Earlier, I wrote about needing a conversation surrounding Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS for short), I mentioned that I often get irregular periods. While that has been the case for many years, around 2017, my period began to have a little more of a pattern to it, whether it would be a week early or two weeks late–it would follow that same sequence in the years following. However, now, it has been 59 days since my last period. Every pregnancy test has been negative. I can’t even get an appointment with a gynecologist to see what the fuck is going on with my ovaries.
As I write this, I’m sitting on my bed, with the laptop balanced on my knees, hair up in a messy bun, and not in a cute way, with a flare up of pimples, much to my chagrin. Almost every day for the last two months, I’ve been an emotional wreck, more so than usual, wanting to cry at nonsensical things, whether it’s seeing a cat napping on a windowsill, eating a chocolate cake from Tesco or, like last night, watching my boyfriend serenade me with romantic ballads. It’s been tough trying to walk across the rocky, rickety bridge as I try to figure out why my period is so late, when nothing in my life has really changed much since the end of Ramadan, when I last got my period.
Whether it’s my PCOS acting up again (after all this time, why pls?), or just some weird mess happening inside my body, well . . . my reproductive organs anyway, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to consume more fruits, drink more water–my sleeping pattern is a mess, no matter how hard I try to fix it. I’ve probably pissed my GP off by the number of times I’ve called, asking when I’ll be able to see a gyno regarding this problem I’m facing. My mum’s suggesting I go back on the pill, an idea I’m not particularly fond of, and I’m just terrified that this could possibly mean that I can’t have children. My biggest fear.
For a few weeks I even implemented a lifestyle change, in the form of my eating, by cutting out unnecessary junk foods and chocolate *cries, shoving more fruit down my mouth, but when nothing changed and I still didn’t bleed out my vagina, I thought ‘fuck it’ and ordered Mcdonald’s one day, then had pizza with J a few days later. Whilst I am still going about trying to keep up healthier eating, I won’t completely erase comfort food out of my life. After all, comfort food. Ya know what I mean?
Though I am always going to be scared about being infertile, despite knowing there are other methods of getting pregnant, and me still being in my early 20s, relatively healthy (given that my working out and exercising game is very weak–something I will work on again this week! Starting off small, guys!), and without major chronic illnesses like diabetes or heart disease, it shouldn’t be difficult. I should be okay. But still, this incessant worry lingers in my brain, every hour it creeps back like that annoying buzzing in your ear from a fly that you can’t quite see. And believe me, I fucking hate flies.
This week being over (kind of, given that it’s still Friday), I’m going to be restarting my healthy eating, without delicious chocolate cake or cheesy garlic bread, and making a note of the foods I do eat. I won’t be counting calories because that’ll only lead to me hating my body more, but I will definitely make a change and make sure that my mum, and J help me do so as well, because when it comes to things like this I do need other people to keep me in check.
Aside from getting the occasional pimples when I’m due on my period, I get massively emotional, as well as experience mood swings–I go from being a raging bitch to tearfully gushing over how pretty the sky looks, there’s honestly no in between. While it doesn’t necessarily make me feel ‘ugly’, I do feel bloated and exhausted (a feeling I’ve been experiencing constantly over the last couple months, honestly. Nothing helps. I am always tired and lacking the energy to even exist. I could walk down the stairs and then want to just sit or lie down because of how tired and drained my body feels), wanting to just hide away in my bed, watching Grey’s Anatomy and munching on chips.
The worst thing is, weeks and weeks ago, sometime in June, I bled for two days, where it wasn’t even a period, going from bright red one day to the lightest shade of pink and then to clear discharge the day after. Whenever I do, or did rather, get my period, it lasts somewhere between 7 to 10 days, ranging from a myriad of coloured discharge: slight spotting to bright crimson red to dark red, to brownish red to practically black discharge. The first three days for me were always the heaviest, having to change my pad almost every two hours, not merely for hygiene reasons, but because it would fill up with the blood. Having that happen always made me feel as if there were certain activities, such as getting out of bed and getting on with my day, I didn’t want to participate in. It was all just. So. Tiring. Draining. Exhausting.
Right now, the confusion surrounding my lack of period for 59 days is one at the forefront of all my thoughts. Whilst I’d rather not experience that feeling of Niagara Falls when I stand up after sitting for a long time, I would much prefer to have my period so I know everything is okay and I wouldn’t be freaking out and having an inner turmoil. PCOS problems. It really sucks.