What do periods mean to me?

I would say I've been having periods for ten years now, but that's not quite true. My first arrived, aged 12, much to my initial delight ("Mum! I've started!"). To me it felt like a warm, grown-up secret, an exclusive members-only club of sophistication and sanitary pads - but that soon wore off. Pain for the week leading up to my period, when the floodgates opened and, with the blood, more pain. A full seven days of this before the countdown began, again, until the next one. I would wake in the night in what looked and, more importantly, felt like a crime scene and drag myself down to the kitchen, where I'd rock on the floor while the kettle boiled to make a hot water bottle. I loathed periods. They turned me into a gibbering, sometimes vomiting wreck and they did so swiftly every thirty-three days (I was so regular for a long time, that it took a long time to reach a diagnosis of PCOS: "oh, you have the other symptoms but you're thin and your periods are regular, nevermind, go away,").

And then, they stopped. In the intervening years, things hadn't gone particularly smoothly. At 19, I finally saw a doctor about the pain that over-the-counter drugs barely made a dent in. He was incredulous and asked why I'd not seen someone before, why I didn't want to go on the pill, how I could cope with that pain every month? I was given the label of menorrhagia (very heavy periods) and a prescription that helped a little bit. A few months later, I decided I couldn't cope with periods any longer, and went to see a nurse about hormonal contraception to get rid of the bloody (pun very much intended) things.

I chose the contraceptive injection, Depo-Provera, because it was long-acting and likely to dramatically lessen bleeding and pain, with lots of people stopping their periods altogether whilst using this method (I have since been told that the injection is a terrible choice for someone with PCOS, but I was undiagnosed at the time). My first period on Depo was a bit better, and then the next one came - and stayed. I had the next injection, and the period continued. The pain crept back up and up and I was given the third injection five weeks early to try and stop the bleeding. Things spiralled from there and soon I was on the pill as well as the injection, taking it back-to-back in the hope that things would just stop. I never had another Depo shot but my body took a long time to reset itself. A year of bleeding and endless GPs and pain which was being investigated as potential endometriosis. I think, now, it may be that the hormonal preparations I fed my body were making it ill, but I'll never know.

All of this further warped my relationship with menstruation: it was now a monster that plagued me all the time. I bled on everything. I missed lectures because I was hunched over the toilet bowl vomiting and then wondering if I could take more Tramadol if I'd thrown it up. I saw my body as this hideous, bulky vessel of something malevolent and I would pinch at it in the bath, wishing I wasn't a woman because look what it had brought me. Eventually, with the help of various drugs and then, finally, the logical thing: no drugs at all, the long bleed stopped and, given time, I went back to having periods: there was time in between them. I still felt as though I'd been punched in the face by this heavy dread every time I saw that blood arrive. I still hated them and what they meant to me. By now they were a lot further-spaced than thirty-three days and I assumed it was just taking a long time for them to get back to "normal", but a year later I realised it had been four months since my last one. It was then that I was diagnosed with PCOS.

As I said earlier, it wouldn't be entirely truthful to say I've been having periods for a decade. They stopped eighteen months ago. You'd think I'd be relieved, and part of me was. But not having them, and not knowing when you'll ever have another, stirred up new emotions. The beast inside me that made me resent the body I was born with was something I now missed. I knew my life was a lot easier without them - by now I was working full-time and had fretted about how I'd cope when my period rolled around - but I felt like that special, grown-up membership had been revoked. I was a fraud. I hadn't thought I set great store by femininity and "being a woman", and motherhood didn't appeal to me, but I now felt like a failure of a woman. Every dry month was a reminder that I was different, and taunted me with infertility. I started telling people: "I don't have periods," and I figured that my Mirena coil was probably stopping them coming back, anyway. It wasn't my fault, I was okay.

A few weeks ago, I had a period. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know if it was a period. I felt like I must be wrong. But it stayed for seven days and then it dutifully left. And perhaps this is the start of things getting better.

Sweet Enough Already: sugar-free cookie dough

Years ago, I was doing extensive cookie-related research (trawling Google for the perfect recipe) and found a "women's forum" with the recipe that I would take for my own. I've never gone back to any other recipe and it broke my heart a little bit this last year and a half, avoiding the recipe that'd carried me through deadlines and lazy weekends without ever failing me.

