The “funny” thing about having PCOS is that your periods are not regular – on a broad scale. They go through phases of being every 33 days so you get lulled into a false sense of security and feel “normal”. Then bam! You get two in one month or you miss three months (the most I have missed is 9 months) and then they go back to every 30 days like clockwork. Or don’t. It’s like a really unfun game of “where’s the period?” (like Where’s Wally, but with more Tampax and chocolate).
The other “fun” bit is that the PMS/PMT can be a million times worse than people who don’t have PCOS (I’m assuming this based on one ovary being way more PCOS than the other and them behaving very differently and affecting my mood differently). My PMT is bad on my left ovary, but fine on my right. My left ovary causes me to want to kill, maim, burn and destroy anyone who eats chewing gum behind me on the bus for 5 days, but my right ovary just gives me a short temper, lack of empathy and desire to mainline chocolate – all normal BTW. As the years have progressed my left ovary now wants me to kill myself (literally) for 5 days every month. My doctor calls it “low mood” and has offered me prescription antidepressants which I have refused as anti-depressants make me beige all the time. I’d currently rather be suicidal for 5 days every 2 months than beige for 365. Fun choices though eh.
I have also had around 10 years of being told (by male doctors) that my symptoms “aren’t that bad” and that if they take the offending ovary out (as I have requested for 4 years based on my mental health) that it would take away my “fountain of youth” (actual quote by my doctor) and so they won’t do it. Apparently looking young is way more important than being alive. Yes, I am aware that ovaries do lots of other important things like keep my bones strong, but I have two and one wants me dead. If my neighbour wanted me dead we’d move or get him arrested, but apparently my ovary wanting me dead means I just need to live with it.
Anyway, due to the PCOS I must keep myself fit, slim and I must eat well. It’s not a matter of choice, but it acts as a good catalyst. The way my insulin works is affected by the PCOS so I also must be careful with sugar and booze. Even by being healthy, looking after myself and generally being a good citizen my periods still play up.
So, due to the above I have taken roughly 209 pregnancy tests in my life. Not because I use abortion as a form of contraceptive or because I like, literally, pissing money away, but because the little voice in the back of my head who loves whispering “what if you are” at 3am in the morning can normally be shut up by the, relatively, inexpensive (in comparison to therapy) cost of weeing on a stick.
Last Friday, after a month of two periods (while moving house – JOY) and then a month of no periods I was feeling tired, grotty, swollen and a bit sick. If you Google those symptoms then you get PREGNANT, but if you put sickness in any Google search engine you are PREGNANT. This whole peeing on a stick thing is so normal that, to be totally honest, I did it to reassure myself that I wasn’t pregnant and, as I didn’t want to concern my husband, I did it in secret (not that he normally watches me pee or anything). It is something I have done regularly for 10 years and been proven right on each occasion – not pregnant. The act of not involving my husband wasn’t due to anything other than not wanting to bother him with yet another test. His attitude would be to wait and see as he has the patience of a large rock. I, on the other hand, have the patience of a small child.
So, I wee on the stick and BAM! I got the two blue lines. I literally did a double take and then swore. Then I thought “what about the ultra? Nooooooooooooooooooo!”.
Considering that my aim had been to reassure myself that I was not pregnant and to not worry my husband I realised I now had the difficult task of negotiating the kitchen, hallway and stairs to get back up to the bedroom to hide the test without bumping into him as I have a rubbish poker face. A task I achieved. I hid the test as, in all honestly, I thought that hiding it would make the issue go away (childish yes). I wasn’t ready to make that decision or even talk about that decision, plus I was really bloody angry. HOW could I be pregnant? It’s not like we aren’t careful. What about the ultra!? What about my life?! How the fucketery fuckery was I bloody pregnant!!!!!! (Yes, I know how babies are made).
However, on the way back down the stairs I bumped into said husband and he asked me if I was ok (he told me later that he knew it wasn’t my annoyed face, but he wasn’t sure if it was my “husband’s in trouble” face). I gamely tried to reassure him that I was fine, but I was also bouncing off the walls so we took me up to the bedroom and I showed him the issue. He reacted well and gave me a hug. He later told me that he was really happy, but didn’t want to show it as I looked like someone had just died.
I appreciate that a lot of women in my position would kill to swap places, but that’s irrelevant to me. My life has either just changed like in no other way FOREVER or I make the choice to get rid of it. Fun choices eh!
Thoughts that have gone through my head in the first few days? Bewilderment, anger, fear and upset. I’m livid that I am pregnant. I have just booked myself in for 6 more hours of tattoos, I am training for an ultra, I’m renewing my wedding vows in May in a nice fitted dress I have already purchased, I’ve booked my ML assessment for September and so forth and so on. If I keep it and carry on with the pregnancy my current life is over. Yes, I can probably pick my ultra-training back up after the birth and I can of course rebook my ML assessment and maybe I can slim back down to fit into my dress and we can have the baby at the wedding etc, but for now my life has changed. I’m already tired, feeling sick, feeling bloated, farting constantly and my body is changing. I’m already not allowed to drink booze, smoke the odd cigarette, eat certain foods etc etc etc. I already must think about two people rather than just myself. ALL of my decisions are now based on what is inside me, it’s already invaded my life. My SIL wants to go extreme go-carting for her partner’s birthday, I can’t go incase the vehicle rolls and I also cannot tell her why I cannot go. She already thinks I dislike her so let’s just add another brick to the list, eh. My friend’s hen do is in May and it’ll be a weekend of drinking on a boat, I’ll be the semi fat one on the fruit juice will I? And then we have my friend’s actual wedding. If I keep the baby it’ll be around 6 weeks before I give birth. So, maybe I get to go to some of the party, but not all of it? What if she doesn’t want pregnant ladies at her wedding? Do I need to let her know now? I remember planning my own wedding, the costs involved and the deadlines etc…. Plus what will I wear?
To add insult to injury we are currently living at the inlaws, out of boxes, in one room and I am working very part time while we were (supposed to be) taking some time out, travelling, ice climbing, living in a van and building a house. Ha ha. That ain’t going to happen if we keep it.
So, farewell life, farewell.