By Olive | September 25,2023

Upon growing up, all I wanted was to fit in. Not to be at the center of attraction, but to blend into the blurry background of society. It was hard enough to do so being queer so I valued every attempt at normality. I took pride in having a normal body that functioned well undeterred by my own mistreatments at times. I was hefty in size yet I felt comfortable in my own skin, in disregard of the constant mockery of adults much to their chagrin. The vicious reminders of untimely death and the overused threat of being unlovable, those were always the scenarios spun according to their narrative. Despite that, my body was still normal. I know so like the back of my hand that I had come to wipe my tears with at the times I would get angry at people for projecting their silly standards onto a developing teenager.

Being a medical student was a double-edged sword with a blessing on one and curse bore on the other. It was a blessing that I learned about my body more than the average person—how it functions, how it responds, and what is normal. The curse, the heaviest burden was that I became aware of how my body began to deteriorate in front of my eyes. First was the unmanageable weight gain, my weight had loved me more than past lovers as I say in jest. Next was the hair that I loved the most. Although short, I had adored its lustrous appeal and yet no matter how brilliant it was, it slowly fell. With a single tread, it began to fall in the spaces of my fingers and settled in between. Third was the insatiable appetite for all things sweet and confectionery, an odd ball that became an inkling because I was never fond of it at all in my life but I found myself snacking on them for comfort. Perhaps the most glaring sign, an unmissable, was that my period became erratic. It was no longer a cycle that I could even anticipate just by looking at the calendar. What was once a predictable schedule became some kind of waiting game for me. As much as I’d like to deny, there was truly something amiss and the sinking feeling of knowing made it worse.

A doctor’s visit in 2022 confirmed the conjecture in my thoughts for over two years. As much as I loved being right, oh how badly did I want to be proven wrong in that very moment. A thousand second opinions cannot guarantee a changed result and I disliked that there was no better explanation other than I had PCOS. How could I love the idea of my hormones interfering with my life, like a walkie-talkie programmed in the wrong channel? All I wanted was to be normal—to feel normal; rid of the pain that was taught to us women to be a sign of the miracle of life yet made me feel like my life was anything but a miracle. The mere thought of women’s pain being undermined into irrationality was a horror that I do not wish upon any person. Having PCOS meant your body was a maze more than it ever was, unable to find its bearings; even so people were quick to put the blame on you. You have been dismissed one too many times for dysmenorrhea with voices dictating that it was common, but the truth could not be any further from it. The scale always dwindles, not knowing which side to favor yet most often not, it wasn’t on yours. Hopes of motherhood are crushed while you are left insulted and your womanhood diminished into being a subservient barren.

A doctor’s visit in 2022 confirmed the conjecture in my thoughts for over two years. As much as I loved being right, oh how badly did I want to be proven wrong in that very moment. A thousand second opinions cannot guarantee a changed result and I disliked that there was no better explanation other than I had PCOS. How could I love the idea of my hormones interfering with my life, like a walkie-talkie programmed in the wrong channel? All I wanted was to be normal—to feel normal; rid of the pain that was taught to us women to be a sign of the miracle of life yet made me feel like my life was anything but a miracle. The mere thought of women’s pain being undermined into irrationality was a horror that I do not wish upon any person. Having PCOS meant your body was a maze more than it ever was, unable to find its bearings; even so people were quick to put the blame on you. You have been dismissed one too many times for dysmenorrhea with voices dictating that it was common, but the truth could not be any further from it. The scale always dwindles, not knowing which side to favor yet most often not, it wasn’t on yours. Hopes of motherhood are crushed while you are left insulted and your womanhood diminished into being a subservient barren.