Early Days

This month I finally heard the diagnosis. My heart, my breath, my whole being heard it. Yes, this shouldn't be a surprise as I was told the same a couple months ago. I've been talking to friends about my fear of this possibility for years, and as they watched me cried I am sure I convinced them that I believed that it was true.

I did believe it, a bit, but not like now. For some reason it is finally real. I have premature ovarian failure. All the 'white matter' my surgeon 'smushed' together on my behalf (my surgeon's way of saying that he had tried to save some of my ovaries) don't seem to be working.

The last blood test confirmed it, but what really made it real was telling a slightly tipsy friend early into her medical ob/gyn residency my story. I dropped my FHS numbers into the conversation, and she, without missing a beat, blurted 'egg donor or nothing eh?'

I find it funny that a person only beginning their medical career holding a poorly mixed martini convinced me of what I never fully believed from the medical professionals' I paid good money to listen to.

Now I have a muddled brain of all the ramifications of what happens when your body can't make the hormones you need to do useful things like make bones and babies – let alone all these subtle things that your ovaries apparently do to prepare you body and mind to keep working properly in old age.

I've decided that to spare my friends my need to verbalize through complex situations and use this blog to catalog my thoughts, procedures, and information gathering instead.