A Definition, Not A Diagnosis

 "Yes, I think you have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome" our GP said, sitting across from my mother and I. I would've about thirteen years-old, having started my period the year before, we were both concerned by how sporadic it was.

 I could go four months without ever having one. Once it finally arrived though, I was met with painful cramps that would keep me up at night, so bad that I'd have to stay home from school till it was over.

I remembered mentioning my lack of periods to a friend when I was in seventh grade, her response came fast and thick, "Maybe you're anorexic, Google says periods stop if you have anorexia." It was 2007, the beginning of when the world could tell you anything you wanted to know with a single click, even if it didn't happen to be true. All I could do to not cry was gulp and walk away slowly. I'd learn to do that often over the years. 

But the diagnosis you ask? Back to the diagnosis, the diagnosis was purely verbal, I spent years living under the shadow of his prediction. Not knowing where it would take me. 

Me at age twelve