Like endometriosis and adenomyosis, there is no silver bullet treatment, no cure. Only management.
It was reported that 1 in 8 women in the UK have PCOS, with the World Health Organisation adding that 70% of women may not even be aware they have the condition, making it one that is under diagnosed and highly misunderstood.
Endometriosis is thought to be as common as type one diabetes. But that knowledge is no comfort when it only serves as a reminder of how behind the times reproductive medicine is for women. After all, there have been more studies into erectile dysfunction than there has endometriosis.
We’ve tried it all: the timed sex, the hormone tracking, the fertility retreats. I’ve followed all the coaches, midwives and dieticians, implementing every recommendation I could possibly follow. And still, nothing. A cold, hard, empty nothing.
The obstacles we’ve faced medically have been difficult, too. From my weight restricting our access to IVF care and the years it’s taken to lose just enough to be eligible for funding, the growth of an endometrioma in my left ovary and the absence of ovulation mean we really do only get one very precious shot at parenthood.
In the UK, IVF and reproductive medicine are a postcode lottery; there are a myriad of interlocking factors to navigate and get your head around. It’s hard not to be stung with the bitter tang of jealousy when undergoing a Hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my fallopian tubes are clear of scarring and lesions, while my friends get ice cream with their perfect, happy, healthy child. It’s ugly to feel that. To smother yourself in self-pity. You have to catch yourself, or you drown and bring your friendship down with you.
While my partner and I grapple with the disappointment and tell ourselves our time will come, and if it doesn’t, what a beautiful life we’ve made with each other. We repeat, “We have a house, a car, a dog and each other, aren’t we so lucky?” And, we are.
Yet I can’t help but shake the disappointment I feel at not being pregnant when my friends are. The expectation that we could watch our children make friends, play, share–not just their toys–but the legacy of our friendship too.
I watch the viral videos like a glutton for punishment of best friends sharing positive pregnancy tests, crumpling in joyous disbelief at their good fortune. Absent-mindedly, I’ve caught myself on more than one occasion stroking my abdomen, imagining what it would be like to tell my girlfriends the good news.
The holidays I pictured, where we take turns putting the children to bed and sit in the warm air with some chilled wine. Or the advice and support when things are hard. I tell myself that all these things are still possible. That they might have another child, and the stars will align in the right way. Maybe, someday.
Katie is the author of Beyond Belief: A Defence of Gossip and the Women Who Do It, out now.