“Those Might be Testes” (part 2)

By 17, we had never done any traveling and OKC felt massive. Even then I knew ‘city life’ wasn’t for me.

It was busy and loud; it made my already-overwhelmed brain explode with nerves and anticipation.

I never had any medical issues, so this was unsettling, and I think I was still in disbelief.

When your baby is born, the medical team checks off a lot of boxes to ensure a healthy child. Unfortunately, some things you don’t know until circumstances force you to figure it out.

There was no way to know what was or wasn’t developing inside my tiny body, especially since it wasn’t detrimental to my life. (My mom would laugh because I was not a tiny baby. I was a chunk and she always said as much). My parents had no way to prepare for this season of life for themselves, much less me.

The first trip to OKC was just my mom and me, that I recall. At this point we were just hoping for a diagnosis, a plan. Something to make it all make sense. Trying to remember my state of mind at this time is difficult because several years following I did everything to forget.

The OU Medical Center is the first stop. The building wasn’t unlike Tulsa with the several floors and hospital smell, I had no desire to be there.

When we get called back to the specialist’s office. She, however, was not like my Tulsa OB/GYN, everything about her was bigger. Her hands were not delicate, and her demeanor was cold. She had me do the same sort of exams the first doctor required, but this was exceptionally uncomfortable and made me never want to see an OB/GYN again.

During this visit, vials of blood were taken to check hormone levels and other things pertinent to determining my questionable development.

I was sent for an MRI because the multiple ultrasounds were not revelatory.

I’m not one of those people that has a calendar of my life memorized with all the dates and time, but I know we had to go back to OKC to get results and discuss the next steps not too long after the first visit. Now that I’ve been driving for a while and understand the distance from Tulsa to Oklahoma City, I imagine that was a nuisance.

This couldn’t be explained over the phone, it elicited too many questions.

We arrive back to the terrifying doctor’s office who could be delivering your death certificate or a new life, you’d never know. As an adult I appreciate the dry, get-to-the-point personality, but I was a confused kid.

So, right to the point she was. The doctor said, “we believe you may have underdeveloped testes, but definitely must have an ovary because you have developed like a female otherwise.”

…testicles?…boy parts?! But I’m a GIRL!

Listen… I was a 17-year-old girl with a boyfriend who I guarantee did not want me to take that news home. Imagine my 17-year-old face staring blankly, trying not to laugh-cry in hysterics.

We didn’t do that “trading genders thing” in my house.

So, I asked how we confirm this, and she proceeds to explain to me it was not necessary yada yada yada…I didn’t hear the rest.

If you ever wondered about me being stubborn and opinionated, yes always. That’s how my mother raised me. So, I told the doctor they better do anything to confirm what they just said.

She went into detail about the simple procedure with a tiny scope to explore further inside my abdomen to see whatever the scans couldn’t pick up.

I was ready to be sliced right down the middle and filleted like a fish if it meant they could diminish my dread.

I was set up for a laparoscopy on Valentine’s day 2006, three months before my “should be” high school graduation and five months before my 18^th birthday.

I did go home flustered with that news. I had no idea how my boyfriend would react because I didn’t even know how to react.

I remember sitting in the car with him, and he knew I had come from OKC with news, but the tears were falling uncontrollably. I didn’t know if he was going to end it all or be afraid to touch me. Maybe he would be embarrassed. I had so many thoughts racing in my mind.

As it turned out, he was supportive throughout the entire situation. After I told him what the doctor said that day, he never made me feel disgusting or unwanted. He didn’t treat me different.

The day came for the laparoscopy; my parents, and boyfriend came. I don’t remember anything until I went back to the room and my dad had a Valentine bear for me (I still have it) flowers and a heart of chocolates from my boyfriend and a ton of pain from a tiny little camera tearing through my abdominal wall.

I left that day with a little more of my dignity intact, a diagnoses and a scar inside my belly button. I did not have testicles. I was not one iota a male, but I was continuing to battle feeling completely feminine.

They said I am 1 in 5,000 born with Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser syndrome (MRKH).

The next appointment doesn’t make me feel better. I left the office with feelings I have no idea how to convey.

Part three, meet my BFF, and find out why the doctors found it appropriate to give me prosthetic male anatomy. My mom tried to help, but it really backfired.

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/23380-mayer-rokitansky-kuster-hauser-syndrome

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