I've made a few adapted versions with spelt and agave - throwing in cocoa powder as spelt has a distinctive flavour of its own in some settings (quite earthy and nutty). And then, a few weeks ago, I discovered white spelt flour* and everything changed. I'm using xylitol for this as it's pretty much freely exchangeable with sugar and doesn't affect the browning of the cookies or the dry:wet ingredient ratio. So my beloved old recipe is almost just as I remember it!

Ben and Jerry have a lot to answer for, and one of the things I'm holding them accountable for is my love of raw cookie dough - something that seems pointless when you're used to more traditional English biscuits but feels so right with a gooey, American style mixture. So I'm writing this as a dough recipe and giving you free rein to eat it however you like!

Ingredients:

• 130g xylitol
• 100g butter/margarine (I use soya spread)
• 150g flour
• 100g chocolate chips
• 1tbsp milk (dairy/soya/oat etc - avoid rice milk as most rice has a high GI)
• splash of vanilla essence

Method:

• If you're planning on baking them, preheat the oven to 200°C.
• Set the butter in a pan to melt slowly, as you don't want it to bubble or burn.
• With one eye on the pan, mix the xylitol and flour in a large bowl. Don't add the chocolate chips yet or the butter will melt them!
• Make a well and stir in the butter, milk and vanilla essence. The mixture cools fairly quickly so you can now add the chocolate chips.
• This dough is delicious raw! I usually bake a batch but help myself to lashings of mixture as I'm going along.
• Spoon tablespoonfuls of mixture onto a greased baking tray and bake for 15-20 minutes. They will brown slightly at the edges but remain soft until you've left them to cool, so have faith!
• Another great way to have them is frozen! For this, roll your spoonfuls into little balls on a tray or in a lunchbox, cover and pop in the freezer for a couple of hours (or longer). I use this technique to get the best bit of Ben & Jerry's... well, without the Ben & Jerry's.

*Unfortunately, I can't find much information on the GI value of white spelt. I worry it might not actually be much better than white wheat flour. I'll keep digging and if this turns out to be the case, I'll update this post to use half-and-half wholegrain spelt and white spelt to lower the GI. The xylitol as a sugar substitute helps a lot too!

Sweet Enough Already: a bedtime treat

On wet, blustery nights, when my window rattles and all I want to do is curl up with a good book and a mountain of blankets, a hot chocolate is just the thing to warm me through and lift my spirits. Ready-made drinking chocolate powders are full of sugar or sweeteners (not all of these are good substitutes) and never feel like the real thing, anyway. Knock up this winter-warmer in under a minute and then put your feet up.

Add a splash of milk (works well with dairy/soya/almond/whatever milk you dream of) to 1 heaped tsp of cocoa powder and make a paste. A touch of boiling water will help this along, then top up with more milk, add a squirt of dark agave nectar (about 1tsp worth) and microwave. Sweeten to taste with more agave. Settle yourself somewhere comfy and feel your cockles warming.

Personal: New Years Resolutions

It's in my nature to put things off, and here we are: a week into the new year. I haven't bothered much with resolutions since I was in school (be nicer to my sister, do my homework the day I get it, stop saying "like" so much), but I'm beginning to feel like I let things slide a little towards the end of 2013. In many ways, I learned how to handle my PCOS and ended the year stronger, healthier and happier than I started it, but I've also let a few bad habits sneak back in. So here are my resolutions for the year:

