Hello and welcome to The PMOS Predicament...
Here's my PMOS (PCOS) story, except really it's just a silly old moan.
Merry by name? Yes.
Against all odds I made it to Substack. Why? Because quite frankly, there’s not a single piece of ‘content’ on this hell ridden world we call the internet that I actually want to read, when it comes to Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome, or PMOS (the artist formally known as PCOS, she was crap though). Everything is lilac. It’s airbrushed. It’s trying really hard. And while I’m not here to bash others’ efforts, it just has to be called out as something we don’t all connect with. So, I’m here to say hello to the millions of trillions of women in the world who suffer quietly, strongly, unapologetically, and probably sarcastically. I wasn’t joking about the trillions either, sadly. A few cold hard stats to make you all quiver before we go any further…
PMOS affects approximately 10–13% of women of reproductive age worldwide.
That means, give or take (and we will most certainly come back to this later) PMOS affects roughly 116–280 million women globally.
HUNDREDS OF ACTUAL MILLIONS. I TOLD YOU. (*Googles what a trillion is* I was quite dramatically exaggerating, but it’s still madness.)
And yet, I have never, ever, ever, met a single human on this planet who has truly, truly understood me and how I feel so wildly different in my brain and my body every day. I hope through this channel - even if it’s just some mental catharsis that no one reads - I help one woman, even if that is just me.
Merry by nature? Not so much.
Now before we go any further, a little about me. I am called Merry. Yes. Like Christmassy, Hobbity, drunky, happy little children’s TV presenter. Why’s that relevant? Because IMAGINE December and the social pressure to be out and about and happy, with your name in bright lights everywhere. IMAGINE when I found out Hobbits were allowed two breakfasts, but while I was always hungry that made me way fatter than Frodo. IMAGINE when I realised one rosé is a one way ticket to a headache, not a merry wine flow state. I always just felt a bit, well, off, and that’s why I’m here. Without giving you a run-by-run low down of my entire teenage and adult life and its hormonal fuck ups, it is important to note how wildly different my ‘diagnosis’ is to just about every other story I’ve heard, and therefore my symptoms too.
The first thing I have to call out is the ‘methods’ in which doctors diagnose. My experience goes a little something like this:
15 year old me: “Hello doctor. I’m very shy and scared and awkward, probably because I’m FIFTEEN and everything is HORRIBLE. Anyway, not to bang on about myself but I keep pretending to my friends at school that my period is coming and I need a tampon. They then say, WTF you don’t have your period yet? And my face goes as red as the blood that should be cycling out of my ovaries and onto the tampon I’ve just shoved into the bin. Is this something to be worried about?
Doctor (man, DOB 1876): Nothing to worry about, you’ll be fine. We’ll do a scan on your ovaries because they’re likely covered in cysts. You have all the other symptoms too: overweight, spotty, hairy. Nothing to be concerned by, it’s very common. Lots of women have this.
15 year old me: “Sorry what”
Doctor (man, DOB 1476): It’s just PCOS, means you will have irregular periods and some manageable symptoms. It’s not life threatening, just chronic.
35 year old me: I have to step in here to say that a) there were no cysts on my ovaries, b) my period is like clockwork now c) ‘just chronic’ fuck off?
15 year old me: “OK, so now what”
Doctor (man, DOB 976 BC): “Oh, we’ll just pop you on the pill! All your symptoms will float away and everything will be just fine”
15 year old me: “Cool man, sign me up brother!”
…
Cut to me 10 years later at 25, bloated, confused, and completely miserable. And that’s where I’ll pick up next time! What a bloody cliff hanger am I right.