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Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), a condition affecting more than 170 million people worldwide, has been officially renamed Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome (PMOS)
Global Experts Establish New Name for PCOS to Reflect Multisystem Disease.
Helping with your PCOS
Synopsis: How do the LI’s help you deal with your PCOS symptoms and the after effects of your pain?
Warnings: Descriptions of 🩸, we’re talking about ovaries here, talks of fertility struggles, could be triggering to some, read at your own risk.
Authors Note: I have been suffering with a recent PCOS diagnosis and I hope this helps those who suffer with similar issues! And yes I cried writing these LOL
ᨒ Xavier
A knock at a door. Silence… A second knock.
Nothing…
The man raises an eyebrow. No, he shouldn’t be concerned. His partner is more than capable of looking after themselves.
He knocks again.
A quiet rustle. A light flickers on.
A woman dressed in nothing but an oversize tee answers the door to find her boyfriend.
You rubs your eyes, sleepy, and yawn.
“Xav…?”
“I’m sorry, were you sleeping? You didn’t respond to my messages, so I thought I’d come over.”
Xavier steps inside with a small overnight bag slung over his shoulder, setting it down by the door as he removes his shoes.
“I bought some food as well, in case you haven’t eaten…” he sets a paper bag of takeout containers down on the kitchen table.
“Come on, you shouldn’t be standing in your condition.”
He takes your arm gently, guiding her back to the bedroom.
“I’m sorry. It’s just a stupid flare up again.” You whisper, leaning on him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so…distant because of it.”
Xavier shakes his head, brushing the loose curls from your face. “You don’t ever have to apologize,” he murmurs.
He leads you to the bed, lowering you back down to rest on the mattress.
“Here, I’ll get you some medicine for the back pain. You’ve barely moved from this spot all day, have you?”
Xavier leans down to brush a kiss against your forehead before moving towards the bathroom to retrieve the painkillers.
When he returns, he hands the pills and a glass of water to you. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed as she swallows the medicine. He rests a hand on your forehead briefly, checking her temperature, before he pulls back.
“Do you need anything else? I can make some tea for you. I brought some homemade tarts as well…”
Xavier trails off and you shake your head, reaching out to take his hand. “No, just some cuddles please. And some stories of space.”
Xavier lets a small smile reach his lips. He slides himself into bed beside you, pulling you close so you could curl up in his embrace.
“Alright, little bunny.” He rubs your her back as he begins his usual nightly story. “Have I ever told you about the supernova you remind me of?” You giggle and shake your head, even though he’s probably told you this story a million times.
“Supernovas are incredibly rare and beautiful occurrences. When a star nears the end of its life, it reaches its final stage of stellar evolution.” Xavier begins, his voice low and soft.
“Its life force burns with such intensity, giving birth to cosmic matter we humans still have yet to discover.”
Xavier’s arm tightens around you, the heat on your back lessening somewhat.
“It’s a very, very important process. But… that’s not what makes a supernova special to me—” Xavier smiles down at her, bumping his nose against hers. “-It’s that for a brief moment, they burn at their brightest before they finally, completely, disappear.”
The hand in her your moves down to her chin, his thumb caressing her bottom lip.
“But that doesn’t mean they’re gone. Supernovas are the start of every new universe; of nebulae and new life.”
He presses another, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re irreplaceable.”
“Are you comparing my PCOS cramps to a supernova?” You giggle, nose wrinkling.
“Well…” he trails off, trying to think of a way to salvage his story.
“The supernova is… how I see your soul.” He adds quickly. “It’s not about what’s happening now-“ he pauses to rub your back again, “—you have a fire inside you that can never be put out. One that’s burning bright.”
Xavier leans forward to press his lips to your forehead, letting his touch linger for a long moment.
“Even if it’s painful right now… you can’t help but shine.”
ᨒRafayel
It was his turn to look after you. Rafayel sat next to you on his couch, his sketchbook on his lap, but his attention was on you.
"Still in pain?" He asked softly, reaching over to cup the side of your face, rubbing the apple your cheek with his thumb. He didn't like seeing you in pain or discomfort, it also made him feel powerless to be unable to help.
"Let me know if you want me to get you anything. Water? Tea? Juice? A different heating pad?" Rafayel had three of them.
You wince at a cramp, taking a deep breath. “No…no it’s alright. I’m just-it gets tiring. The constant up and down of my condition.”
"I know." Rafayel knew it wasn't easy. He leaned over and pulled your head gently on his shoulder, kissing the top of it.
"I'm here." His words were soft, yet sincere, reassuring. No matter how small or trivial your problems or pains were, Rafayel didn't care.
