— Chapters appear as excerpts only. —
— Full chapters will appear in the printed published book. —
A benefit of my mom being on mother’s allowance was that I was now entitled to free dental care. I hadn’t seen a dentist since we lived in British Columbia, when I was about eight years old. I knew I had cavities because there had been evenings on the farm when I experienced some very painful toothaches. My mom had suggested using cloves and that seemed to help a little. We had Aspirin in the cupboard, so I sometimes took a pill. I knew that a few of my fillings had chipped off, too. Luckily, none of the toothaches was constant, they came and went. I had to be careful when I ate chocolate bars or any foods with sugar, as sweets often set off the pain.
I had several appointments with the dentist within a time span of two months and it was even more stressful than my dental work in BC. I tried not to think about it, but the reality of going through more pain was difficult to put out of my mind. The night before an appointment and while walking to the dental clinic, I chanted to myself, over and over again, “It won’t hurt, I’m not afraid. It won’t hurt, I’m not afraid. It won’t hurt, I’m not afraid.” Just like I did when I was younger. I tried to concentrate on taking long deep breaths. This helped to calm me. I had many fillings done and several teeth pulled, including all the molars at the bottom left side of my mouth. It was an ordeal for me and I was very happy when it was all over with, and I didn’t have to think about any impending pain to come.
I turned 16 on September 11, 1966. I still hadn’t started my period. Marg, who was three years younger than me, had started. I thought that this cannot be normal for me.
I thought back to that first day in grade nine health when Mrs. Wilmering asked the girls to put up their hands if they had started menstruating, and every one of them put up their hands, including me. Maybe they were lying, like me. Perhaps they didn’t want to be different, or worse, centred out for something as private and personal as this. I wanted to be as normal as possible. I always wanted to fit in with the other girls.
My Freak last name was somewhat of a hindrance in my goal to be normal but, by now, most of my classmates were used to it. And I had not felt ostracized because of it. Perhaps my name prevented me from being as popular as others, but I thought that was mostly because I was shy and I didn’t feel very comfortable until I got to know people quite well. It was easier to be a popular teenager when you had a personality like June’s. I didn’t have that, and didn’t know how to develop it. I figured my farm years had stunted my social growth in that regard, or maybe it was just my demeanour.
I mentioned my worries about my non-existent period to my mom, hoping for some advice, but she had no comment or suggestions for me. I should have expected that reaction from her. She hadn’t been at all concerned about some of my health issues at the farm — the time when my face and hands swelled up unexpectedly two days in a row, and that winter when I froze my nose, cheek and ears more than once. Only twice during those five years did she feel it necessary to bring me to a doctor, and even then, she waited a week to take me to the doctor when I had tonsillitis. It was only after I couldn’t swallow anymore that she decided I needed some medicine. She watched as the ringworm grew larger on my face and didn’t take me to see a doctor until it had spread onto my chest. So, it wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t show much interest in this new anomaly.
I had learned to be independent and take care of myself when I lived on the farm, so it wasn’t so difficult for me to continue looking after myself. Now that we were living in town, I could make my own appointments and go out on my own, so that was what I decided to do. I told my mom when my medical appointment was scheduled, but she didn’t seem interested in me or my problem. When I saw her indifferent reaction, I decided not to suggest she come with me, and she didn’t offer to come. I decided I would rather go by myself anyway.
The appointment was made for after school hours about a week after my birthday. I didn’t want to miss school, even though we were allowed to be excused for medical appointments. While I sat in the waiting area, I tried to control my fear and trepidation. My period, or the lack of it, was not a topic I wanted to discuss with any of my friends or classmates, as it would make me feel that I was different and it would draw attention to my irregularity. Marg knew I hadn’t started and her only comment was that she thought I was very lucky. I would be so embarrassed and ashamed to discuss it with anyone else.
I overheard other girls talking about their periods in the washroom, but I was careful and avoided saying anything to expose my condition. I would never forget aunt Emily’s reaction to the “smoke the cigarette butt” incident and how centred out and shameful I felt. Admitting I hadn’t yet had my period would be exposing a vulnerability, something that someone could get a hold of and use against me. An insensitive person might say something like, “You’re kidding me. You mean you haven’t gotten your period yet? Hey, everyone, have you heard this? She hasn’t started her period yet! Isn’t that weird? What a freak!” I was careful to keep my secrets to myself, especially anything that might label me as being different from everyone else.
