At this point, it's no secret I am stuck with PCOS. Eh. It's really not so bad. Sugar isn't really that good for you anyways, and all the dark skin on my neck? Well I desperately wanted to be black when I was younger so in the grand scheme of things, this really is an improvement. Considering I believed if I laid in the sun I would turn black. Imagine my horror when all I could do was turn red. It was awful.
It really is easy to control. Follow a normal diet and regulate your hormones via birth control. That usually works. Until your body becomes immune to one type of pill. Then you are forced to try new things. This is when your doctor gets a "great idea" called Provera.
Provera is going to knock your hormones where they should be--at the expense of your emotions. No big deal, you think. But then of course you remember what the last pill did to your emotions. That "off-week" was hell. You cried because your floor was dirty and because Christa was leaving to play volleyball. She invited you to go, you said no. You're in tears in five minutes, even though she'll be back in an hour.
But whatever. You decide to deal with it. The first three days of Provera go off without a hitch. You're considering taking the stuff forever, because you feel pretty amazing. But then day 4 hits. It's odd because you don't feel like you're going to cry. Instead, you're pretty sure you are going to turn green and bust out of your shirt at any minute.
You feel like your employer should probably start offering a "mental recooperation" day once or twice a year for times like these, but instead you shrug off the Inredible Hulk feeling, and go to work, only to discover you are short staffed and everyone's busy. Long story short, you now can't get through 8 hours without narrowly avoiding a shouting match with one of your patients because he called you and your co-workers "a bunch of stupid young women who don't know anything."
By the time you're walking out to your car, your blood pressure is through the roof. You are now extremely crabby with anything even remotely related to MeritCare: being short staffed, management not believing you are short staffed, doctors, patients who yell at you, and the little old lady who delivers patient meals (What right does she have to be so cheery all the time?!). Your mother is insistent you call her when you get off, because she is always worried someone will steal you. (At this point, you halfways hope someone tries to steal you just so you have an excuse to smoke someone in the face)
This means that she gets the word vomit of how your day has been doing. The poor woman was in labor with you for a grueling 21 hours and she gets the joy of your screaming when the day sucks. She does, however, tell you that your emotions are in your head and not a result of Provera. Which makes you even more upset. By now, you realize you're not going to respectfully disagree, and so you continue to yell. This almost makes you miss the tween that pretends like he's going to jump in front of your car while you're driving. Almost.
It takes you almost 30 seconds to decide to continue driving and not turn around and show that little asshole what it's like to almost get hit by a car. Manslaughter, you repeat. Jail time. You finish the drive home, apologize to your mother, and get into your apartment. You say good night to your best friend who is texting you, because you're sure she's not going to do something that you will be very upset about, and she doesn't deserve that. You crawl into bed, with your cell phone on silent, almost afraid to be alone with yourself.
The next day, it's AMAZING how much better you feel. You are partially sure that a mental institute would have considered a short term stay for you.
No worries. I never have to take Provera again. If for any reason I should, I will send a red alert out. You can find a safe place to hide. But seriously, I would much rather cry because my roommate is leaving for an hour than turn into the werewolf I have been for the last couple days.
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