Category Archives: Metformin


We’re home! I am unseemly-excited about this, which makes me sound like an ungrateful twatweasel, because the In-Laws were darlings and we had a lovely peaceful Christmas, bendy stale rice-cakes and accidental wine-poisoning notwithstanding (basically, red wine, even in small quantities, even very cooked in soups and sauces etc., will, after several doses, make my sodding tongue swell up and my oesophagus burn. Not as alarming and extravagant as my reaction to white wine, but still).

However, now, home-version, at 3pm on a weekday afternoon, H and I are in pyjamas still, and playing computer games, listening to pod-casts, making soup, eating chocolate, and swearing out loud with impunity. And blogging! Hi!

So! I brought you all here today to talk to you about Metformin (good link, hey?). I’ve been on it for a few months now, you see. I think I have gathered data. Are you interested? Tough, I am: –

  • Traditional side effects – Um. When I first geared up from two pills a day to three, and then also ate several pieces of cake, I did in fact have the Officially Endorsed Buttsplosion, and it was grotesque, and if that happens to you often, oh I am so very, very sorry, because eurgh. Otherwise, my side-effects are as follows, even when eating cake and chocolate (feel free to hate me. You’re welcome): Nada. Zip. Sorry. OK, so if I forget to take the pill straight after a meal and whang it down any old how with a slug of milk (goat’s milk, natch. I am a snowflake after all), I feel very faintly sick for a few minutes, and if I eat a mahoossive quantity of sugary food I get wind, but other than that? Gastrointestinal distress, nil; May, happy.
  • Odder side effects – Absolutely to my astonishment, sugar cravings. OK, so I always had a sweet tooth (and, incidentally, having a sweet tooth is not a moral weakness, and all of you thinking of being smug in the comments because you don’t have a sweet tooth, really, do be quiet. It’s no more to your credit than being a natural brunette or having small feet is (Can you tell my family get on my tits? Can you? Can you?)). And when I’d eat sweets I’d get a bit of a head-rush followed by a bit of a sugar-crash (yes, we know my insulin leveller is not clever). On Metformin, I do not get the rush or the crash, but now my body is under the impression I haven’t eaten any sugar at all and keeps shrieking for more. ‘But I had a gluten-free brownie just 30 minutes ago!’ ‘No you did not I want sugar gimme sugar.’ And so on. So, I was clearly addicted to the rush-crash thing. Which is worrying. And so, now I am on Metformin, I have to spend even longer talking myself down off the Gimme Chocolate Gimme Now Ledge. And my sweetie consumption did in fact go up for a while. Which brings me to…
  • Weight loss – not a fucking ounce. In fact, I promptly put about five pounds on when I first started taking the bloody drug, and have only just lost them again. I think. I’m sick of weighing myself and haven’t for ages. I’m going by waist-measurement and how my trousers fit. As a corollary to this, why is it always when you go ‘oh, fuck it,’ and buy jeans one size up for comfort, that you then lose the ‘oh fuck it’ weight and your brand new jeans are far too large?
  • Hair, facial. The first couple of months my PCOS moustache and whiskers did in fact thin noticeably. And then grew back. So fuck that.
  • Cycle – not only has my menstrual cycle not shortened at all (still ovulating on day 21 at the earliest), but my luteal phase has got shorter. Yes, you read that right, shorter. From 12/13 days, to 11 days. Every single month since I started taking Metformin. THIS IS NOT WHAT IT SAID ON THE TIN.
  • On the other hand, I had three periods in a row that were noticeably less painful, with no vomiting, and I had a lot less pain in the week or two leading up to ovulation. Hurrah! Until last month, in which I vomited with vigour and then, in my exhausted drugged-up doze, bled so much I soaked the sanitary towel, knickers, pyjama bottoms, sheet, mattress protector and all in less than an hour. And I’ve been in pain every day since. Which is infuriating and a total bastard and I am now giving Metformin the stink-eye.
  • The packets the Metformin comes in are stupid. Most people take three tablets a day, right? So why do the foil strips have twenty tablets? And a stupid useless dimple smack in the middle? Which could easily have taken another pill, giving seven days’ supply per strip? Why? Why? And why are the boxes so small? Two strips, 40 pills, 13 and 1/3 days’ supply, per box. It’s really really stupid and annoying. Not even a full two weeks supply. And why not a month’s supply per box? It’s not as if we only take the pills for ten days, like antibiotics. Bloody pharmaceutical companies.
  • I do find it hard to remember to take a pill with every meal. There have been skipped pills, forgotten altogether pills, and pills taken at weirder times of day. I am blaming the stupid packaging, because that is psychologically easier than admitting I am a vague and useless snowflake with the attention-span of a fruit-fly on Mary-Jane.

And there we have it. Is Metformin doing me any good at all? Debatable. I don’t know what to do. *Flails hands about*

Matters not exactly contiguous

Item – Shall I tell you what was fun? The Hairy Farmer’s Not-So-Hairy Wife came to my demesne, and H and I dragged her over two museums and through the streets in the rain, just to wear her out good-and-proper, then, like the social burrs we are, trailed after her to the concert she’d actually come to town for. And she didn’t mind. Or at least, said she didn’t, because she has beautiful manners. The internet is a weird and wonderful thing, Gentle Readers. It lets you make friends with people because you genuinely like them, rather than just becuase they happen to live nearby and don’t actively terrify and repel you (remember school? Well, I went to boarding-school. There’s a reason we teenage bosom-buddies all lost touch. We were really mostly putting up with each other. And now? On the internets? REAL FRIENDS, thank you).

