I have PCOS. There, I said it. That wasn’t so bad.
For those not in the know, (which is pretty much everyone who doesn't have it and when you try to explain it to someone who doesn't have it they just think you have diabetes) PCOS is short for Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It sounds all serious and official doesn’t it? That’s why it’s more commonly known by its initials, or I’ve also heard it called “pee-kohs” or “pay-kohs”. In fact, I’ve heard recently that they may be changing the name all together because it’s confusing. Anyway, the point is, no matter how many “cute” names you find to call it, it is anything but a cute condition to have. In fact, it’s the farthest thing from it, the exact opposite of cute.
I live with it every day and I assure you it’s not, not at all. The term PCOS was first brought to my attention by my mother. I forget exactly how long ago it was, but I believe I was around high school aged. At the time, my “monthly schedule” was pretty regular and I wasn’t severely overweight (though I always thought I was) because I was young, more active, and had PE and walked home from school every day. So, needless to say, while I had other symptoms, like the dark patches of skin, thinning hair on my head but enough hair on the rest of my body to qualify as a female Robin Williams, and a 5:00 shadow, I ignored it.
At some point though, after high school when I was less active, started working in an office where I sat all day, and just got older, my symptoms got worse and I ceased to receive my "monthly gift" from Mother Nature. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. So, I started to accept the fact that this was a part of my life and not going away no matter how much I ignored it. The more I realized that, the worst I felt and it soon turned into a grand and glorious pity party. I told myself this was my lot in life, I was stuck this way and there was nothing I could do about it. Anytime I tried to work on eating better and doing exercise my body resisted the change, practically fought against it.
Due to the hormone imbalance and resistance to insulin, my body craves the very things it shouldn’t have-carbs and sugar. However, these only perpetuate the problems and make you crave them even more. It’s like an addict trying to fight an addiction. It is a vicious, circling, downward spiral that takes great willpower to fight, willpower that as a teenager and young adult I did not have. If my friends were together enjoying pizza then why couldn’t I? If I went to the movies then why couldn’t I enjoy some popcorn or a pretzel like everyone else? I just wanted, I still want, to be normal.
This brings me to another side effect of this condition, depression. It’s not hard to see how all these issues could make one feel depressed. I feel robbed of everything that makes me a woman, like I’m no longer a woman. I am constantly self-conscious and paranoid that everyone who looks at me only sees how fat and hairy I am. It makes it worse when people actually say something. For example, I went to a grocery store once and while there I bought a generic form of some Rogaine to see if that would help with the hair loss on my head. Somehow it had got one of those little security tags on it that makes the alarm go off when you
walk out the door, and although I had paid for it, no one took it off at the register and it set the alarm off. A female employee inspected my bag and found it, however, she then proceeded to inspect my head and confirm that yes I was losing my hair and frankly, I was so mortified that I tuned out whatever else she said in an attempt to flee the scene as soon as possible. I went home and cried, hard. I threw the box of stuff away. I couldn’t look at it without remembering the embarrassment of the grocery store and it made me sad and angry. She probably thought she was offering advice or helping in some way and she has no idea how deeply her actions hurt me. People have commented on my arm hair as well, mostly little kids, who can’t be blamed. I tell them that my dad was a monkey and that makes them laugh. Some adults have said things, and while it was never to my face, I have heard them. I now shave my arms, along with my legs, face, and chest. The extra hair on my body disgusts me, and every time I look in
a mirror, brush my hand against my face to feel bristles, or decide against wearing a low cut shirt because I’ve not shaved my chest it just gets worse. There have been some very dark moments that’s for sure. There have been times where I wished to not go on living another day trapped in this horrible body that I didn’t ask for.
All this makes it hard to let anyone in, especially a potential mate. No guy wants a girl’s arms around him that are harrier than his. No guy wants to kiss a girl whose 5:00 shadow has come through. No guy wants to take a girl out with bristles on her chin and chest. I don’t blame them. It’s like I’m under a curse. The hair, the fat, the depression is not who I am inside. It’s like a cage I’m trapped in. I want to be married. I want to find my soul mate-the one who will see through the curse and break the spell. I know I was meant to be a wife. I’ll be a good one, a faithful one, a strong one. I’ll be lucky if it happens though. It’s a good thing that I don’t want children either because, bonus, this condition makes you infertile as well. I’m not concerned with that part though. There’s no way I will have a child. What if I had a girl? I’d be so miserable if that were to happen. I cannot, I will not, allow myself to willingly pass on this horrible condition. No. It needs to die out.
So there you have it, my confession, my sad little tale. Boo hoo. Woe is me. I have no right to complain really. I don’t have cancer, I don’t have some rare disease that’s fatal and incurable. It’s not a condition you fight like cancer, or survive. It’s something you have to live with, manage, and control. It’s not easy, it will never be easy. It takes effort, willpower, and a positive attitude when you fail, and you will fail at times. I have to accept that. Finally though, I feel ready. I’m ready to learn as much as I can and to turn this around. Only time will tell if I have what it takes. I pray to God for the strength I need and the hope to see me through. It really feels like fighting an addiction. I recently watched an episode of the show Intervention and the girl who was having an intervention went through abuse and bullying and so many horrible things, but she knew God, and though she was mad at Him in the midst of her pain, by the time she decided to go to rehab she was thanking her family and three months later, thanking God. It struck me because in all the episodes I’ve seen of that show the addicts throw fits or go reluctantly, not willing to give up their addictions really. They never say thank you. Yet, this girl thanked them all. She changed her attitude and was grateful to have help and be set free.
I’m grateful for my sister who is ready to change just like I am, and to take charge of our lives. I’m so happy that I have her by my side. I’d be so lost without her and that’s the truth.
I’m grateful for the PCOS Diva. Her knowledge is inspiring and helpful and educational. I’m so grateful for such a resource of knowledge so we have the tools to manage this once and for all. Please visit her website at http://pcosdiva.com/
Lastly, but most importantly I am beyond grateful for my mother. Without her initial research all those years ago we’d probably still be wondering what was wrong. I’d still be convinced that I’d be trapped forever in this prison that is my body. She’s such a strong and amazing person and I’m so thankful that she gave me life. In My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Tulah’s mother says that she gave her children life so that they could live it. Well, I’m ready to live it, finally. It’s time to take charge and wipe the slate clean and see if I have what it takes to transform this body from prison to temple.