Dr told die somewhere else but I wanted to live

I reached the emergency room barely conscious. I couldn’t even walk down the stairs normally anymore. I had to grip the railing with both hands and lower myself step by step, pushing my own body downward because every movement felt unbearable. Inhale — pain. Exhale — pain. Even breathing hurt. Pain without movement. Pain with movement. Pain everywhere. By the time I arrived at the hospital — kilometers away — I was collapsing. I begged the doctor for an injection, anything to stop the agony. She refused. My last meal, apparently, was not “convincing” enough for her. I told her: “If you don’t help me, I’m going to die.” And I meant it. I was literally twisting in pain in front of her. Crying. Barely conscious. But she looked at me with a terrifying coldness and said: “Go die somewhere else.” You heard that right. “Go die somewhere else. I will do nothing for you.” Shock after shock after shock. At that moment I realized something horrifying: this was not just ignorance. This was cruelty. And the worst part? That wasn’t even the end of the story. It was only the beginning...

Days passed too quickly.

And then it came again — like a tsunami. Violent. Unstoppable. Terrifying.

I found myself back in the emergency room after being thrown out of the public hospital. They had given me a single injection and then told my mother:

“Take her home. We already did what we had to do.”

As if I were some wounded stray animal. A pitiful little cat whose wounds had been barely cleaned before being thrown back into the street to suffer even more.

So we went to a private clinic.

And there, they gave me a placebo.

Because the doctor — a man this time, though honestly the cruelty did not belong to one gender alone — thought I was pretending.

Pretending.

Pretending the pain. Pretending the collapse. Pretending the terror written across my face.

Was I performing now? Was agony suddenly theater?

An hour later, after I had calmed down slightly, he turned to my mother and said:

“You should take her to a psychiatrist so she can learn to accept the pain.”

Accept the pain.

As though the problem was not the disease destroying my body — but my refusal to smile through it.

Of course, I did not stay silent.

Because this is what women are taught from the beginning:

Be patient. Be strong. Endure.

As a woman, you are expected to survive harassment, violence, humiliation, pain — and then be called dramatic for reacting to any of it.

And if your body finally breaks under the weight of it all?

They will still ask you to endure quietly.

LET'S TALK ABOUT WHAT SCIENCE CHOSE TO PRIORITIZE

Here is a fact that should make every woman furious:

More research funding has been dedicated to male pattern baldness than to endometriosis.

Read that again.

Men are losing their hair. Women are losing their ability to work, to have children, to live a normal life — doubled over in pain every single month. And the scientific community decided that thinning hairlines deserved more attention.

No one is injecting men with three needles to stop hair from falling out and calling it “just deal with it.” No one is telling men that their pain is psychological. No one is sending men home with a painkiller and a dismissive wave.

But women? Women are told to endure.

And if you dare to say the pain is unbearable?

You're being dramatic.

All women go through this.

SO WHAT IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING IN OUR BODIES?

Since the medical system failed to explain it properly — allow me.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me inform you, teach you, and raise your awareness so you can become a good parent and a good partner.

The is here.→

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