Chapter 2
HANNAH
One year ago…
The paper on the exam table crinkles every time I shift my weight, a nervous habit whenever I’m sitting at the doctor’s. My legs bounce, counting the seconds until they turn into minutes, picking at my already holey jeans on my knee.
I’m here to see an endocrinologist because my gynecologist suggested my results were better suited to someone who has expertise in women’s health, specifically someone with PCOS.
A slight knock pulls my attention to the door, and a woman in a white coat peeks through.
“Hi, Hannah, I’m Dr. Ghoshel. How are you?
” She smiles sweetly at me, her long, dark hair braided away from her tawny, pixie-like face.
She shuts the door behind her as she reaches forward to shake my hand.
Her eyes are a caramel brown; quite stunning to look at, her fingers warm against my clammy ones.
“Hi, and I’m okay, I guess. I'm a little nervous.” She has no idea I’m on the verge of shitting my pants waiting for her arrival.
“Understandable.” Dr. Ghoshel pulls a pen from her breast pocket, marking something down on a piece of paper left on her portable desk. “But I’m here to help you understand your results and talk about options.”
“Yeah, my gynecologist said she was going to forward it all to you.” I pick even more at my jeans, feeling pieces of them unravel.
She nods, takes a seat, and begins to type.
“I took a look at your files, and I can see your A1C levels are high, along with your testosterone, which puts you in the pre-diabetic category, along with your insulin levels. You have insulin resistance on top of it. With these results, we like to classify this as metabolic dysfunction.”
I let her words sink in slowly, and numbly say, “So… PCOS?”
“When did you notice your symptoms?”
I swallow hard. “Four months ago. I skipped two periods.”
She types away, and I can't handle the sound of silence between us, so I start to blab about other symptoms. “Sometimes I get acne all over my chin, and hair fallout happens…like a lot…in the shower.
“What are your periods like?”
“Heavy the first day, makes me achy, and then it’s light for the rest. It's usually around four days. That’s if it doesn’t just get skipped.”
Dr. Ghoshel clicks one more time, signaling her printer to spit out a few pages. She reaches for them and staples them together, handing them to me. “I’ve printed out some information about foods to avoid. Your biggest enemy, Hannah, is sugar.”
I look down at the packet she hands me, reading the bold letters PCOS, that mock me. “Sugar?”
“Yes.”
There’s no way.
No way I’m diagnosed.
Barely looking up, I ask, “What are my options?”
“Are you looking to get pregnant?”
I blink, mouth going dry. “Pregnant?”
“Yes. Then we can determine which path to take when it comes to medication. It’ll be difficult to conceive if your PCOS isn’t controlled.” Dr. Ghoshel puts on latex gloves.
“Medication?” It’s an out-of-body experience having your doctor nonchalantly tell you your health is in jeopardy, along with the possibility of having trouble conceiving your own child.
“Metformin is an option we recommend first.”
So many emotions come at me, I might topple from the weight of it all. “Is it forever?”
“Temporary. Until it’s under control.”
Have I become out of control…with my health? “What’s the dosage?”
“I’ll start you off in small doses to make sure it doesn’t affect your stomach. It’s all your choice, of course. If not, we can go another route.”
I think back to her previous statement. “You said it can be difficult to conceive if not controlled.” She nods, waiting. “But how do I cure it?”
Dr. Ghoshel's face is neutral. “There is no cure, Hannah. It can be genetics, hormonal imbalance, anything. What we can do is try to lessen your symptoms and get some of your blood work done to aim toward improving your levels.”
I’m numb from head to toe, trying to comprehend her words, watching her watch me with a puzzled expression. I grip the edge of the examination bed, my fingernails digging into parts of the foam pad. How can I decide what path to take when I’m not even sure of my own future?