Raise your hand if you thought you’d get knocked up as soon as you threw out your birth control.

Now raise your hand if that wasn’t remotely the case.

Lots of hands are up, aren’t there?

I stopped hormonal birth control a few months before Papa Y and I got married because of a blood-pressure scare. Even after being given the green light to go back on the pill, I decided not to refill my prescription. My husband is nine years older than me, and I knew we weren’t going to waste a lot of time. Besides, I wanted my body to have some time to adjust to being pill-free.

Month after month, I waited for my old, reliable 28-day cycle to re-emerge. But it didn’t. 33 days. 36. 45. 40. One cycle was even in the 60s. I started charting seriously. And still I waited, thinking that it was just taking a while. Eventually, things would get back to normal.

Finally, as the months passed without regular cycles or a pregnancy, it dawned on me that something could be wrong. My research pointed to one distinct possibility: PCOS, or polycystic ovarian syndrome.

PCOS is a weird bird. There is no magical test to tell you whether you have it. There are a lot of symptoms, but you don’t need all or even most to be diagnosed. Despite the name, your ovaries may or may not have cysts. And a lot of doctors still disagree on how or whether to make the diagnosis, which makes who you see all the more important.

Some of the common symptoms include wacky or absent periods, excess body hair, acne, and weight problems. I had the wacky periods and a little pesky fuzz on the chin, but my weight was normal and I only had the occasional pimple. Still, in August 2010, I hunted down a doctor who specialized in PCOS and infertility – at least he would be up to date on the latest research and willing to discuss it as a possibility, even if it wasn’t actually the problem.

As I rattled off my history and symptoms, he immediately agreed: PCOS was the likely culprit. On one hand, I was relieved. On the other, I was frightened. So many women with PCOS struggle for so long. I had no idea what to expect.

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He ran some labs to check my hormone levels – all were normal. At first, I thought that meant he would take back the diagnosis, but it turns out that your hormones can still be out of whack with totally normal labs, and he was mostly ruling out other possibilities like thyroid problems.

The only question that remained was how aggressive I wanted to be. My doctor explained that Clomid is the normal first step for women with PCOS. It’s supposed to jump-start ovulation more reliably. But he also said that Clomid is a lot more effective when used in combination with Metformin, a drug commonly prescribed to control blood sugar in diabetics. PCOS often goes hand in hand with insulin resistance, and controlling one helps control the other.

Essentially, I had a few choices: I could refuse the drugs completely, try to eat a more balanced diet, and see whether that helped. Even though I wasn’t overweight, just a small weight loss often helped regulate cycles in some women, he said. Alternatively, I could start Clomid and see how my body responded. Or I could hop straight to Clomid and Metformin.

Ultimately, I decided to try Clomid and Metformin right away. After all, Papa Y didn’t want to be hobbling into his kid’s high-school graduation with a cane, and my wacky cycles meant we could try forever and never be sure of the timing. Plus, I lived two hours from this doctor, and wanted to minimize the number of appointments.

Figuring I had nothing to lose, I also followed the Insulin Resistance Diet. Basically, I started to balance my carbs and protein in a certain way so that my body could process sugar without going into overdrive. It certainly couldn’t hurt, right?

Over the next month and a half, I lost ten pounds(!) and patiently waited for the beginning of a new cycle. I took the Clomid and steeled myself for all the horrible side-effects I’d read about – hot flashes, moodiness, nausea. Fortunately, I felt like my normal self. And after what seemed like an eternity, almost two weeks after the first pill, an ovulation test confirmed that it was go time.

During the two-week wait, I tried my best to talk myself down. No way would we be so lucky to hit the jackpot during our first round of interventions. We had a big trip to New Zealand coming up, and I distracted myself with travel plans. Caving? Sure. Glacier hiking? No problem. The chances were slim I’d have to cancel anything.

Roughly 10 days after ovulating, Papa Y persuaded me to take a test. It was early, and I was reluctant. I lectured him on how early it was, but he reminded me that a) pregnancy tests were cheap and b) he had the patience of a gnat.

So I humored him. I wasn’t even testing in the morning. What a waste!

(… You see where this is going, right?)

There was a second line. Faint, but definitely there. My hand shook as I showed him. Cue us rushing to the store for three more types of pregnancy tests.

Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

positive pregnancy test

Seeing double -- success!

Suddenly, I had some travel plans to alter.

By no means do I think that the drugs and diet changes were a magic bullet – we definitely had luck on our side, and I am well aware that there are women who have done all these things without such quick results. There is always a certain amount of luck involved. But I do think seeking out a doctor who knew his stuff and was willing to be aggressive paid off. Knowledge is power.

Anyone else out there diagnosed with PCOS? How have you responded?