I was hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew at the clinic, in case they might question me about why I was there. They wouldn’t do this to be mean, but they might do it out of curiosity. And then, I would feel so self-conscious to have to explain why I was there, or I would have to lie. Luckily, I didn’t have to talk to anyone except the receptionist to check in. I sat and waited off in a corner where I hoped I would be less noticeable.
After what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, I was finally called into the doctor’s office. I was very nervous and my hands were sweating. I was afraid of the unknown. I was aware that this visit might involve an internal examination. There were no female doctors in Dryden at that time, which might have put me more at ease. But I knew I had to conquer my fear and just do this. I needed to find out what, if anything, was wrong with me. I figured that knowing was better than not knowing, even if it was not good news.
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One Thursday afternoon that autumn, I was writing a test in class. Everything was very quiet. The teacher was at his desk supervising. Suddenly, I felt a strong piercing pain in my stomach radiating down towards my groin area. I stopped writing, put my pen down, stiffened up, and strongly gripped the armrests on my desk. I almost stopped breathing for a moment. The pain eased off. I picked up my pen and started writing again.
About 10 minutes later, the same thing happened. Again, I stiffened up and gripped my desk so tightly with both hands. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed how my face had turned into a grimace. I was relieved to see that they were too busy concentrating on their tests. I looked at the teacher. He wasn’t looking at me, so that made me feel better, too. The pain eased. The teacher got up from his desk, walked over to the window, and looked out. He glanced around the room, then went back to his desk and started sorting through some papers.
I went back to writing and again, I felt this pain, harder and stronger than before. I held back from emitting any sound of pain. This was very, very uncomfortable. I looked at the clock. It was still about 10 minutes before the bell would ring. I concentrated on my test, finished it, the bell rang and the students got up and dropped off their tests on the teacher’s desk as they left. I did the same. I was feeling okay again.
The next afternoon, on Friday, the sharp sudden pain happened again, only a few times, very similar to the day before. I managed to cope with it, but it scared me. What was wrong with me? I didn’t have a clue what was going on with my body.
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I lay there for about 10 minutes, and then Dr. Hodkinson came in. He put on rubber gloves, asked me to put my feet into the stirrups, and started to do an internal examination between my legs. It was uncomfortable, but might have been less so if I hadn’t tensed up so much. I kept reminding myself that he was a doctor and these procedures were normal. I had never explored myself in that area so I didn’t know anything about it. I knew there was an opening there and that was about it. I figured I would find out about it eventually when I needed to know more.
The doctor appeared puzzled. He said I could take my feet out of the stirrups, and he would come back to me shortly. I continued to lie on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles. I tried to count them. I thought I was lying there for about another 15 minutes, at least. I tried not to think about anything to do with this. I tried to keep my mind on other things.
Dr. Hodkinson returned to the room with Dr. Daniel. I didn’t know if Dr. Daniel remembered that I had come to see him weeks earlier about my lack of menstruation, and that he had assured me I would likely start soon. Well, I hadn’t, and now I had these pains.
Dr. Hodkinson explained that Dr. Daniel would now examine me. I put my feet in the stirrups again and he tried to insert his fingers into my vagina, but then stopped. They mumbled a bit to themselves, then they both left together, and closed the door. I was still lying there looking at the ceiling.
Another 10 minutes or so later, Dr. Hodkinson came back in and told me I could get dressed. I put my clothes back on, came back into his office, and sat on the chair.
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By this time, there was only one person left in the building, the receptionist. It was now after 6 p.m. The offices and hallways were dark, the lights had been turned off. The receptionist showed me out of the clinic, and then locked the door. It was after closing time. I dragged my feet home, worried and fretting. I wondered when I would find out anything.
As I got closer to the house, I saw mom’s friend leaving. I came into the house and, once again, as usual, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. She blew out some smoke before speaking to me.
“Dr. Hodkinson just phoned,” she said. My eyes widened and I started to tremble.
