PCOS, Dianette & A Discussion on Babies ….

Glug, glug, glug and glug … I forced 2 pints of orange squash down my throat at 2pm today, this is more than I normally drink in a whole day and I felt sick.
My lack of drinking revolves around the fact I have the smallest bladder known in the entire existence!
My friends will back me up when I tell you that I cannot even finish a cup of tea, I only ever drink half a cup and that’s usually because my bladder starts wailing at me.
After the first pint I really thought I would throw up all over the place, I started to swallow the second by sucking it through my teeth and breathing deeply, but I managed and felt incredibly pleased with myself.
This euphoria was short lived, as soon as  I left the house and got into the car the little tingling of lady bits alerted me to the fact I needed a wee.
I quietly reassured my bladder that it would be emptied in a little over twenty minutes, not to worry lil guy. Everything will be fine.
90 minutes later ….
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME SAM??? EMPTY ME YOU BITCH, EMPTY ME OR I’LL LET GO AND YOU’LL PISS YOURSELF IN THIS FUCKING WAITING ROOM IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PREGNANT WOMEN”
The abuse from my bladder continued, it ranted and raved and decided to change the little tingling to a sharp stabbing and squeezing.
In typical NHS fashion – they were running late and I sat there in pain, cursing the NHS and wishing I could afford private medical care.
I couldn’t take it any longer and waddled into the toilet, as I sat down and closed my eyes in relief, the inevitable happened …
“Miss Davies, Miss Samantha Davies?” (NHS still have my maiden name)
I grimaced and shut my bladder off – it responded sullenly with a sharp twang.
“YES” I call from the toilet – que the tittering and laughing of those waiting, but there was no way I was giving up my spot and having the sonographer thinking I wasn’t there!
Hurridly I pulled my jeans up, washed my hands and emerged – flying low and zipping myself up in front of about twenty people. I am a classy lady.
The scan itself was pretty boring, jelly on stomach and the machine rolling around my stomach and top of groin fat. My bladder continued to abuse me, “MOTHER FUCKING BITCH, FUCKING LET ME GOOOOOOO” it wasn’t happy at the earlier teasing in the loo.
I asked the sonographer if my ovaries were normal and she cryptically replied with “I’ve got good clear pictures” – diplomatic, but I knew then that they weren’t.
Finally I could do to the toilet, it was truly a heavenly moment. I heard the sweet rapturous tunes of the angels as I let go and as I finished my bladder made peace “YOU KNOW WE’RE FRIENDS RIGHT? I DIDN’T MEAN THOSE THINGS, I LOVE YOU.”
“I love you too my hamster sized organ” I replied gently.
After a further twenty minutes the sonographer came out with a brown taped up envelope “your report. you’ve got an appointment at outpatients, make your way over now.”
I was sorely tempted to open it and read on the way over but I decided against it. I only had to wait a short while and I’d know what it said. I think subconsciously I didn’t want to read the results as I knew they wouldn’t be good. I don’t have much luck in the lady health department.
So I arrived in outpatients and luckily didn’t have to wait too long, I spoke to Mr Akrong who opened the report and confirmed I have PCOS. It was nice that he reassured me and said that 22% of the female population in the UK have this condition.
He then lost his brownie points by adding “but your’s is very bad, your right ovary is double the size it should be. You have a severe amount of follicles.”
He asked if I planned to have a baby, and I answered honestly – Yes, my husband and I want to have children in about 3 years.
He looks up and says “No, at 28, happily married and with PCOS like this, you will not be waiting 3 years.”
Thank you Mr Akrong, thank you for deciding on when my husband and I will change our lives forever by adding a baby into our family, I couldn’t have made that decision without your input. I didn’t realise that as a gynecologist you also had an insight into the personal and financial situation of all your patients.
I know this sounds a little churlish and ungrateful, but John and I have chosen 3 years for a reason, we both have financial responsibilities we would like to discharge. I would like to start and complete my OU course, along with my writing and to be honest, we are both too selfish to be parents right about now. I enjoy my lay ins, I enjoy my lazy days and days watching bad tv with the cats and dogs for company …
Eventually we came to compromise, I will see Mr Akrong in 12 months time to discuss trying for a baby and fertility issues, the PCOS paired with the endometriosis means that he doesn’t think I will conceive naturally and will need help in one way or another. I know it may take longer than 2 years, but it really isn’t something I’m ready to budge on just yet – If it is meant to be, it will happen. Karma and all that …
I’ve been prescribed Dianette (contraceptive pill) – this will hopefully help with the acne and excess body hair (I look like the bearded lady sometimes – The Wolfman has nothing on me!) It will also hopefully give me some bleeds. I’ve heard both good and bad things about this drug but we shall see.
He wants me to try it for 3 months and go from there, we discussed the other issues I have (see older posts) and he thinks that the Dianette should clear those problems up … Obviously I won’t be growing my labia minora any time soon, but the other problems should be addressed – yay for more drugs!
It seems weird that this contraceptive pill might clear up the problems I’ve been suffering with for years, such a small thing can make the biggest difference … I shall report back and let you all know how it goes!
Perhaps taking this every day will help me remember my other meds???
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