The funniest thing about having PCOS is that, awkwardly, PCSO stands for Police Community Support Officer. Mild confusion ensues. It’s just that the former is definitely not the acronym you dreamed of bringing up with your future husband.
PCOS stands for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and it’s the diagnosis that makes you contemplate telling your uni boyfriend, ‘Yeah, can we get a jiffy on a bit because I need a baby by like 25, give or take two?!’ Or more to the point, if this relationship isn’t the real deal, how do I tell someone new that I’m on the fast track to baby town?
These are the questions that come to mind when your periods pretty much dry up at 22 (incidentally, cysts on the ovaries aren’t painful or fatal, but they just build up on the lining and can sometimes affect ovulation).
No-one really seems to know what causes PCOS (especially not Google because trust me I’ve tried it) but it’s thought to be linked to an excess of insulin. Polycystic ovaries can’t even be diagnosed. Having three or more of the symptoms can make a suspected case but you’re unlikely to be told that’s precisely what you have.
What are the symptoms of PCOS?
Amenorrhea (the absence of periods) is just one of the tell-tale signs for PCOS, because there’s also more noticeable predictors like extra fuzz, acne and serious weight gain – brought on by excess male sex hormones called androgens. Though let’s just say they didn’t have to hand me a razor and an Atkins diet plan before sending me on my merry way after the ultrasound.
Being sent for an ultrasound is perhaps the most ironic and taunting way to investigate the condition, especially as you totally thought your first ultrasound would happen in very different circumstances. Plus, there’s only so many times you want to be asked to down two litres of water and be told they’re running 45 minutes late...
It’s estimated that about one in every five women in the UK has polycystic ovaries, but more than half have no symptoms. It doesn’t always affect fertility but you’re told it might take you longer to conceive. So was I fortunate to have an early diagnosis rather than finding out when it was too late? In a way yes, but it totally fucks with your head in your early twenties.
How does PCOS affect your fertility?
While you’ve always dreamed of a family ‘some day’, there’s literally nothing you can do about PCOS unless you’re at the point of planning a family. And that’s not exactly me at 22, floundering at the bottom of the journalism ladder – one magazine issue away from being made redundant – and sharing a poxy shoebox flat with an athlete, a sex-obsessed German and a narcissistic Mancunian, whom for all their sharing merits couldn’t give two flying turkeys about my ovaries.
I do have plenty to thank my best friend Lucy for, since we spent most of that winter having sleepovers in matching socks; a Friends DVD on in the background and crying into pints of wine as we talked about baby names.
The very mention of PCOS brings out a second, third or even fourth-hand story in most friends: ‘Oh, well my mum’s friend’s daughter had polycystic ovaries and now she’s got, like, five kids!’ or ‘Yeah, but did you hear about Emily? Her older sister had PCOS when she was 35 and still had a baby. Miracle right?’
Everyone seems to know a story with a happy outcome, but if rom-coms have taught us nothing, it’s that we should assume we’re the rule and not the exception.
One of the things the docs tell you to focus on is keeping your weight down. Though on reflection that’s a pretty ill-advised recommendation for a former chubby teen who’s lived with a mild preoccupation with food and being fat.
Looking back at New Year’s pictures from that time I was pretty scary-skinny and I was still about six to eight years off broaching that magical family planning conversation with my boyfriend and the prospect of doctors finally blasting those fucking cysts from my ovaries.
For now, three years on, it’s one of those things you have to lock up in a tiny box in your mind, along with the worry that Kim and Kanye will call their second child South West and the fear that someone will stop making episodes of House Of Cards, because there’s simply nothing you can do about it right now.
On some level, yes I do thank my lucky stars that I know about it now because even if it did lead me to a mini-meltdown, at least I’ll be expecting it when it just doesn’t happen for me the first, second, third or fourth time.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.