I think that it is so important that in the United States, in the Western world, this process of liberating women continue and not simply be a matter of signing a piece of paper and giving the right to vote and things like that, but a much broader sense of understanding the complexities of the troubles women have in a way that, you know society has focused on the troubles that men have had for two or three thousand years.
I think in order to do that, what better cause than this one. Because endometriosis is precisely a cause with the kind of taboos, the stigmas, the silence, the complications that attach in some ways to women’s health issues and has been misdiagnosed and misunderstood and has not had the kind of attention it deserves for precisely this reason.
So when I look at all of us here in New York, in the United States in 2009, I think this is the right cause, this is the right place, this is the right time, so thank you all very much for being here.”
Fareed Zakaria
2009 Blossom Ball
Cocktails, dinner, and dancing are included, along with the obscure promise of “preferred seating,” so dad and I pretend $2,500 is a reasonable admission price and that we belong at a red carpet event to begin with, dad in his funeral suit and me in my prom dress from junior year. There were cheaper tickets that didn’t include the food or drinks, but dad said if he was going to the “period convention” he’d need the alcohol.
Dad doesn’t stand out. The crowd is half gynecologists, half superstars, and dad favors the former. He's a hospital pharmacist. He blends in with the doctors, even recognizes a few of them (Dad also thinks he sees Tyra Banks, but he can’t be sure because we’ve never seen Tyra in person). The Cipriani 25 Broadway venue has the look of a cathedral, with smooth structural arches and ceiling murals that belong in a Kiera Knightly period piece—if the period piece were actually about periods.
I’m half as old as most of the women here, blatantly seventeen, not even old enough to drink from the martini glass waiting at our table. Most of the diseased women here probably have a tale like Padma Lakshmi, cofounder of the Endometriosis Foundation of America (and former Top Chef hostess; she also organizes and plans the gala down to the seasons for the side dishes): painful periods from a young age, misdiagnosis for years, an eventual endometriosis diagnosis and—against all odds—the ability to still have children after all, or adopt.
Endometriosis diagnosis is usually over a ten year process from the moment their doctor decides something is wrong to the day they confirm something is. By then the main concern is fertility—as it should be—along with cleaning the gunk out of the abdomen that’s been congealing organs longer than I’ve been alive. I’m young to already be diagnosed, and even though that’s what this Blossom Ball is for (awareness and early detection so future women won’t suffer as much from the disease), because four years of periods causes a lot less damage than twenty, I feel wrong for sitting at the same table as women who know what it’s really like to have endometriosis, making bad period jokes with my dad because the napkins and centerpieces are red.
It’s time for the speeches to begin. This is the part dad and I came to see: the emotional, hormonal, middle aged women talking about their “miracle babies” and how pain isn’t normal, because that’s how the endometriosis story goes.
I’m at a stage where I have nothing left to solve. The endometrium hasn’t been festering in my body long enough to impact fertility or stick my organs together or rupture an ovary. I’m free from most of the fears and hassles and concerns of having endometriosis because I already know I have endometriosis. All that’s left is the pain—and not one of these black-tied billionaire gynecologists attending the ball can tell me what causes the pain or how to stop it.
Dad makes another inappropriate period joke. The first celebrity speaker walks up to the podium as we snuff our laughs out from behind blood-red napkins.
What I need for her to talk about is being a teenager. Not to briefly mention the feeling that something was wrong, but to explain how they dealt with knowing something is wrong, and that its name is endometriosis, and that when your doctor first mutters it you can’t pronounce the word, because you’re still in middle school, still in speech therapy, and can't make the r sound. I want this celebrity to share what it was like to know exactly why her cramps were worse then her friends, that she wasn’t going to “grow out of them.” That’s the real reason I’m at this ball. Someone needs to tell the true story of endometriosis, about how you leave home for the first time and you're on the phone with your parents, unable to stop crying, unable to stop chanting it hurts, it hurts, and that your father, who can fix anything, just listens. You can hear him nodding through the phone. He says he’s sorry, and calls you pumpkin, then hands the phone to your mom so you can cry with her. What is amazing about this story is your parents no longer try to help. They offer no advice. You have endometriosis, and you have pain, and that cannot—will not—change.
The celebrity doesn’t have endometriosis. She’s the intro speaker, but her ethos is boosted by fame. She introduces Padma, who introduces Dr. Seckin (the second cofounder), who introduces an authentic, diseased celebrity. Each speech is under six minutes, and I’m impressed because the brevity limits the bull crap. Speakers like Whoopi Goldberg bring immediacy to the idea of "awareness," because it's too late for those who have already suffered, and for those like me who know they have a lot more suffering ahead of them. We deserve a night to be angry at our disease, to taunt it. Look at us, and look at this fabulous party we threw. We have celebrities on our side. We're not afraid to talk about you any more. And most importantly, we're in control of what happens next.
"I’m going to say this loud enough for the press to hear it…We have a duty tonight. Everybody, and guys this for you as well because I know you know women. You have a duty tonight. You only have to tell one other person what you heard. Just tell them what you heard, or ask them have you ever heard of this? If the answer is no, share what you learn tonight. That’s all. You don’t have to do anything else. You just have to tell somebody else. You have to take whatever stigma people think that is there. You have to take it. It’s not male or female. It has nothing to do with that. It has to do with, here’s a disease you don’t know about and you need to know about it. It’s that simple. It’s not rocket science."
Whoopi Goldberg
2009 Blossom Ball
