DISCLAIMER: If you’re a guy, you might not want to read today’s post. You’ve been warned. Lady stuff. Click away now. Last chance.
So, it’s “that time of the month”, except that I, like 1 out of every 10 women, have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). This condition essentially causes fertility problems due to a hormonal imbalance. I don’t ovulate normally, so I don’t have normal menstrual times either. I may not have even discovered this since I’ve been on birth control pills for 13 years- I discovered I had this condition just a few years ago- and I found out only very recently that PCOS is also closely linked with diabetes. While I’m kind of pissed off that my OBGYNs never bothered to mention this minor detail to me, I’m kind of pissed off about everything right now. That’s how it is. My body doesn’t naturally deliver the hormonal spike to signal ovulation, but it surely delivers whatever hormone causes everything on the planet to irritate me.
Since you can only get reasonably affordable health benefits in this country through an employer (this pre-existing condition of mine makes independent insurance pretty costly), I now have to decide if I stop taking the pills altogether or pay a whole lot to keep getting them until my prescription expires. I can’t rely on the rhythm method since my natural rhythm is off-kilter, I tried a non-hormonal IUD which didn’t work (that’s how they found the PCOS)… it’s enough to make me want to haul a megaphone to the top of a mountain and scream expletives into it. Oddly enough, I don’t have a megaphone or mountain laying around. So, failing that, I decided to do a linocut of a gramophone.
This test print is on the “noise” page from an old dictionary. I photographed it next to my iPod and headphones (real ones, not those stupid uncomfortable earbud things that my ears reject) to reflect on how things have changed. When these things were around, you got married and had babies and ate butter and that was that. These days, girls are put on the pill train when they barely have boobies and taught to suck the tit of big Pharma from then on. You can clearly see I’m a little bitter. If you’re making wrinkly face right now and asking yourself “why? Why did I tune into the blog for this TMI moment?”, I’d like to first refer you to the disclaimer at the top, and second, assure you that I usually don’t yammer about these things here. Hey- at least it’s not a linocut of a uterus. It could be worse.