C’mon, we’ll ride a little roller coaster (of hormones).
So, it’s been a fecking lifetime since I wrote anything for OMO. I’ve been meaning to – honestly.
But I’ve been pouring all of my energy into the launch of my new business (I’m like, self employed and everything!) and giving that my full focus. Plus supporting the South African while his business gets off the ground.
If nothing else, it’s reminded me how stubborn and determined I can be when I really, really want something. I want to continue being self employed (even with coronavirus stalling the economy). I have faith that my baby business will continue going from strength to strength.
Working for yourself is time consuming, y’all!
I’ve had just about enough mental energy left at the end of each day to stare at the TV mindlessly for a couple of hours, before I go to bed so I can get up and do it all again the next day.
I’m amazed by my ability to still string a sentence together. There have been many days when I’ve needed to take a three hour nap in the afernoon, just to appease my fibromyalgia, which helpfully crops up to remind me that I literally can’t do everything.
I’ve been having some serious hormone surges and crashes, because as well as starting a business while managing a chronic illness, I’ve made the decision to come off the Pill after twelve years. Because, you know, I didn’t think that I had enough to deal with. I needed to add some raging hormones into the mix.
What finally pushed me over the edge, after my decade plus of heady contraceptive halcyon days, was when I had to change from a combined pill to a progesterone only pill. Why? Well, I got a bit too fat and too stressed (super high blood pressure apparently) so I wasn’t allowed my beloved Yacella any more. No, now I had to have progesterone only, and with that came a SIX MONTH period.
Every pair of knickers I own has been ruined.
On the marvellous Dr M’s advice, I doubled my dosage of the progesterone pill in the hopes of appeasing my very confused uterus. It sort of worked, for about 2 weeks. Finally, I thought the end of my period had come. It had been about five days since I’d bled at all. I broke out my pretty polka dot pastel knickers, and off out I went to a meeting.
About an hour into said meeting, I had that familiar sensation of birthing a jellyfish. Houston, we have a problem – this is no small jellyfish. We’re gonna need a bigger boat.
As soon as my meeting ended, I rushed to the loo. And yes, there was a clot roughly the size of a large oyster happily nestled in and oozing through my pretty polka dot pastel knickers. Literally, my last pair of knickers that were not blood stained.
I can’t even begin to describe the RAGE that I felt in that moment. Everything that I was putting my body through to avoid unexpexted pregnancy, and I didn’t even get to have ONE PAIR of knickers that wasn’t bloodied. No, I didn’t even get to have that.
This pill hadn’t helped to slow my weight gain. It hadn’t helped to clear up my hormonal acne. Its version of regulating my periods was to just give me one never ending period. All to avoid a pregnancy that I’m not certain could actually occur anyway, because I have PCOS and who knows what scarring from pelvic inflammation disease.
There were no benefits to this anymore. I was so done.
I stopped taking the pill. We’ve started using condoms instead, because I can’t have any other form of hormonal contraception, because they all feature the forbidden oestrogen.
Yes, I’m worried about the environmental impact of condoms. I looked for biodegradable ones, but I’d frankly need to take out a bank loan to buy them on a regular basis. As much as I adore the South African, £1.50 per shag is just too much. If all condoms cost that much, the South African and I would just have to cope with a sexually charged handshake and rolling over to sleep, instead of getting down the regular way.
Things I have noticed since coming off the pill:
I am no longer hungry ALL THE GOD DAMN TIME.
This is blissful. Don’t get me wrong, I can still eat the world – but it would be because I chose to, rather than because I was overwhelmingly hungry.
My acne is no worse than before.
Yes, it’s still there, but I think that’s more to do with me being rubbish about applying medicated gel to my skin. If I actually committed to that, I suspect it would clear up fairly quickly.
I am less bloated.
Yay! My trousers fit better. Woohoo!
I get a hell of a lot more warning before my period materialises.
Cramps start to happen the day before my period starts. As soon as the cramps arrive, I know to start wearing a pad.
I had quite the hormonal surge when I stopped taking the pill. I forgot just how dramatic, sudden and unreasonable PMT can be. I felt out of control for the first two weeks of pill freedom. I was constantly apologising to the South African after snapping at him for doing something wrong/breathing/existing.
At one point, I was crying about how he wasn’t actively supporting me through this hormonal hell, and he told me that he didn’t know how to support me because he had no concept of what I was going through.
Well, how fucking reasonable.
And honest. This made my righteous rage at his socks being on the bedroom floor slightly less righteous.
How dare he?!
Fortunately, my hormones have got back in their box and calmed the fuck down. I once again feel like a functioning human being.
Fingers crossed it stays that way…