"I get to take care of you tonight," he smiled, a playful teasing expression on his lips. You could sense his playfulness and cheeky side resurfacing, but his sincere and affectionate side was underneath it. "Who will take care of you if not me?"
It was one of the ways Rafayel showed you that he wanted to care for you. A few months after you had started dating, he had started to learn more about your hormonal condition and its symptoms, especially the irregular and painful period.
"What else do you need?" Rafayel asked, keeping his voice soft, his hand on your forearm as you lay against his shoulder, the heat pack on your abdomen. He couldn't take your pain away, but he was a very willing shoulder to lean on.
You sniffle and rub at your red eyes. “Just-I wanna be normal…”
Rafayel's face flickered with worry and concern as he heard your words.
"Hey... " Rafayel's voice was soft as he pulled you into his lap to embrace you. The way he held you, you could sense he cared. "You are normal, Y/n. The way you're feeling is normal. You don't have to go through it alone. You have me.”
He pressed a kiss on the top of your head. "I know I can't take your pain away, but the least I can do is be there for you."
You felt icky, gross in a way. You weakly tried to push him away. “I don’t wanna make a mess…”
Rafayel resisted your feeble push and held you close.
"Make a mess all you want; I can be the one to clean it up," he said, pressing a kiss on your lips. He wasn't letting you push him away. It was his turn to take care of you.
"I already told you, I'm taking care of you now," he said, his arms tightly around you.
Rafayel perked up as he opened his sketchbook. He had been drawing sketches of what you had described your condition to be like.
"Don't look at me like that," Rafayel huffed, turning his head to the side; he could see that you had raised a brow. "It helps me process, I'm an artist," he pouted, not looking at you as he continued to add more details to the sketch.
In his art were things his words couldn't easily describe. Even though it wasn't the first time he had heard of hormonal irregularities, it was hard to wrap his head around it. So instead, he tried to sketch and put it into art.
"I can't physically feel it," he said softly, still not looking at you out of embarrassment, his eyes on his sketches. "But I can draw it for you..." he trailed off, his face brightening as he looked at you.
You smile, nuzzling his cheek, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.”
ᨒZayne
You suffered heavily from PCOS, only being recently diagnosed despite having your suspicions.
Currently, you were trying to nap, Zayne laid beside you reading a book. Your flare ups exhausted you to the point you didn’t want to move from the bed.
Zayne's frown deepened as he slowly lifted up the sheets that covered the two of you. Sure enough, he saw red staining the light ivory sheets and the mattress beneath.
He sighed deeply, a hint of concern flashing across his face. Zayne turned his attention back to you, his gaze filled with worry as he gently shook your shoulder.
"Y/n," He called out, his voice soft yet stern, "Wake up, please."
Once you roused from your sleep, Zayne continued in a firm tone, "I'm changing the sheets."
He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and began stripping the stained bedding, his actions quick and efficient. Zayne kept his focus solely on the task at hand, his expression betraying a hint of the worry he felt for you.
As he bundled the soiled sheets, he spoke again, "Your temperature is a bit higher than usual as well.”
“I’m sorry-I should’ve-“ you pushed yourself to sit up but double over in a cramp. “O-ow…”
Zayne heard your apology and your pained gasp as you sat up. His heart clenched, and he set the bundle of stained sheets aside for a moment. In an instant, he was right by your side, his strong arm gently supporting you as you doubled over.
"Don't apologize," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "You can't control this."
His gaze softened as he watched you in pain, his free hand reaching out to gently place against your back, rubbing slow circles.
“But I-“ you cut to yourself off, nuzzling into his neck. “It’s gross and I can’t control it. It’s been like this for 2 weeks now. I can’t-“ you cut yourself off with a sob.
Zayne's heart ached as he felt you nuzzling against his neck, the sound of your tear-muffled sobs piercing through the air. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a firm yet gentle embrace.
"Shhh..." he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It's okay. It's not your fault, Y/n."
His hand continued rubbing those slow circles across your back, a soothing gesture meant to ease some of the tension and pain. Zayne's jaw clenched as he felt helpless against your condition.
He was frustrated, not at you but at the situation and the fact that he couldn't do more for you. Zayne's hold on you tightened slightly, his fingers brushing against your hair in a gentle motion.
"I hate seeing you suffer like this," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? I could have messaged one of my colleagues, had you seen at the hospital.”
You shook your head with a bitter laugh. “Doctors don’t take people with PCOS seriously. They’d just try to put me on birth control. Don’t you think I’ve tried before?”
Zayne's jaw clenched and his eyes darkened at your bitter laugh. He knew the truth in your words. The medical field could be dismissive, and he had heard countless stories of patients, especially women, not receiving the care they deserved.