• Quit the gym. Exercise is a brilliant way of tackling insulin resistance but after a couple of months I fell right off that wagon and it's time to stop kidding myself I'll clamber back on. I've been in and cancelled - I'm probably the first person to write "new years resolution" as their reason for leaving on the cancellation form! Find new ways to work out. Tomorrow I begin adult tap dancing classes! Something I'm excited about, and apparently fun can count as exercise? 
• Take Metformin properly. When I started a new job at the end of the summer, my whole routine, including mealtimes, changed and since then I've dropped down to often only remembering one dose a day (and sometimes skipping my Met altogether). I feel lousy for it and can tell it's not helped me at all. I'm setting a twice daily reminder on my phone so I can get back into the swing of things.
• Be my own biggest fan. Over the last couple of years, as I've changed shaped, regained the acne I fought to banish from primary age right until sixth form and - the biggest struggle for me - become steadily hairier, my self-esteem has ebbed away. Armpits4August helped me claw back some of that confidence and I've rung in the new year with a months growth of leg hair to see if I can love that too (I'm still not sure, but I want to find out either way). This year I want to love the body I have and stop yearning for the one I used to live in. But it's okay to have blips.
• Blog more. I still struggle to find PCOS blogs that give me what I'm looking for, so I'll just have to build my own! I'm also looking for all sorts of resources (find me a PCOS zine* and I'll kiss you). Here's to knowledge!

Here's to a wonderful year!

*The latest Armpits4August zine includes more on PCOS than the first one did. Keep an eye on their Twitter to see when and where they're selling it.

Reclaiming myself in 2014

At the beginning of 2013, I was freshly diagnosed with PCOS, stumbling along trying to eat lower GI, cramping badly from a recently-fitted Mirena coil and wondering if I'd ever have another period. I was expecting hair to start to melt away and skin to clear and happiness to sprout out of nowhere but I wasn't sure how I was going to get there. I didn't quite know what I was up against and it was daunting.

A year later and I'm in love with my Mirena, my skin's miles better and I've started to get the hang of which grains when with what (and why is wheat such an enigma?) I'm still steadily growing hairier and it's knocked my confidence a bit further but I'm taking steps to reclaim myself from this condition - steps which began in August when I said hello to hairy pits and realised that hair is just hair. In contrast, 2013 was also the year I was prescribed Vaniqa cream for hirsutism - and the year I said "Sod that," and stopped using it. I began to arm myself with more facts, went to my first Verity conference and started looking forward with a scrap of hope, rather than dread.

In 2014, I'm going to start talking in more depth about some of the things I've just mentioned, and I'm going to keep loving myself and turning every sweetie recipe into a low GI reality. 2014 is about self-care and agave nectar!

This new year, join me in my resolution to be my very best with PCOS and not in spite of it! XXX

Transvaginal ultrasound: what to expect

A couple of weeks ago, I had my fourth transvaginal ultrasound: it had been a year since I last had one and in order to get a specialist referral a full picture of the current clinical situation is usually needed (in my experience this is usually a combination of ultrasound and full STI screening). I barely bat an eyelid at them nowadays, but I remember how anxious I was before my first one, so I thought I'd write a post on what to expect.

An ultrasound scan (sonogram) uses high frequency sound waves to see what's going on inside the body. In a transvaginal scan, a transducer probe is placed in the vagina and moved around to visualise the uterus, ovaries and other reproductive organs. It may sound a bit scary at first, but it's a pretty quick procedure and if you let the person carrying out the scan know if you're nervous, they'll usually talk you through it as it's happening.

A quick video looking at the ovary during a transvaginal ultrasound scan.

The scan

• For a transvaginal scan, you aren't required to have a full bladder. If you are having an abdominal scan in the same session, you'll have been given instructions in your referral letter and you'll usually have this scan first.
• In the NHS, you'll usually be asked to undress from the waist down whilst the sonographer or assisting nurse leaves the room or draws a curtain. You'll be asked to lie back on the bed and given a big sheet of tissue to cover yourself with. Private hospitals may have varying procedures (my first scan was in a private hospital, where they gave me a fluffy dressing gown and told me to completely undress and pop my knickers in the pocket between scans. I was worried I'd leave them behind by mistake!)
• A transducer probe that has been specially designed for vaginal scans is used. It's fairly narrow at the end (probably not much wider than a super tampon, if at all) and the sonographer will put a condom on it and then a LOT of lube. You'll probably be finding it on you for the rest of the day.
• You bend your knees and spread them, similarly to any pelvic exam. The sonographer will gently insert the probe and look at different parts of your reproductive organs. If you don't usually get any pain with penetration, it shouldn't hurt. If that doesn't sound like you, let them know beforehand so they are aware it might be scarier for you. There might be some uncomfortable pressure when they move the probe to the sides slightly to get a better view of your ovaries. Of course, if you do feel any pain at any point, let them know!
• They'll take snapshots whilst they're performing the scan and then you're done! Sadly, you don't get a printout of this like you might in a pregnancy scan (that would've been great for this blog post). You'll be left to get dressed (after wiping yourself off - I told you there was a lot of lube) and the images will be analysed by a doctor, who'll send the report to your GP, usually within a week to 10 days. Make sure you know your GP's policy on test results - mine do not contact you at all, but previous surgeries have operated a "no news is good news" result policy.
• The sonographer might tell you what they've found if it's something they feel able to comment on. If it's your first scan for diagnosis, this might be that yes, your ovaries appear polycystic. If you've had a Mirena coil fitted (I have one as part of my management of PCOS), they might also reassure you it's still in the right place. At follow-up scans you might be told whether or not your ovaries have remained polycystic or if that side of things has resolved (mine haven't changed a bit, apparently). But try not to focus on this too much - wait for the report as your GP will be able to talk to you about options if a diagnosis is being made.

