Well. Satsuma still hasn’t done anything, it’s day 33 of this cycle, am I pleased about this? Am I buggery.
And my PCOS symptoms are having a little rampage at the moment. My hair is falling out in clumps, my chin is all over zits, my Errol Flynn is looking a tad… obvious. I’m not putting on immense amounts of lard around the middle, thank fuckitty, but I will do if I sneeze too close to a slice of toast. My hormone levels are all doolally-tap, I know it.
So what to do about it? I’m not currently under the care of any fertility clinic at all, private or NHS. My fancy private clinic is a recurrent miscarriage clinic, not a fertility clinic. They care about keeping me pregnant, not getting me pregnant. And in any case, a consultation with that lot will no doubt set me back the cost of a three-seater sofa. The NHS clinic would, probably, based on past form, be able to see me in about four months’ time, and get me the results of whatever blood-test three weeks after that, and book me in for a scan sometime in April, just to prescribe provera and ask me if I want Clomid (err, no. See categories to your right. BEEN THERE DONE THAT).
So what can I do? Here and now? And what, for that matter, has gone wrong in there? [Pokes insides with spoon – hello? Helloooo? Satsuma? Anyone?]
In that spirit, I dug up and looked back over my menstrual cycle charts for the past few months, and it seems as if my cycles have lengthened since I lost nearly a stone and then, um, stalled for a couple of months. It makes some sense. I’m obese, according to BMI, and being obese is bad for PCOS and losing weight it good. I have stopped losing weight, my PCOS is cross and rampagey about it. On the other hand, I had several shorter, more reasonable cycles before I lost weight, and the last few times I got pregnant I was heavier than I am now. So, actually, it makes no fucking sense whatsoever.
Any gynaecologist or endocrinologist you’d care to mention would say, well, I need to lose more weight, don’t I? The closer my fat content gets to ‘normal’ the more normal my cycles will be. It’s the accepted wisdom. It’s the standard treatment model for anovulatory PCOS. Lose the flab, Squidgy! No-one has anything to say at all to ‘I lost some flab, and things are more fucked up than ever’.
I have a sneaking suspicion that actually it’s not my weight, but how much exercise I’m doing, that is the issue. Last year, I exercised a lot. The news has recently been tiresomely pointing out to us that exercise doesn’t make you lose weight after all. In my case, this seems to be true. I have to eat like a lettuce-obsessed boiled-egg-fanatic to lose weight. But when I exercise, even if my hips remain resolute in their girth, my cycles shorten, my hair expands wildly, my skin clears up, my whiskers become more discreet. I think it balances my insulin levels. This makes sense, yes? And I have been doing pretty much bloody no exercise at all for the past couple of months.
Diet and exercise. That’s it. That’s all I can do.
At least if I’m thumping sweatily through the streets, I’ll be working off a little of the raging frustration before it leaps up my throat and melts my brain completely.
Of course, you all realise that my brain is currently at least half-melted with rage and frustration and I wish I very much could send Satsuma the Bone-Idle Fussbiscuit Ovary over to HFF’s for a thorough telling-off.
I feel so helpless. I feel completely helpless.