If you are a female, you should read this post. If you are a male with a mother, sister, wife, daughter, etc. that you love, you should read this post. Fair warning that there is some frank discussion of women’s reproductive health, so I won’t fault you if you don’t want to read because that stuff grosses you out. But you should at least try. You might just thank me someday.

So I’m a twenty-something female, and being a twenty-something female, I of course never go to the gynecologist despite the recommendation of… what, twice a year? Whatever it is. It’s kind of weird to think about anybody other than yourself (and maybe your s/o) doing anything “down there.” Isn’t going to the dentist already bad enough?

My second year of college, though, I had the terrible luck of getting a yeast infection and a UTI at the same time. That seriously sucked, and necessitated my becoming real cozy with the campus gynecologist. I got seriously lucky in that A) she was female, B) she was really nice and friendly and generally fun, and C) she genuinely cared. She got me straightened out that time, but I got another yeast infection a few months later. I never got them close enough together to reach “consult your doctor” territory, but I had more than my fair share. I think at this point I’ve had five or six. I finally decided enough was enough and saw a doctor off campus anyway.

A little over a year ago, I saw the gentleman to whom my mother’s OB/GYN transferred his clients when he retired. He was a nice enough guy, but frankly he made me a little nervous. I’m going to interrupt the narrative to say: ladies, if your gynecologist makes you even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, find a new one. It’s okay to “shop around.” Someone helping you take care of your body, especially such a private/intimate/choose-your-adjective part of your body, should put you at ease. Anyway, so the doctor made me slightly uneasy. I described my problem to him – frequent yeast infections, literally debilitating cramps, a predictable but longer-than-average period and cycle. He started asking me some seemingly unrelated questions. He probed about my minor but annoying facial hair (I pluck, but it’s very dark), about my acne (almost completely clear by that point), about my weight (yes, I’d been 20 pounds heavier in high school, but I’ve been where I’m at now for years).

Then he did my exam and took a culture or two, or maybe a blood sample, or both, to run some tests. He wanted to make an appointment to talk over my results in a week, but I was due back at school, so I authorized him to give me my results over the phone. He promised he’d be in touch in no more than a week – he would call me, so there was no need for me to call him.

That was a Monday. The following Monday, the day we would have had an appointment, no phone call. Tuesday, no phone call. Just as I’d decided I would call Wednesday morning – it was after regular office hours by this point, I remember my roommates watching Jeopardy – I got a call from one of his various assistants or secretaries or what have you. She informed me, rather abruptly to be quite honest, that all three tests they’d run had come back normal. Well, that was a relief, even though I didn’t know what they were testing for. And if they’d ruled out the easy stuff, what unspeakable disease did I have? Well, I’d have to deal with it at the end of the semester.

By that Friday – Good Friday, as a matter of fact – it was all well out of my mind. So imagine my surprise when I finally got a call from the doctor himself. He wanted to finally go over my results with me. The one test had come back abnormal. Uh, okay, but what exactly does that mean? He didn’t tell me, he just went on to say that a second test had been abnormal, too. My “count was low.” My what count? How low? “Well, you were at 25, and we don’t start worrying until your count hits 12.” Out of what? Thirty? One hundred? Never mind that Monday everything was fine, but come Friday, two out of three unknown tests are “abnormal.” But that was really all he had time for, except to tell me that my results together made it about 90% certain that I had polycystic ovary syndrome, or PCOS.

As described to me, PCOS is a relatively harmless condition wherein one or both ovaries have multiple small, non-cancerous cysts. The cysts are sometimes but not always painful, and they’re caused by an elevated amount of androgen production relative to estrogen production. This hormonal imbalance would explain my painful cramps, my irregular cycle, my facial hair, my acne, and the fluctuations in my weight. (Never mind that I wasn’t concerned about the last three as symptoms, as they’d persisted much longer than the actual symptoms. Except my weight, which as I’ve previously said hadn’t changed in years.) Anyway, the whole thing was relatively harmless, except that it would be virtually impossible for me to conceive and bear children.

