At ten years old, my childhood shifted. I began bleeding far too early, and by twelve my cycle had become relentless — three weeks on, a day or two off, then another two weeks of heavy bleeding with dreadful clotting. It was erratic, desperately painful, and utterly debilitating.
I was often unwell, and at school the other children likely thought I was exaggerating or simply bunking. In truth, I was enduring something they couldn’t imagine. I grew up too quickly, carrying a maturity that my peers later said left them feeling like “little pip‑squeaks” beside me. My body had forced me into adulthood before I was ready.
When my period stopped at fourteen, after years of agony, the reaction was not relief but suspicion. Our Headmaster — yes, an all‑girls school with a HeadMASTER — marched me down to our family doctor to check if I was pregnant. The humiliation of that moment still lingers. No one thought to ask if something deeper was wrong.
The diagnosis was premature ovarian failure. My ovaries had ceased to function, and I was told I would never have children naturally. At fourteen, I was carrying a truth that most women don’t face until their thirties. As far as I know, I was one of the youngest girls in the world to receive this diagnosis.
But I didn’t mourn. I escaped the emotions and turned to pragmatism — a characteristic I still carry today. I put my shoulders back and carried on, knowing that in time, there might be alternative options: adoption, perhaps, or egg donor IVF. In 1986, with my first husband, I tried IVF with donor eggs — new in the country at the time. It was a nightmare, a failure, and that was that.
Today, I don’t regret not having had children, per se. What I reflect on is the absence of a personal legacy when I am gone. And so, my design work has become that legacy. Through creativity, precision, and the spaces I’ve shaped, I leave behind something enduring.
Sharing this now matters. Women’s health is too often hidden in silence, and conditions like mine carry stigma. By speaking openly, I hope to remind others that they are not alone, and that our worth is never diminished by medical labels.