s the deal with that? We need to apply some of lady-style monikers to a few of their favorite things. Sorry, I’m blanking on good examples, but y’know, come on!

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