[steff-fone-yah]

A storm brews over the Pyramids of Giza.

Loch Ness Scotland

At 18 I asked about more permanent options. After reviewing my medical history and the diagnosis, I had four separate doctors tell me that I was “too young” to make those kinds of decisions. But they were willing to put me on birth control that quit working when mixed with other meds I was on.

“What if you want kids later!” They exclaimed, pointing out that 18 is “early to make such a big decision.”

When I got married at 21, I asked again, presented the same evidence and diagnosis and concerns. I said I didn’t want to put me or my spouse through the definite likelihood of getting an abortion down the line. I was turned down flat. “But you’re so young. You might change your mind. What if your husband wants kids?”

Birth control makes me crazy. Like. Literally crazy. I have tried them again and again, and they don’t mix well with me or other meds I have to take. Two abortions later, I still haven’t found a doctor willing to sterilize me before I’m either 40 or have had a kid.

LGBTQ+ Pride in New York City, 1994