Above all, don't worry too much about it! It's a minimally invasive procedure and a really useful tool in diagnosing and managing PCOS. I hope this helps anyone fretting about their first scan.

Armpits4August, Armpits4ever, Armpits4me

Flaunting my pit kittens #pitpride

In my last post, I mentioned the fantastic fundraising efforts of the Armpits4August team. Last summer, they set up a now annual charity event, the premise of which is simple: participants do not shave their underarms for the month of August, and collect donations for this. All the money from this sponsored fluffathon goes to Verity, who can't afford to keep running as a charity without these donations! As well as this, it's an excellent platform for raising awareness of PCOS and its symptoms ("I'm being hairy because..."), and a ripe opportunity to reclaim your own body and challenge the societal ideal of a hairless woman.

I happened upon a brief news story about the campaign mere weeks before the month began and knew I had to do it, otherwise I would probably hate myself until the next one rolled around. As a woman with PCOS, I've spent perhaps the past year or so admiring body hair on a lot of my friends, but not believing I'd ever reach a stage where I felt comfortable enough to grow out my own. Supposedly "hirsute" (although I'm beginning to wonder what "normal" actually looks like), most of the problems I have with myself revolve around hair and the feelings of otherness they stir in me. Had it not been for Armpits4August, I'd quite probably never have felt strong enough to challenge those feelings - but I did.

I was terrified: I didn't want to tell people my reasons for doing it. I didn't want to have to explain hirsutism, because that meant admitting to people that I was hairy in ways they had never imagined. I spent a week sternly talking myself into it and made a JustGiving page so that I couldn't back out. It went live on the last evening of July. Before August arrived, I'd already raised almost £100. From then, I knew it would be worth it.
I threw myself into the cause. The first hurdle was telling my colleagues. A couple of exclamations of disgust aside, it wasn't half as bad as I'd expected. I bombarded all social networks with talk of hair and impatiently willed my pit kittens to grow. I kept an "armpit diary" and even went on BBC Radio to talk about it (I have friends in high places, if BBC Tees constitutes a high place, which I think it does!).

After a year of silence, I'd opened the Pandora's box of PCOS and I couldn't shut up about it! Everyone I spoke to got an earful about body hair; any premature discussion of Movember was met with interjections about my own hairy fundraising and I began to nurse ideas of starting a PCOS blog (well, here we are...). At the end of the month, I dyed my pits pink, as promised on my JustGiving page, and then, well, I kept them. It took me an entire month to grow them, after all! But more than a bit of fur in a place it should have been anyway, what Armpits4August gave me was pride in my own body. In leaving these two little patches of hair be, I feel so much more control than I ever feel in my frantic attempts to keep the rest of it at bay. I've not backed away from the tweezers just yet, but I've learnt to like my body. Thank you, A4A. Same time again next year?*

*(already taking suggestions for what I'll do now my armpits are already luscious and long)

Although August has long since been and gone, there is still time to make a donation at my JustGiving page until the end of November. Any amount is greatly appreciated!

To join the discussion about body hair in a safe forum, you can find Armpits4August on Facebook and Twitter.