Today my period arrived. I had been feeling it threatening for the last few days, but it was already five days late, so I had my fingers and toes crossed, and was steadfastly ignoring the bloating and the ominous cramping (because if you ignore things, they just go away and you don't have to worry about them, right?), but to no avail.
It's both awful - obviously, because it means I have failed once again - and somewhat positive - because it means I am establishing an almost-regular cycle, something I have never ever had.
I know. From the time I got my first period (which my mother announced to all of her family, much to my shame and embarrassment - I guess I was lucky, at least there wasn't a cake or a party...) when I was 13, until I forced them into some semblance of normality by using synthetic hormones, my periods have never been regular.
I've been through it all. No periods for six months. Bleeding for three weeks straight. One period, followed by another less than two weeks later, and another two weeks after that. Looking back on it, I'm amazed I wasn't diagnosed much sooner than I was.
But. For it to arrive now, five days late (and well, considering I only stopped taking the pill at the end of October and haven't really settled into a cycle yet), is what I'm trying to see as a bright spot.
A little more backstory:
In early 2008, I had a Mirena IUD put in - I was almost 25 and had just been on several "heavy hormone" pills that were supposedly specifically designed to combat the symptoms of PCOS. I found them all rough.
Without exception, they all took away whatever libido I had, made me suicidal, and ridiculously angry. I'd had enough, and after doing my own research about the Mirena, which seemed to indicate that it contained the lowest dose of progesterone available in any form of birth control at the time - and, the fact it was only going to cost me a total of $80 for 5 years of contraception seemed like an added bonus - made up my mind.
Midway through 2008, One and I moved to Melbourne. I wasn't doing anything to manage my PCOS, really. We didn't plan on having kids for what seemed like ages, and let's be honest - I was pretty lazy (plus, and maybe this is the real reason, I hate failing. Of any kind. I hate it so much, I often won't even try something I think I'm going to fail at - why try, when I'm going to fail anyway? Better not to try it at all right? So I'd convince myself I was just going to fail at the losing weight and managing my PCOS game too, and not even bother trying).
Then, in late 2010, my IUD fell out. Literally. I went to the bathroom, thought "hey, I don't remember putting a tampon - oh. That's my IUD."
I found a 24/7 GP who checked me out, reassured me it had come out in one piece, but agreed it was strange for it to just fall out like that, so decided to refer me to a gynecologist.
This is where the biggest stroke of luck ever happened. The gyno he referred me to was an obstetrician as well, and had no appointments free for new gyno patients until March 2011. Seeing as it was October 2010, she agreed this wasn't particularly helpful, but suggested one of her partners, who is purely a gyno. A gyno who specialises in infertility and has a special interest in PCOS, actually.
So off I trotted to the gyno in November 2010. By that stage, One and I were at least talking about kids (I said right then and now; no-one's ever ready; he said no, he wanted us to wait a bit longer. We agreed to reassess in a year's time).
The gyno sent me for another whole panel of blood tests and another trans-vaginal ultrasound. The hormone panel came back with, surprise, surprise, a diagnosis of PCOS. The trans-vaginal ultrasound said I had >19 cysts on my left ovary and >25 cysts on my right ovary. Oh, and a septate uterus.
What.
For confirmation, I had a saline ultrasound (not the most pleasant procedure ever, my uterus was pumped full of saline and then ultra-sounded - I don't think that's a word. Never mind), during which I kept a death grip on One's hand.
The doctor who did the saline ultrasound laughed jovially when he saw my uterus blown up to 100 x life size on the monitor, and assured me it was the least septate uterus he'd seen in 20 years. Also, 10 of the cysts on my left ovary had vanished, and taken at least 15 of their friends from my right ovary. In a month. Right.
The conclusion that One and I came to later was that either a trainee totally misread my original ultrasound films or that they were mixed up with someone else's - because really.
So the gyno prescribed me a year's worth of the pill, and I spent another year wanting to kill myself (seriously, I cannot talk about my depression without trying to make a joke out of it. I think this probably says a lot about me), and watching my libido spiral away to past nothingness.
Finally, in early October this year, I got to go back and say those magic words. "We're trying to start a family."
Now I am taking 1500 mg of Metformin a day, as well as a folate tablet and trying to lose as much weight as sensibly as possibly, trying not to come apart at the seams and praying every day that I do not feel that downward dragging cramping that means my period has arrived.
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