I do not ovulate regularly. I've had one period in the last year. I've gone as long as two years without one -- and would have gone on longer had I not taken the Pill. Sure it saves me from buying hundreds of dollars of feminine hygiene products a year -- but before you ladies start envying me for this so-called blessing, let me envy YOU.

The first thing every doctor/specialist assumes is that I have too much testosterone. "Do you have an abnormal amount of chest hair?" they always ask. Define "abnormal."

My doctor first told me that my system was out of whack -- I'm sure he used more scientific terminology at the time –– when I was 18. When he mentioned something about the possibility of me being infertile, I tuned the rest of his spiel out. I'd never kissed a boy, and already I knew I might never have babies. They put me on the Pill, just to regulate my period -- I grew zits, I got fat, I barely passed my first year of university. I spent the next few years feeling sorry for myself, but never admitting to it. I got tired of taking the pills, so I stopped.

Years passed and every doctor I saw recommended that I go back on the Pill -- I went on and off a few times and finally decided to quit. Although my chest hair hasn't gotten any more abnormal, I wasn't too keen on pumping more hormones into my problem-laden body. (Have I mentioned the bunions?!?)

It's been ten years since I first went to Dr. Redhill with this problem. I figured "surely, a whole lot of research has been done... maybe someone can give me some answers now." They gave me a med student a few weeks ago when I went for my physical. I told her my life story and said I didn't want to take the Pill anymore. She asked me about my chest hair. Then she suggested I go on the Pill. Short of calling her a fucking retard, I smiled and just reminded her slowly that "No, really. I would much rather explore other options."

Five blood tests (it's always fun to watch the lab technicians move the needle inside my arm as they struggle to find my elusive veins) and one ultrasound later, they tell me I've got
Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. One out of ten women have it. Although it isn't a life-threatening condition, it would appear that I could very well be infertile – but if I somehow get lucky, I'd still be prone to miscarriages. Sorry Dad, even those petrie babies you'd suggested might not be a viable option -- but at least I know why my hair's thinning. I guess I was meant to be the Cat Lady after all.

I stopped by the Victoria Coffee Shop across from St. Michael's Hospital. I used to go there every morning when I worked in the area. It had been over two and a half years since I'd gone. The owners have changed, but the cooks and waitresses are still the same. Bessie smiled when she saw me. She laughed when I ordered French Toast with Soft Bacon. "That's what you used to get all the time."


At 9:14 AM, Blogger Monsieur Bonhomme said...

ooh, now I feel dumb. so this is what you guys were talking about... you're going to get a big hug next time you see me.


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