So here’s the thing…..
I have quite a few “crappy” situations. We’ll call them “First World Problems”, shall we?
The one that currently seems to be the most irksome is the whole “girl parts are busted” debacle. Why don’t women talk about this? We’re all so secretive about babies and sex and “womanly things”. We really shouldn’t be.
The reason this situation is crappy is due to a little thing called PCOS. For those of you who are unfamiliar, it stands for Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It’s crazy awesome! Wanna hear why? Okay, cool. I totally wanted to tell you.
Here’s a list of all the reasons PCOS is awesome:
– You know those tiny, pesky little black hairs that grow on your chin, ladies? C’mon. Your husband/boyfriend isn’t here to tease you…. You know what I’m talking about. Now imagine those growing along your jawline, your neck, and your upper lip in huge, thick patches. Makes you feel unbelievably desirable, let me tell ‘ya.
– Losing weight? Forget it. This is my favorite of them all, because while some of us with PCOS have straight up Type 2 Diabetes, the rest of us have something called insulin resistance. MD’s haven’t decided if this is because the insulin we actually produce is faulty, or if our hormone whackitude screws up the way our body absorbs it. But, to the point, losing weight is FAR more difficult for those with PCOS than those without it. Also, it causes these dark patches on your skin in the weirdest places, like the back of your neck, in between your dirty pillows, and in your armpits. Be on the lookout for that.
– Hormonal replacement therapy. Can I be straight with you here? That <expletive> made me seriously consider whether or not I was sane. There was a moment on Christmas Eve when I was driving in the car to Indiana to see my family where I thought that the only way I would continue to live/breathe is if I kept singing; otherwise, I’d have a heart attack or a stroke. (For the record, I’m not nutso. After discontinuing the medicine, my brain is back to normal function….. normal being a loose term, of course.)
And lastly, because it means it is eleventy billion times harder to get pregnant.
I definitely have other purposes in life. I am a phenomenal cupcake maker, for example. But since I was young, I always felt that my purpose was to be a mother…. to have little Von Trapp-lings that I can teach to sing awesome songs (probably of the goofy 80’s/90’s variety), to make tasty treats (mainly the boys….. every girl loves a boy that can cook!), and to take awesome rollerblading trips with (are the kids still doing that these days? Hmmm. Don’t care. I’m saving ma spandex).
This blog will be a welcomed distraction from the past year, which involved medications, blood draws, ridiculous angst, and inevitable sadness at the end of every month. The point of the thing is to celebrate the wonderful things I have in my life that are great, and to bitch about the things that are Great-8 (or eleventy billion). There will probably also be some recipes thrown in there, some conversations about Pop Culture, and definitely more commentary on the life of a couple that is struggling with infertility.