I’m at a bit of a loss for words.
I’ve been having wonky cycles, like you know. As of today, I’m sitting at cycle day 56 with no sign of a period or ovulation. So I went to the doctor, hoping that even though she’s been relatively useless in the past, she might at least write me a prescription for Provera or something to bring on my period.
Instead, she asks about my symptoms. Irregular cycles? Yep. Annovulation? Yep. Acne? Yep. Inability to lose weight? Yep. Mid-cycle cramping? Yep. Sensitivity to sugar/processed carbs? Yep.
“I don’t know why I didn’t send you for a hormone panel ages ago,” she said, checking over my bloodwork. No sh** lady, I’ve been asking the same question for months. “You’ve got PCOS. I’m sure of it.”
Sorry, sorry, WHAT? Poly-cystic ovarian syndrome? You mean to tell me that after 17 months of trying to conceive, a diagnosis of “unexplained” infertility, EXPENSIVE visits to the fertility clinic, and a boatload of herbal remedies, there’s a CAUSE to all of this?
I couldn’t decide whether to smack her because she hadn’t figured this out earlier, or hug her because I finally have an answer!
You guys, I’ve clearly got mixed feelings about all of this. She’s not medicating me, because she doesn’t like the side effects of Metformin, and probably doesn’t know anything about it (to be perfectly honest). The best way to get PCOS under control, in her opinion, is through diet and exercise. So she dumped me on the scale, slid around those sliders, and announced to the full waiting room…”204 pounds”. Holy CRAP. WHAT? Since WHEN have I hit the 200s? This absolutely floored me, probably more than the PCOS diagnosis.
“60 pounds,” she said. That’s the amount I have to lose to get my body in the healthy range. That’s a ton, just in case you were unaware. 60 pounds seems impossible. But it will happen. I’ll explain my plan of action in a future blog post.
Thank goodness for my pounds lost jar. I’ll need motivation now more than ever.