hathycol | (no subject)

So yesterday I went to the consultant. I worked from home all morning and trundled out on the bus, past the old greyhound racing stadium and through an estate in Chingford. I was seen remarkably quickly, and wandered in before having to do the deeply embarrassing 'please just take off your bottom half and hop on to the table!' thing. (Having been for two smear tests I am glad that I am now a bona fide expert in what to wear that is comfy, you can quickly get in and out of and doesn't make you feel too much like you're just in a t shirt.)

The male consultant - and the same female nurse assistant who sat in with me last time - tried to put me at my ease, which is not easy when there is naught but a thin tissue betwixt your ladygarden and the world. He then warmed up the probe (and in my head all I could hear was NO NOT THE MIND PROBE) and, er, yeah. If I could not have to have one of those probes in the future again that would be splendid, ta. The consultant was very good, cheerfully assuring me that my womb looked 'the right size' and then ramping up to have a look at my ovaries.

Even I could see that they Did Not Look Right. "You see those dark spots? All of those dark spots?" he asked me whilst waving around said probe.

"Er, yes. There are a lot?"

"You have diagnosed yourself! Well done! Let's see the other one!"

I mean, I have to applaud him for attempting to make me relax whilst he fired ultrasound waves at my overies up my vagina. YEAH TMI.

The long and short of it is that both of my ovaries are riddled with cysts and I have a 'very clear cut' case of polycystic ovarian syndrome.

Once we had got over the jolly probing expert, I got dressed in an undignified manner and was sat down for the more serious part of the appointment. The good news - and I am horribly shallow as I say this - I am not going to develop hirsuitism if I already haven't. This was... a bigger relief than it should have been.

However.

1. The reason I struggle to keep weight off is not, actually, just because I eat too many crisps. I need to keep an eye on this, though, because something something hormones insulin diabetes early death. I did not understand the science. But, you know, a future of salads which I already knew.

2. The acne will NEVER GO AWAY so just deal with that.

3. I am at a much higher risk of uterine cancer because my womb is not flushing itself out because I'm not having periods because where I should be producing eggs I am... not. I flat out refused to go back on the Pill ("I don't want to have to go through all of this again! This is what started this in the first place!") which the consultant agreed was fine, because the coil was a better option. Which was plan a! So that's good! I have been put on some epic hormones to kick start a fake period and then in ten days I'm going to have a biopsy to check all is as it should be and get the coil put in.

4. Even if they took out the coil: I am very unlikely to conceive naturally. I am, at best, ovulating about once a year and what I'm producing is 'probably not great'. Also I am a lot less likely to successfully carry said miracle sprog. There are treatments, but... not under my own steam, basically.

I had a meltdown trying to fill the prescription. The first chemist didn't have it in stock, and the second told me that the prescription was written out wrong and I had to go back to the GP. "It's from a consultant," I said.

"Well, it's wrong."

"Even I can read this. What is the problem with it?"

"It's not formatted properly. Go back to the consultant."

"I AM HAVING A VERY BAD DAY I CANNOT JUST GO BACK AND THIS IS TIME SENSITIVE."

"Well, it's a CONTROLLED DRUG, do you even KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"

"YES ACTUALLY," I snarled, grabbed it back and stormed out of Boots in tears. Fortunately the Co-op pharmacy had it and filled it with no questions. And I felt better for a bit of a controlled meltdown, so that's something.

I am... I dunno. I think I'm just angry. I mean, logically this is frankly neutral at worst. I'm getting the coil I wanted A YEAR AGO. I didn't want kids anyway, if you exclude the annoyance at the amount of money and time I've spent peeing on sticks in the last year. And I come from a family of people with diabetes from eating too much so I was already being sensible with what I eat and I do rather enjoy vegetables anyway.

But I am furious. I am angry that my body has betrayed me and I am angry that choices have been taken away from me. I may be glad to have an answer and to at least know how to go forward but I am just... angry. I am angry that the choice was been taken away from Richie, too. Which is a bit silly, but. There you go. I know people - a lot of people! - on my flist who suffer from much worst Pesky Reproductive System Problems so I think I am being a little precious. Which makes me feel worse about myself. Sorry everyone.

I have told mum, in between telling her this was bloody private and needed to stay as such and I had no desire to let grandad know thank you. I will tell people, at some point, but I need to process this and be able to talk about it rationally. It feels better to get this down on (virtual) paper, at least.