When I was diagnosed at age sixteen, after having one period in the eighth grade and then never again till a medically induced one my junior year of high school - my uterine lining measured in centimeters because it was so thick, my mother turned to me in the car. She was upset. Literal tears in her eyes. And she told me her friend had PCOS, but was still able to have kids. That this was still a possibility for me if I did injections and fertility treatments, etc. My mom had never asked me if I wanted kids, she just assumed.
My first conversation about PCOS with my new endocrine/OBGYN was about weight management and how that could improve my fertility when I eventually wanted kids. It wasn't asked what my goals were for my health or if I wanted kids, just assumed.
I was a hormonal, depressed mess. I hated my body. My body dysmorphia was so bad that I cloistered myself away from so much. I wore hoodies and jeans in the 90°F, 80% humidity summers. This was considered fine. I was given metformin and birth control pills and told this was all that could be done. That PCOS wouldn't affect my life until I wanted to be pregnant. I wasn't asked if I wanted to be pregnant, just assumed.
I don't know how many PCOS groups I joined on my early 20s hoping to find community and commonality for body dysmorphia and symptom management, only to be bombarded with fertility treatments and tips and 'inspirational conception' anecdotes. They never asked if I was attempting to conceive, just assumed.
It's a problem. It's been a problem. And thank god I learned to speak up and find medical professionals that would help me with *MY* goals. I shouldn't have had to, someone should have recognized the needs of that sixteen y.o. and protected her, but I can only hope the conversation changes as awareness increases.
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
stormborns
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
