This is hard to explain without gory, graphic details, but I will try my best.
In 2010, I was diagnosed with a condition called PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) after a hellacious period that lasted 3 full months. 3 trips to the ER and a seizure later, I finally had an answer to why my cycle was the Devil. The diagnosis only set off a train of events leading to my first surgery, a hysterscopy. For 2 years, I had a joyous vacation from my cycle. I gained a bunch of weight (roughly 60lbs), but otherwise I was so happy to not see it. Then boom! Like bad weather, it just happened again.
I thought the continuance of my cycle meant was I cured. I had read all these beautiful stories about having rainbow babies and losing weight, and I had become hopeful of those possibilities. It came normally for several months then floor fell out and the flood gates opened. I went back to lamenting the days I had to endure the constant changing and headache of the whole thing.
I cannot go on like this. I went for 20 days last month and have started again this month. the reality of my situation is if I continue at this rate I will be receiving blood transfusions again. As it stands, I want to go to the ER now, even though I know they don’t know what to do with me in there. I can only pray there is a doctor on duty that will listen when I say I need blood and hormone regulation.
So what is the next step? Hysterectomy. The big H. When I was younger, I said absolutely not. I wanted a family and a house. I wanted the euphoric first days with a newborn that looked like my people. Now, I just want to be among the living. If giving up my perfect little babies means a normal existence, I am here for it. As it stands, I don’t even know if I want the husband.