One day in 8th grade I lay immobilized on the couch with my knees drawn up to my chin. If I moved I feared I would throw up or pass out. A bout of cramps had struck, and I was holding on to that couch for dear life. A kind woman I knew walked by and expressed sympathy for my condition. “Don’t worry, sweetie, that’s just a sign that your body’s functioning well,” she told me. As a teenager, her words gave me some comfort. I hoped it was proof, as she said, that my uterus was j