Stop guessing what's wrong. Start understanding your body.

In the years that followed, I was passed from doctor to doctor, specialist to specialist. Appointments were expensive, often rushed, and rarely gave me real answers. My cycle was never normal. I had repeated ruptured cysts. My hormones were clearly out of balance. One doctor told me I had unusually high testosterone and joked that I had "strong blood like a boy."

I was 25 when I paid hundreds of dollars to see a gynaecologist, hoping — finally — for clarity. She glanced at a scan and told me it was impossible for me to have polycystic ovaries because my cysts didn't look like a "pearl necklace." She suggested I probably had endometriosis instead.

No follow-up. No clear plan. Just another possible diagnosis added to the list.

I kept being told to lose weight, eat better, try getting pregnant — because "pregnancy can help endometriosis." Nothing addressed the root cause. Nothing gave me answers. I felt like I was constantly chasing clarity inside a system that wasn't built to understand women like me.

Then everything changed.

I experienced an ectopic pregnancy that almost cost me my life. During emergency surgery, doctors had to remove my left fallopian tube. Before they put me under, I asked them to look for endometriosis. They told me it was unlikely they'd find anything. When I woke up, the surgeon told me something very different.

Stage three endometriosis. Lesions across my hips, bladder, and abdomen. And for the first time — after more than a decade — a doctor looked at me and said: "Now I understand why you've been in so much pain."

I cried. Not just from relief, but from grief for every year I'd spent doubting myself.

Even then, the endometriosis wasn't removed. The solution offered was the same one so many women are handed — hormonal birth control and a Mirena to manage symptoms. Not to fix. To manage.

Lying in that hospital bed, I didn't just feel the weight of my own journey. I thought about every woman who had been told her pain was normal. Every woman who had paid for appointments that led nowhere. Every woman who had Googled her symptoms at 2am, desperate for an answer, and found nothing reliable.

If navigating this system was this hard for me — someone who fought, who pushed, who kept showing up — what was it like for women who didn't have that fight left in them?

That question is why I built Sister Health.

Sister Health is for every woman who has ever been dismissed, confused, or made to feel like her pain was in her head. It's a place where information is clear, conversations are honest, and no one has to go through this alone.

Because no woman should have to spend years feeling unheard while trying to understand her own body.

And no one should have to almost lose their life before finally being believed.