Item – In matters reproductive, H and I are still waiting for the endometrial biopsy results. Surely they should be arriving any day now? Gah. Frettlement.

Item – Also, Satsuma, being a cow of an ovary, is refusing to be definite about whether she has or has not ovulated, and I have not helped by spending the week on holiday and therefore getting up at all hours of the morning and thereby making basal body temperature unreliable at best. It may have been yesterday. It may not have been. H and I have been, eh, connubial, you know, practice for the well-timed medicated-cycle sex. This may be a two week wait. It may not be. Who knows?

Item – Having another attempt at the Occupational Health interview tomorrow. Will report back.

Item – Oh, and Metformin! Yes! I must tell you! I’m now taking 1500mg a day, in three doses. Side-effects: I am slightly more thirsty than usual. Possible side-effects: one day I ate some meat-balls containing gluten, and then had a few stomach cramps, and the next day I ate a cake and a chocolate mousse and another cake and then my bowels pressed the eject button and there was a very very unpleasant 10 minutes in a public lavatory praying no-one would come in and I thought, is this metformin-plus-cake-overdose? Or is it gluten? Or unholy combination of both? In any case, no more wildly festive cake-partakeathon, no matter how tempting the gluten-free selection acutally is for once.

Item – Related to the metformin, H thinks I have lost weight. I got on the scales, and the scales said ‘hahahahaha no you haven’t. Quite the opposite! Well done!’. Bugger. So I put my trousers on and my belt said ‘no, actually, you are thinner.’ So there’s a side-effect for you. Metformin is turning my bones to lead.

Seriously, there is too much

Item – I managed to go to several Paralympic events, despite Shark Week. I remember very little of two of them, because I was completely off my feckin’ face on tramadol, and I spent another running to the loo every twenty minutes because even super plus extra tampons were Just Not Helping (thank fuckitty for aisle seats). (Incidentally, the Olympic Park Venue is now added to the alas lengthening list of Public Places I Have Bled On The Lavatory Floor Of – I’m not proud). I am very pleased, grateful (to Fate, and to H, for looking after me) and, for the moment at least, delighted to be British (this won’t last. I’m far too cynical a human being to do Patriotism for more than a fortnight at a time).

Item – Worst, most vile, throwing-up-painful day of Shark Week was of course the day I was supposed to be having my occupational health interview. I had to phone and cancel. I couldn’t stand up. There was a pitiful bit where I tried to get dressed and get the paper-work together while not daring to put my bucket down in case I Needed It With Urgency (‘where’s mah bukkit‘), and then Bitter McTwisted finally managed to get The Positive Thinking Fairy in a head-lock long enough for common sense to reassert itself – ‘will you crawl to the bus like this? How about the train? Would you like to throw up on a train? What if there are no seats? Will you STAND and throw up on the train? No? Go the fuck back to bed, moron.’ So now the whole thing is going to have to be rescheduled. Arse.

Item – Incidentally, HR liaison sent me email along the lines of ‘Why did you miss your appointment?’. Given that I’d spent most of the previous week discussing with them the very real possibility I’d be too bloody ill to go to it, I thought this so ridiculous I had to sit on the fifth draft of my reply all afternoon before I could make myself delete most of it and send the sixth, very brief and polite, version. I mean, really.

Item – Metformin. I have been taking it for two weeks now (barring puke-day of Shark Week, for obvious reasons). I have gone from one pill a day to two pills a day. Soon, three pills a day. I – oh Lord, do I dare say this out loud? – I haven’t had any kind of diarrhoea or upset stomach. Yet. Quick, get me some wood to touch (H, stop sniggering. And you. You can stop sniggering too).

Item – H and I have discussed (mostly, because I fell into A Rage), things about Dr Expensive’s proposed treatment regime that are giving me the yips. I am finding the idea of doing multiple au naturel cycles with LIT, Intralipids, clexane, steroids and progesterone FUCKING BATSHIT CRAZY, thank you very much. H and I are going to write Dr Expensive an email asking for moar better explanations.

Item – To be fair, Dr Expensive’s reasoning seems to be that in the past year-and-a-half, in which I have not had a single positive pregnancy test, I have actually almost certainly been containing a fertilised embryo on several occasions, but my very-much-primed-by-repeat-exposure uterus/immune system is now extremely good at killing them stone-dead as soon as they implant, and therefore before they can chuck out noticeable amounts of HCG. Evidence for this? Those cycles in which my luteal phase was a day or even two longer than usual, and my temperature didn’t drop until the day I started bleeding (rather than two days before), and I felt extra sicky and weird and aware of my nipples. As this reasoning raises my lost-embryos-I-could-have-loved count to double figures, the very idea gives me the screaming meemies. However, Dr Expensive therefore seems to think that I could get pregnant again very quickly, and if I am stuffed full of immune-suppressants and anti-inflammatories and anti-coagulants, the putative embryo WILL have a bat’s chance in hell.

Item – This next cycle, now on day 9, is not going to be the one we do medicated, because the United States are still cherishing the divot Dr Expensive hoiked out of Cute Ute. H and I are going to practice having lots and lots of regular sex, anyway, especially as we have a weeks’ holiday to entertain ourselves in.

Item – My blogging mojo has vanished. I’ve made a temporary replacement out of toothpicks and gaffer-tape, but I’d rather have the real good old mojo back.