Was something so bad, something so wrong with me, that he couldn’t tell me to my face? He had to tell my mother so she could break it to me?
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My mom had no idea what I would have to go through. The mental anguish was much harder for me than the physical.
Monday came around and I walked to school, full of anxiety. I decided to go early before the hallways were crowded, so I could avoid talking to anyone, if I could manage it. My hands were sweating, my heart was beating rapidly, and my stomach was churning. I hung my head as I walked through the hallways.
I asked my mother to write on the absence note that I had been out of school for general medical reasons. I was surprised she didn’t feel it was necessary to describe in detail the complete medical condition and procedure. She couldn’t understand why I was not comfortable to speak about it freely to anyone and admit it. I went to the office and handed in the note.
I looked around as I exited the office. I could see only one or two students in each direction, so that was good. The chances of knowing them were slim. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I got my books from my locker, walked to my home room, and sat at my desk. I was the first one there, which was what I had wanted and expected. I didn’t want to walk in when others were already in the room. This way no one had to greet me. They could easily ignore me. I opened a book and started to read it, keeping my head down. I wasn’t really reading it. I pretended I was reading it because I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t concentrate.
The students trickled in. They said nothing to me, even those who walked right by my desk. Some gathered together in a small group and I could hear them talking about their weekend. The teacher came in, sat down at his desk, and shuffled some papers around. He said nothing to me. No one said, “Welcome back.” No one said anything to me, not one word. The national anthem came on, everyone stood at attention. This was followed by the lord’s prayer, and then we all sat down. The class started. It was as if I was invisible and I had never been away. My desk had been sitting empty for a week. Had anyone noticed? How could they not notice?
What did they know? What did the teachers know? Did they know anything or everything? Did my mother phone the school? I wondered if anyone thought I had an abortion or miscarriage. I had no idea. I did not dare to ask. If they knew something, they would probably think it would be too awkward to say anything. I wouldn’t really blame them.
Under normal circumstances, the teacher would have welcomed me back and wished me well. My classmates might have asked how I was feeling, how I was doing. They would have shown that they cared, at least some of them would. Someone would have said something to me. But not that day. There was an elephant in the room, and that elephant was me.
But I understood why it had to be like that. We were a polite society. If I had surgery on any other part of my body, it would be easy to talk about. They could say things like, “Is your arm healing well?” or “Sorry to hear about your appendix.” But what could they say to someone who just had this specialized surgery done? “How is your vagina feeling?”
I was very unlucky to have had this happen to me at such a sensitive time in my life. I was trying so hard to fit in with my peers, to be accepted, and not to be so different from them. Why did I have to have such an unspeakable defect? Why did I have to be such a freak?
Normally, I brought my lunch to school and went to the cafeteria to eat. I had enough time to walk home for lunch as we lived so close, but even so, it would be a bit of a rush. Plus, when I brought my lunch. I could sit with some girls I knew who weren’t in my class and who I wouldn’t see otherwise. This day, however, I just wanted to avoid everyone. I snuck out a side door and walked home for lunch. I wasn’t hungry anyway, I was nervous and my stomach was too upset.
When I returned to school after lunch, I avoided the main foyer where I usually waited for the bell to ring. The whole day I felt that I was being stared at, but I knew I wasn’t. I just felt so uncomfortable and out of place. That day seemed like the longest day of my life. The minutes seemed like hours to me. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. The next day would be easier, and the next, even better. I did get through it. No one talked to me at all that day. No one asked me any questions. No one mentioned anything about why I was away. I was grateful for that.
After the last class, I ducked into one of the washrooms in a quiet hallway. I waited about 15 minutes until I knew the hallways would be cleared out of students and I could be by myself. I made my way to my locker and picked out some books to take home. I had missed a week of school and had some catching up to do.
As I walked down the empty hallway, I could hear some hubbub coming out of one of the classrooms. I slowed down and looked in to see what was going on. I saw the football player with the broken leg. He was surrounded by friends who were laughing and having fun. I could see several get-well cards lined up on the desk beside him, and some flowers too. Someone was cutting a cake and handing out pieces to everyone. He must have felt so special.
I then kept walking, my head down, just wishing I could be more normal, and not such an unfortunate freak.
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