My mom tells me that when I was born, I was little, scrawny even. That didn’t last long. By the time puberty hit, I was thicker than most girls my age. Around my 16th birthday, I started gaining weight, but I couldn’t figure out why. Other weird things started happening to my body around that time too. Cystic acne around my jaw line and neck, increased facial hair, (thank God, I’m half albino so my hair is very light) thinning hair, and of course epic mood swings that could have classified me as “unstable” (wink wink.) In the following months, my period all but disappeared. I’m talking 3-4 times a year, and when it did come, it came with the thunder, taking no prisoners. I was experiencing pain in my abdomen and sides that literally brought me to my knees at times. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, so this was BAD! I lived like this for two years, listening to my doctor tell me that it’s normal for teen girls to have “wacky” period. When I was 18, I arrived to work early and decided to read a Glamour magazine. As I was skimming mundane articles about relationships and the latest fashion trends, my eyes zeroed in the words, weight gain, acne, irregular menstrual cycle, hirsutism (hair on places it shouldn’t be), pelvic pain, ovarian cysts, male-pattern baldness, anxiety/depression, and then INFERTILITY!!! I stopped breathing. My eyes filled with tears. I shook all over. I called my mom. My mother made me an appointment with her gynecologist and we went three days after I read the article. I calmly sat in front of the doctor and handed her the magazine saying, “I think I have this, can you help me?” She very carefully read the article while taking some notes. She handed me back the article, smiled, and said, “would you like to have a career in medicine?”

The appointment continued. I had a routine exam, an internal ultrasound, and loads of blood tests. The doctor walked me out and told me that there really was not a lot of research on PCOS, but she was going to look into some things and call me when the test results were in. The two days in between were hell. I wanted to know, I didn’t want to know. I wanted answers for what was happening to me. I wanted to name it. But, I sure as shit did not want that disease. That disease that strips women of their femininity and ultimately their fertility. As I walking into work, my cell phone rang. I answered it and walked back outside. My doctor, whom I had just met, broke the news to me as gently as she could. She told me that she was going to start me on birth control to regulate my periods. I just kept saying, “ok.” I walked back into work and cried while two of my friends just sat there and listened.

A few years passed, my periods regulated, but the pain never stopped. I could tell when I was ovulating or at least trying to ovulate. My eggs would fight to burst through tiny pearl-like cysts. Sometimes they made their way out, but mostly they just gave up becoming more little pearls.

It was an extreme cliche moment when I met my husband. I saw him and I got goosebumps. After dating for a while, I told him all about my PCOS and then I sobbed as he held me. I didn’t want to rob him of the chance to be a daddy. He smiled at me and said, “we’ll do whatever it takes, and I understand what I’m getting myself into!” The poor guy, I really don’t think he had any idea what he was signing up for. We got married and immediately started trying to conceive. After what seemed like forever, I did get pregnant, on my own, with no intervention. I thought maybe the studies were wrong. I miscarried at my cousin’s wedding shower. I drove myself home and for about 4o minutes alone in the car, I prayed like I never prayed before. When my husband saw me coming up the front walk, the look on his face broke my heart and stole my breath like a sucker punch to the gut. I knew then that it was over and that our little miracle was no more. After the miscarriage it was like as if someone gathered up all of my hormones and started playing 52 pick up with them. My PCOS was in overdrive. I found a reproductive endocrinologist and made an appointment. My husband and I sat through hours of questions, glucose tests, blood tests, and an exam. At the conclusion of my appointment, the doctor put her hand on my back and said, “let’s get you pregnant.” She prescribed me metformin and showed me how to chart my temperature to see if ovulation was occurring. After numerous doctor visits and tests, and poking and prodding, I was scheduled to have a somewhat invasive test on a Thursday in July, right around our 2 year anniversary. The day before my appointment, I felt weird. Since I had purchased enough pregnancy tests to test Gloucester High, I decided to pee on a stick. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was pregnant for the second time. I was beyond words happy, but so scared! We didn’t know whether to celebrate or to worry. Throughout this whole time, my weight went up and down, but always stayed way over what it should have been.

My son was born on 3/17/2007. But PCOS wasn’t done screwing with me. I struggled to breastfeed for 3 months. I mean, I fed him, bottle fed him (because he didn’t get enough from me) and then pumped. I did this routine all day, every day for 3 months. I hated myself yet again. Conceiving my daughter was not so easy. I had to have a hysterosalpinogram. An HSG is a lovely test in which a long tube is inserted into your vag and dye is pushed through your uterus and fallopian tubes in order to locate any blockages, (I didn’t have any.) While I was having this done, my devoted husband was having his little swimmers analyzed. The RE told me, “Colleen, as soon as you get home from the HSG, have sex, lots of sex for the next 2 weeks!, I know you’ll be crampy, I don’t care, just do it.” So we did and 10 months later, my beautiful, sassy even at birth, daughter was born. (Now, both my deliveries were horror stories, I mean a sci-fi movie could be made using footage of my children trying to be born. I allowed myself to be a gynecological guinea pig both times!!)

So, here I am. I have an overly understanding and supportive husband, who happens to be the love of my life, and two MIRACLE children, who I thank God for every minute of the day. I work full-time as a behavior specialist in a middle school, but of course would much rather be a stay at home mom. I should be overjoyed, but I am not. Please don’t get me wrong. My family and my life makes me happy. I just hate myself most days. I hate how I look and how I feel. I finally joined weight watchers online when trying on dresses for a wedding made me break down in tears in Macy’s dressing room. I looked 8 months pregnant in every dress I tried on. You see PCOS does not only make it difficult to lose weight, but the weight all chooses to take up residence in my stomach area. When I get a little braver, I will post my starting weight, progress, and goal weight. But, until then…I lost 5 pounds at my first weigh in. It’s not easy, especially cooking for 2 little kids, I’m trying though. I hope to find a little more motivation and get my butt walking soon too.

I hope to chronicle my weight loss here and if you choose to follow this blog, please prepare yourself. This journey is not going to be pretty. It’s going to get freaking ugly up in here. I’m expecting a total shit storm, so you’ve been warned.

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waa waa waa…………………………………………..