PCOS: An Unreliable Contraceptive

This is the story of my journey to being a mum. From being diagnosed with PCOS (poly cystic ovarian syndrome), and relying on this as an unreliable contraceptive, non-consensual sex and domestic violence. While this post is not all darkness and tragedy, please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to these topics.

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Laying on the examination table, the cold goo being squidged into my rounded belly, distended from an exceptionally full bladder. The radiologist leaning in to the screen as she pressed firmly on the right hand side, measured what looked to me like indeterminate black blobs on the screen. “This is the last bit”, she said, looking at me as I winced, trying to remain continent. Apologising, she took a few more measurements and then said I could relieve myself. Upon my return she showed me the blobs properly and explained that they were in fact cysts surrounding my ovaries. The doctor, she informed me, would explain what that meant during my follow-up, but she didn’t want me to be worried. These were not a danger to my health.

I was nineteen when my PCOS was diagnosed.

At the time I’d reached out to my surgery, mind curious about how to manage a menstrual cycle that was beyond chaotic. On that first appointment we discussed different contraceptives which might help in the short term, but we decided that I’d have a series of blood tests and a scan before a follow up appointment with my GP. We had both wanted to find out what was causing the problems I’d presented with and now he had answers.

Once the results were in, I returned to discuss the findings. The doctor explained that I had Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome- PCOS for short. This accounted for odd cycles, excessive blood loss, bonus body hair and why I found it incredibly easy to gain weight. He also said, grimly, that I would never be able to conceive without help. Before I left, he reinforced the findings, saying that when I was ready to start a family I mustn’t be afraid to ask for the help I will need.

While many women would have been devastated at this news, I was overjoyed.

You see, I’m not what I would describe as the maternal type. In fact, I don’t really enjoy the company of children- they scare me! The relief I felt was palpable, knowing that the contraceptive injection I was about to receive was only necessary to add some regularity to my periods, to make life less fixed on watching and waiting for my next heavy, debilitating bleed. Though, as a young, single, red-blooded woman I would always take care of my sexual health, this no longer extended to accidental pregnancies due to condom failure or stealthing.

I’d been a promiscuous young woman when my doctor broke the PCOS news.

The diagnosis he thought would cause my world to come crashing down. About a year later I met a man who quickly became my husband. He didn’t want children either, though oddly he did name our (hypothetical) first child about a month after we met.

Over the years I’d realised the Depo-Provera, my contraceptive injection, wasn’t working for me. My GP changed me back to the combined pill, an oral contraceptive. I was happy about this, having struggled with headaches, depression, and weight gain, along with an ever-weirder cycle than ever before. This would give me three weeks clear followed by one week of breakthrough bleeding. A routine, at last! I’d have to remember to take it every day but being organised was a small price to pay.

By the time I was settled into a routine my husband and I had got into a disagreement. He wanted a cat, and I wanted a dog. However, I’m allergic to cats and he’d been cruel to a dog belonging to a friend of ours. Neither option was going to happen any time soon. He said it would be fun to have a baby instead. I didn’t want to start an argument about whether it would ‘be fun’ or not.

Safe in the knowledge of my PCOS diagnosis I agreed.

It would buy me some time while I figured out what to do with our marriage- he had a nasty side which had become more evident with each passing year.

Almost immediately I stopped taking the pill, protected as I was by the infertility which was so inevitable. Twelve weeks later he presented me with a pregnancy test, waving it under my nose and saying “there’s something different about you, I got you one of these. Go and pee on it.”

He took charge of the test as soon as I left the bathroom, watching the pink travel up the absorbent strip inside the plastic. One line, the control, burned its way into the display. Then, slowly, a second line developed. The test was positive! How could this have happened?

My doctors handed me over to the midwifery team, the dating scan revealed I was ten weeks pregnant- twelve weeks after stopping the pill.

What a pickle! However, being a strong believer in fate I approached impending motherhood with an open heart – this baby was clearly meant to come into existence to have been conceived almost immediately by an, apparently, infertile woman.

