It's about fucking time. I had yet another doctor's appointment today, this one a follow up to the one a month ago that was to determine that I wasn't completely falling apart despite having a period that had lasted 19 days up till that point. As the nurse is poking around up my whoo-ha with the sonogram wand, we discovered, clear as day, that I have polycystic ovaries. Hence, I can say now, with confidence, that I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS. This explains EVERYTHING. We've kind of thought I've had this, except that (a) I was able to get pregnant without even trying which kind of goes against the core of being polycystic and (b) whenever my overies had been peeked at before, that little tell-tale "chain of pearls" never showed up.
Long story short, what this means is that when I ovulate, the ovum doesn't always get released out of the ovaries, instead implating itself on the wall of the ovary and forming a little cyst. Month after month of this and you get a string of little cysts all lined up nice and pretty. There is a link between this and insulin resistance and an increased risk of type II diabetes, which explains why I gain 5lbs just looking at a piece of chocolate (unfortunately knowing that hasn't stopped me from eating said chocolate and other assorted goodies, which is why I'm currently the approximate size of a small manatee). There is a linke between PCOS and an increased likelyhood of having low milk supply when trying to breastfeed. There is just so much to do with PCOS that fits me, and explains why my body is this way.
So, I have to cut sugar out of my diet 100%. At least to start. Once I've gotten into the groove, some whole grains and complex carbs will be allowed back in. But ice cream? Nope, only if we're at the beach. French fries? Sorry. Chocolate? No. The list is huge and utterly depressing when I look at it, but for the first time ever, I know I have to do this, and I know it will work. And if for some reason it doesn't work, well, at least I'll have something concrete with which to go to the doctor and perhaps we can work it out with medication. Hopefully by next Christmas there will be 50lbs less of me and a much larger selection of things in my closet that fit.