Ten years after I initally suspect and self-diagnose, a doctor believes me and confirms it; I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.
I'm angry that it took this long for someone to listen to me, and that in the meantime my health deteriorated over what is a VERY treatable condition.
I'm excited someone believed me, and that I know my body well enough to see what's going on with it - my intuition was correct though the doctor's kept blowing me off.
I'm sad that I had to go this long with unexplained depressive periods, serious bouts of hypoglycemia due to insulin problems, and acne, weight gain and odd hair growing in places it shouldn't on a woman. Oversharing? Deal with it, this has been my life for the past 30 years.
As I move forward I'm learning to trust my own gut more than that of the "experts", and I'm noting it's a recurring theme lately. I know what's going on in my life, and I'm up close and personal with it. Making the "experts" believe it or moving on until I find one who does will now be my thing.
I'm grateful for my current doctor, who will actually be seeing me tomorrow night to discuss my options and what medications I'll need to go on to treat this. She's actually squeezing me in so that we can have a plan of action before she goes to Senegal, of all places.
Relief floods me, but looking back and seeing that it didn't have to progress this far, that I didn't have to spend whole days lying on my back wondering why I didn't have the energy to get up, or ashamed over my acne or the odd hairs showing up, upsets me.
I'll get around to looking forward and making the focus of my energy on the happiness that will come from finally having confirmation and the action of treatment. But right now I think I want to curl up with Bob and not do anything involving the world when he gets home this evening. A moment of silence for the past and the opportunities lost before jumping forward to beat this beast down with a stick.
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