It turns out having a baby was much less fun than he thought it would be. They cry. A LOT! And my milk didn’t come in, possibly due to my erratic hormone profile, which left me feeling a failure. Post-natal depression took hold and I struggled with being a mum for three years.  I always loved our son, but didn’t enjoy parenting.

I wouldn’t be doing it again, and returned to the doctors surgery for a less unreliable contraceptive.

This time I would get the Mirena coil, the hormone-based version of a contraceptive product that is inserted into the uterus and left there for years. Unfortunately, like the injection, I didn’t get on well with this, and had it removed before a year was up. Back to oral contraceptives, which had always worked well for me. Three weeks on, one week off. A routine that provided comfortable ‘periods’ as well as a reduction in acne breakouts and fluffy hair growth.

Taken according to the packet instructions my pill, Microgynon 30, was 99% effective. However, taken incorrectly as many as nine in one hundred women may fall pregnant.

But would that 9% include a woman like me, supposedly infertile due to her PCOS?

Almost five years after having my first I had an upset tummy. One which had been doing the rounds at the primary school. As anyone on oral contraceptives should understand, tummy bugs can reduce the amount of hormone absorbed into the body reducing the efficacy. While I recuperated my husband couldn’t prevent himself from enjoying my body, despite my protests.

Six weeks later something felt… different.

Buying a box of tests I hid in the downstairs loo, cried as the second line appeared.

When I broached the subject with P, he wasn’t best pleased and raged that I should get rid of it. Well, I’m not very good at doing what angry people tell me to do at the best of times and growing a baby which had been put there without my consent was far from being the best of times.

Again I felt like the life that was growing inside of me was clearly meant to be there. Regardless of how it came to be. While our first son had been a joint endeavour in not taking responsibility, why should I do what he was telling me to- end the pregnancy- when it hadn’t been my choice to start it?

Our second child was born safe and well just before his due date.

Having decided that it should have been a girl he mocked the baby during his weigh-in in theatre. He wanted nothing to do with the beautiful boy that I delivered. When parenting number two was unavoidable his behaviour would escalate. Before long, though not soon enough, I was taking steps to leave the marriage. Finally extricating us, and rebuilding our lives elsewhere.

For all of my relief at my diagnosis as a nineteen-year-old girl, this forty-year-old woman is incredibly grateful that PCOS is not a reliable contraceptive. I wouldn’t have chosen to have two children, particularly by an abusive man, but life never turns out exactly as we plan. Even when our plans follow up a clear-cut medical diagnosis.

Twenty years ago my GP put his faith in the science behind my blood tests and scans, the likes of which have been repeated a number of times over the intervening years. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for a doctor to share that kind of news. Knowing that patients would generally prefer to start a family, or at least have the option for bearing children in the future. The fact my body defied a repeated diagnosis of infertility, twice, is a blessing for me. The most un-mumsy mum I know!

Would I have chosen to start my own little family?

I can categorically say the answer here would be No. The gratitude I felt at my PCOS diagnosis was incomparable. Plus, children, especially babies, are not my thing. However, as soon as I discovered that I was pregnant, especially with number two when the circumstances around his conception were so poisonous, my choice became clearer still. For me, looking back now, these young men were always meant to be here. Does everything happen for a reason? I believe so. Though please don’t ask me what that reason is.

Regardless of how they came into my world… The unexpected joy I’ve found nurturing these little lives is incomparable. Those boys have given me more than I could ever have dreamed – freedom and love beyond measure. It’s my absolute joy to show them they too can have the world.

This is my first time sharing a post for Menstruation Matters. However, with my interesting cycle (thanks to PCOS) I doubt it will be the last. In the meantime do go and check out the other posts in this fascinating meme.

Also sharing for Mrs Fevers 43 for ’23 as this definitely counts as something turning out different than expected. Find the rest of my posts in this theme here.

Join me as I fly by the seat of my pants for the A-Z April Blogging Challenge 2023. You can find all of my posts for the month here. And you can also find previous years here. 2019 came first. I skipped 2020. 2021 was a full month of photography themed posts. And 2022 was a sparse collection of Q&A style writing, but there were plenty of boobs!.