Blog · It's not always pink

Please stop telling me what to do, I already know

The last time someone told me not do or eat something was like 30 years ago, when I was overloading my system with carbs and ice-cream, and my parents thought it would be a good idea to make me stop. Most probably they also forbade me to do something during my teenage years, but I… Continue reading Please stop telling me what to do, I already know

Blog · It's not always pink

Some stories are never forgotten

Memories that have been shushed for ages resurface when one least expect it. When I was six years old, Mrs M, my adoptive mother got pregnant. At the time, I was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland and had asked my parents if we could name my sister Alice. Thirty-six years ago, I didn’t know I… Continue reading Some stories are never forgotten

It's not always pink

My father the gynecologist

GPs and specialists alike usually commend me on my grasp of medical terminology. They find it hard to understand that a ‘commoner’ can ask them about karyotypes, talk about genes, and show concern about the length of the cervix during the second trimester of pregnancy. The mere fact that I can utter the word ‘vagina’… Continue reading My father the gynecologist