It’s September, which means it is PCOS awareness month. I wrote this text almost a year ago, but some things take time to speak about publicly. Especially those that affect your physical as well as mental health.
I have polycystic ovary syndrome (check that nasty condition out here). A condition that can affect you mildly or heavily. The spectrum is wide and as doctors told me, that I am unfortunately on it somewhere between insulin resistance and infertility.
I know that I have PCOS since my early twenties. I did not know much about it nor did my gynecologists tell me much about it. I was given hormones and later the pill, and I did not need to worry until I wanted children, they said.
Almost a decade went by. I tried to brush the possibility of being infertile away whenever my partner and I were imagining our future family. But it never left me. When I was 29, I stopped taking the pill “to see what happens“.
And nothing happened.
A year had passed since being off the pill and with no ovulation, there’s no period and consequently no pregnancy. At the GP, they told me they can’t refer me to a specialist until it’s in the records that we’ve been trying for a year. It didn’t matter that I already knew that I had PCOS and that a woman my age needs to have several cycles per year to be healthy to not increase nasty things like osteoporosis or cancer.
The GP did tests of hormones, they’ve done scans that were “inconclusive“. My partner was tested also. Yes, we could’ve gone private to speed up the process, but something held me back to do it. It was possibly the threat of getting the most dreaded answer: that I can not carry a baby.
Following all of the tests and a year of trying “on record“ we’ve finally been referred to the fertility clinic. From then on, it was a made decision: We are working towards a baby, we’ve entered the process. A set decision with possibly a devastating outcome. We were offered free counseling if we felt we needed it along the way.
Fertility clinics are no fun places because the reason you are there is anything beyond fun. You are there because you are possibly infertile (edit: there are of course same sec couples as well but one of them still needs the horrific hormone treatment) and there is no guarantee that doctors can fix it. From the lots of times I had to go in for scans and tests, I never saw a patient smiling once.
Doctors tested both of us and found that I had - surprise - PCOS. The good thing was that a scan there showed that I miraculously was about to ovulate. I almost never ovulate, it was the third time in two years. The clinic gives you an estimate when ovulation D-day is by doing internal scans. Down to the time of day.
But because it was just an initial assessment, they didn’t do any so-called follicle tracking so we got the timings wrong. They gave me a pill called Clomid which you take for five days at the start of a cycle to get the necessary egg release. Then you go in every second day for an internal scan to track the eggs. Needless to say, besides the pressure, waiting and general awkwardness of the situation, I had to tell work every second day that I would come in late because of some sort of “tests“.
When the pregnancy test showed that I was actually pregnant I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, it felt that it happened too easily. Easy, because in the grand scheme of getting fertility treatment, this was the best - “natural“ - way to become pregnant.
There has been an increase in PCOS awareness in the past year or so. I don’t know why. Maybe the stigma of struggling to conceive has been lifted somewhat, more are getting diagnosed or it’s just that people love talking about illnesses. I personally can’t stop talking about diseases, except my PCOS story that only a handful of people knew.
I had told friends and family that I had “this hormone problem“ before, but I only told one friend that we were unsuccessfully trying for a baby. It wasn’t shame for the condition, it was actually the shame of becoming one of those dinner conversations. “I know this couple that is trying for ages and now they have to go to a fertility clinic. Bless them, fingers crossed“. Sad face, another sip from the glass, changing the topic.
I’m ready now to become a dinner conversation. “I know this couple that has been trying for years, they went to a fertility clinic and have a healthy boy now. Good for them.“
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