He held you even closer, his hand still rubbing your back. "I know," he sighed, his voice a mix of resignation and anger. "I've seen it too. But I thought... I thought maybe..."
His sentence trailed off as he grappled with his own feeling of helplessness.
He knew the toll PCOS took on you, physically and emotionally. He had seen the pain, the frustration, and the endless battles you fought just to feel normal. It made him feel powerless, especially because he was a doctor. He was meant to help, to fix problems, and yet, here he was, unable to ease your suffering.
Zayne's voice became firmer, a touch of anger seeping into his words. "But that doesn't mean we give up. We'll find a way, Y/n. I promise you that."
Zayne picked you up effortlessly, your weight feeling almost familiar in his arms. He carried you into the bathroom, his gaze still holding onto a mix of worry and determination.
Carefully, he placed you on the edge of the bathtub, turning on the faucet so that warm water flowed into the tub. Zayne knelt down in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face.
"Let me take care of you," he said gently, his hands reaching out to slowly peel off your nightgown.
You leaned your head on him as he rolled up the sleeves of his button up. “Don’t you want somebody who can easily give you children one day? Was I the best choice…?”
Zayne froze at your words, the cloth in his hand pausing mid-motion. He looked down at you, his green eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and then, almost hurt.
He set the cloth aside and took your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. There was a rare hint of anger in his voice as he replied, "Do you really think I married you solely for the idea of having children?"
He let out a small scoff, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he continued, "Do you think I love you any less because of what PCOS has put you through?"
Zayne's grip on your chin tightened slightly as he searched your eyes for any doubts or insecurities you were harboring. He needed you to understand that you were far more than just a means to bear a child.
"I chose you, not because you're normal or because you can give me children," Zayne said emphatically. His hold on you tightened, as if to emphasize his words. "I chose you because you're you. You're strong, intelligent, stubborn, and you drive me crazy in the best and worst ways. I wouldn't have it any other way."
He let out a humorless chuckle. "A normal wife? Can you even imagine how boring that would be?"
ᨒCaleb
Caleb stood in the open doorway to the bathroom, watching with a tight-lipped expression as you knelt over the toilet, a pale sheen of sweat covering your skin. Your face was creased with pain, and your muscles were stiff with tension.
His heart ached as he watched you struggling. He wanted desperately to take away your anguish, but all he could do was hover by the door, feeling helpless.
"It's bad today?" he asked quietly.
You tried to nod, but the pain had you too tense to think straight. All you could get out was a shaky 'yeah.'
Caleb sighed heavily, moving closer. He knelt beside you, his hand coming to rest on your back, rubbing gentle slow circles along your spine.
"You should have stayed in bed, baby."
“I want to get out and do stuff. I don’t want it to define me.” You say through clenched teeth. “I feel so alone…”
Caleb's expression softens even more. He knew how much this affected you, and how isolating it could be. He hated seeing you like this.
"You're not alone," he assured you, his voice low and firm. He continued to rub your back gently, trying to provide some small measure of comfort, even as your body shook with the waves of pain.
"I'm here. I'll always be here," Caleb continued, his touch growing a little firmer on your back. "You're not defined by this, and you don't have to suffer through it alone."
He moved a little closer, his arm wrapping around your waist. He pulled you closer, guiding you to rest your head against his chest.
It was a recurring thing through the next few days. You stayed curled up in bed, the curtains drawn tight and the AC on blast.
Caleb didn't leave your side. He brought you food and water, refilled your medication, and comforted you with a steady hand.
He knew there wasn't much he could do to ease the physical pain, but he did everything he could to make you comfortable. He even brought in a small fan from the other room, setting it up next to the bed to keep you cool.
He'd sit on the edge of the bed, sometimes massaging your shoulders or letting you use his chest as a pillow.
Caleb came into your bedroom with a hairbrush and a hair tie and that big goofy grin. “C’mon Pipsqueak, let’s brushed that hair.”
You couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by Caleb's cheerful demeanor. Here you were, lying on the bed feeling miserable with period cramps, and he was acting like it was a regular day. But there was something endearing about it too.
"Do I really have to?" you groaned weakly, looking up at him with a pout.
Caleb chuckled at your pouty face and leaned down to ruffle your messy hair affectionately.
"Yes, you do. You look like a wild, little raccoon." He held up the brush and hair tie. "Now, come on. Let me fix that nest on your head."
You reluctantly sat up in bed, wincing slightly as the movement sent another wave of cramps through your abdomen. But you still made a face at Caleb, trying to look annoyed and not amused.
"I can brush my own hair, you know," you protested weakly.
