I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) thirteen days ago. Scratch that. I was diagnosed with PCOS eight years ago, and I found out thirteen days ago. Yes, you read that right.
So, since I have (at least) eight years of symptoms, confusion, and wasted birth control copays to wade through I couldn't think of a more 2010 way of coping than blogging about it. If I sound crazy, you can stop reading - it will only get worse.
Anyways, back to the beginning. Thirteen days ago my husband and I were waiting in my gyno's office to try to figure out why my periods are crazy, and why we haven't been able to conceive after a year of trying. In the middle of my professional explanation of what those "salad tong looking things do", the Dr. came in and as I always will in that weird seat, I clenched. Without even looking at me, any of me, she asked me why we were there. After hearing my menstrual and non-pregnant woes she replied with a simple "It comes with the territory". Within the next ten seconds I was told about my 8-year old diagnosis (it would be in third grade), and made to feel like a giant idiot for not knowing, and was told I could make an appointment with the infertility specialist if I had more questions. A fantastic trip, as always. At least she didn't use the salad tongs.
So, tomorrow I am seeing the infertility specialist and hoping she is not only nicer (though, she would need to be), but also very knowledgeable and patient. I have a lot of questions.