Caleb just smiled at your complaint, completely unabashed by your grumpy act.
"I know you can, pipsqueak. But let me take care of you, alright? Just relax and let me do this."
He sat down next to you on the bed, taking your chin gently in his hand and guiding you to turn your back to him.
You sighed, trying to act annoyed, but secretly relishing the gentle way he was handling you.
He began brushing through your tangled mess of hair, starting at the ends and working his way up carefully.
"See? Not so bad, right?" he teased as you relaxed involuntarily into his touch.
“I wish I was normal and I could do everyday things. I feel…weird.” You admit as he brushes through the knots.
Caleb pauses his brushing, hearing the vulnerability in your words.
"Weird?" he echoed, setting the brush down on the bed and gently turning you so you were facing him again. "You're not weird, sweetheart. You just have a condition that makes some things more challenging."
He took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. His gaze was steady and serious.
"And you are normal, in every way that matters."
Despite your insecurities and physical pain, there was a small part of you that loved the way he reassured you and treated you with such gentleness.
"But... sometimes it feels like I'm just a burden," you confessed, your voice small. "I can't even manage a simple task like brushing my hair without needing your help."
Caleb's expression softened even further. He understood the frustration and helplessness you were feeling. But he refused to let you wallow in self-pity.
"Hey, no talk like that," he said firmly but kindly. "You're not a burden, and needing help doesn't make you weak. It just makes you human."
He leaned closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"And there's nothing wrong with letting your boyfriend pamper you a little."
ᨒSylus
Your fingers tremble as you hold the pregnancy test, your heart heavy with disappointment. The negative result glares back at you, a stark reminder of the struggles you face in conceiving a child.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, betraying your stoic expression. A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm you—the pain of fertility issues, the longing for a family, the weight of feeling powerless against your own body.
You hear the bathroom door creak open, the sound of Sylus' footsteps approaching. He must have sensed your distress. His footsteps come to a halt when he sees you, his sharp eyes taking in the scene - the discarded pregnancy test, your trembling form, and the tears you fought to hold back.
He steps closer, his presence radiating a sense of calm amid the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Silently, he reaches out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.
You wince at his touch and put the test on the sink. “I’m sorry-I know I shouldn’t give my hopes up…”
He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, his touch a silent anchor in your moment of despair. His voice, deep and steady, cuts through the silence. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's okay to feel disappointed. It's okay to hope."
He moves to stand beside you, his presence a source of strength even in your vulnerability. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just... sometimes life isn't fair."
You feel a sob rising in your chest, the weight of your fertility struggles crashing down on you like a wave. You had wanted this so badly, had been trying for months, and yet...
Sylus pulls you into his embrace, encircling you with his strong arms. His chest is a solid wall of comfort. He doesn't say anything, just holds you close, letting you ride out the wave of emotions.
His steady heartbeat, his presence, his silent support. It’s like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of despair.
You bury your face in his chest, tears falling freely now, staining his shirt. He runs his hand gently over your hair, offering silent comfort as you cry out your frustrations and pain.
Eventually, the sobs subside, leaving you drained and exhausted. You pull back slightly, looking up at him through teary eyes. "I just... I don't understand why it's so hard for us, why I… why I can't..."
His expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and determination. He cups your face in his hands, his touch gentle. "It's not your fault. There can be so many factors at play. But we won't give up. We'll keep trying, and we'll fight this together."
He leans down, pressing his lips lightly against your forehead. "You're not alone in this, you understand? We're in this together, no matter what."
You take a deep breath and press a hand to your stomach. “I’ve been taking the medication for the cyst, I’ve been tracking my ovulation. I feel so…so tired…”
Sylus nods, understanding coloring his features. "I know you have. You've been doing everything you can. We both have."
He takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's tough. It's exhausting, both physically and emotionally. But we can't give up."
His eyes meet yours, a fire of determination burning in them. "We'll keep trying. We'll find a solution. And in the mean time, you need to take care of yourself too, okay?"
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The routine becomes almost numbing—the medications, the tracking, the hope and subsequent disappointment. It's a cycle that takes its toll, the weight of each negative result slowly chipping away at your spirit.
Sylus stays by you through it all, a steadfast anchor in the storm. He's there when you cry, when you vent your frustrations, and when you're quiet and distant. He never falters in his support, never wavers in his belief that you can overcome this.
Nighttime was the hardest, you lay still, staring up at the ceiling, the shadows of doubt creeping into your mind again. Sylus, sensing your restlessness, rolls onto his side to face you.
He gently brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead, his voice low and soothing in the dark. "Can't sleep again?"
You turn to face him, a weary nod answering his question. You take in the lines of his face, the way the faint moonlight slants over his features.
He reaches out, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "The thoughts keeping you up again?"
You sigh, not bothering to lie. Sylus knows you too well. "Yeah. Just… wondering if it's even worth it, trying again. It feels like a never-ending cycle of disappointment."
He's quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing light patterns on the back of your hand. "I know it's hard. Each negative result feels like a blow. But just because we haven't succeeded yet doesn't mean we won't."
His voice is gentle yet firm. "We promised each other we'd keep trying, remember? And that's what we're gonna do."
You close your eyes, his steadfastness a balm to your weary soul. "Sometimes, I just can't help but feel like… like there's something wrong with me. Like my body is betraying me."
He shakes his head, his grip on your hand firming. "Don't say that. You're not wrong or broken. This is a medical issue, and we're dealing with it. But don't you dare start doubting yourself."
His hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch grounding. "You are amazing, strong, and more than enough. It's not your fault."
His words, so sincere and resolute, make a lump form in your throat. You've heard him say similar things before, but this time, amidst the darkness and the late-night vulnerability, they hit differently.
Sylus moves closer, closing the gap between you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, his body a comforting presence against yours. "We'll get through this, together. I'm not going anywhere."
So when those two pink lines pop up on the pregnancy test your next ovulation cycle, you are overjoyed, clinging to Sylus to ground yourself, just like he had to you for so long.
Projecting my PCOS enhanced period cramps on to my human Bill Cipher.
love me anyways
oscar piastri x pcos!reader
summary oscar comes home to reader mid flare up and has to navigate helping her through it
warnings chronic illness, mental health, language, chronic pain, fluff, pet names, domestic oscar
a/n hey guys! mainly wrote this for myself in all honesty - woke up in a flare and wrote this. i hope you guys like this and its not too much or anything! i'll have more stuff coming out soon! please send in requests:)
not proofread
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. he wasn’t supposed to see you like this.
i’ve been thinking about this a lot. and i wanted to share it somewhere, and i like this blog a lot, and maybe you’ve heard this before in which case i’m sorry, but anyway i think the unwillingness for people with PMOS to self-identify as intersex is rooted in intersexism a large percentage of the time
Oh absolutely. Most of the time, when a person with PMOS declines the idea of being intersex, there's some weird explanation behind it.
I've seen this quite a few times with women who have PMOS. I've seen many of them say "I am not intersex, I am a woman" as if those are two distinct things.
The other thing I often hear is "well, hormones aren't enough to make me intersex", which just spreads misinformation about what intersexuality is, and also downplays people with other hormonal variations.
If someone chooses not to use the intersex label purely because they feel no attachment to it, that's one thing. But saying it's because it "devalues your gender identity" or "isn't enough to be intersex" is intersexist.
(Note: PMOS is the new name for PCOS. More on that here [link.])
i've been in my feelings so this is for the pcos girlies :-)
f! wife reader x König - 2.3k wrds
tw: nothing...i think? some self-loathing, smut implied but not explicitly written, im definitely projecting but we aren't going to talk about it
Simon with PCOS!reader. Reader who has had bad period pains because of PCOS, sometimes even staying in bed or having Simon hold back their hair because it just hurts so much. PCOS!Reader that struggles with their fluctuating weight, gaining more than losing. Simon watching with sad eyes as Reader forms down at the scale.
PCOS!Reader who is susceptible to getting diabetes because of it. Reader who has family history of diabetes. Reader that is worried because they’re “overweight” that they’ll get diabetes.
PCOS!Reader who goes to the doctor with Simon to look at their options, in case they want to have kids down the line. Reader getting Ozempic and had Simon do the needle cause she hates needles.
Simon who makes light joke to help Reader relax as he gently presses the needle into Readers stomach, pinching the skin afterwards as he mumbles about being disappointed that all the extra softness is gonna disappear.
Deep down Simon loves how PCOS!Reader looks, chubby tummy, flabby arms, thick thighs and back rolls. But he’s also happy that they’re doing something to boost Readers confidence and help their health.
July is Disability Pride Month
Tw: I talk about dark topics including: the treatment of disabled people, suicide, negative thoughts about being disabled
I want to acknowledge the struggles the disability community goes through, especially with the state of my province who has made thousands of people's lives even harder starting today.
Every word in the mirror is based off of something someone has said to me directly, and how I have repeated them to myself while in pain and being unable to do something that should be easy.
If any of you have heard these words or felt this way, I am sorry that we have to live like this, and I hope one day things will be ok for us.
I am proud of everyone in this community, for your strength, for each day you continue, and I mourn those who lost their fight, you deserved better and I hope you're finally able to rest after a long battle