Now, at twenty-something I wasn’t exactly thinking about children, but I was thinking about thinking about children. I was in a great relationship – still am, as a matter of fact – and I knew I would want kids someday. And now… were there even options? How was PCOS treated? Surgery? Hormones? Was it even treatable?

It was a terrifying diagnosis to have hanging over my head for an Easter weekend. Not to mention that I was angry. I’d had three and a half days of relative peace and then had a bombshell dropped on me. Luckily, I’d arranged to spend the weekend with my best friend, and she helped me keep myself occupied.

Come the end of the semester, I wanted answers and cures and second opinions. My friend’s mother is a nurse, and she recommended another doctor to me. He was and remains very popular, though, so the first appointment I booked was for three months out. I then had to reschedule for another three months after that when my period came early. I finally got in to see him and opened with my previous not-quite-a-diagnosis. His immediate response was “No way, you’re way too skinny for it to be PCOS.” He instantly made me feel comfortable and the exam was over before I knew it. He ordered a sonogram and sent me on my way.

The average human uterus is between 7 and 8 cm, with 6 to 10 cm being the healthy range. According to the sonogram, my uterus is 9 cm, and literally that’s the only thing wrong with me. The acne and facial hair are hereditary, which my mom and I have both known for years. My weight was fine, the previous fluctuations therein not only natural but expected for a girl of my age at the time. The irregular lengths of both my cycle and the period itself were both explicable by the size of my uterus. The cramps, too, were due to the larger volume of blood. It makes sense: if a girl with a 6 cm uterus is having bad cramps, assuming her cervix and mine are the same size, then the extra 3 cm’s volume’s worth of stuff is definitely going to cause worse cramps. (As for the yeast infections, they’re really only caused by an incorrect vaginal pH. At my doctor’s recommendation I’ve been taking cranberry supplements and haven’t had a single infection since.)

Funnily enough, my paternal grandmother had the same problem in her youth. Her doctor told her that having a kid would take care of it, and it did. My mom thought that, with medicine having advanced significantly since my grandmother was my age, maybe there would be some new solution. What cracked me up was that that was the first thing my doctor told me, too! Having a child obviously stretches out the cervix, which in the long run would enable a greater volume of blood to exit the uterus at a time, in turn improving cramps. The other option was birth control, which for various reasons I declined.

Important safety tip in a second, here. If you’re like me, and you’ve got bad cramps and no other options for whatever reason – I know birth control doesn’t agree with some ladies, physically – now you have an option. As “prescribed” to me by my doctor: The day before your period starts, take two NSAIDs of your choice. (NSAIDs are nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. Motrin is one. I use Advil.) Ideally you want to stagger it, one every twelve hours. I typically take mine on the 8:00s or the 9:00s. It isn’t necessary that they be exactly twelve hours apart, but you know, one in the morning and one in the evening. Since your body doesn’t “need” the drug, it kind of “builds up a reserve,” so to speak. Then, the day of, take your NSAID as normal, either one or two every six hours. In simpler terms: The day before my period, I take one Advil at 8 am and one at 8 pm. Then, the day of my period, I take two at 8 am, two at 2 pm, and two at 8 pm. I don’t usually need to take the extra two at 2 am, but I’ll often take another two at 8 am the following day. I’ve been using this method for the last 6 months at least and it works like a charm. My cramps used to render me literally bedridden. Now I can function at almost 100%.

So what’s the point of all this discussion? First, make sure you and your lady-doctor have a good relationship. Second, don’t be afraid to get a second opinion, especially if your own personal research suggests your diagnosis isn’t quite right for you. (I didn’t go into it much, but I looked up PCOS in a few places after my diagnosis, and the symptoms didn’t seem to me to match up.) Third, track your period and stay on top of your meds! It really helps, I promise! And last, spread the love, ladies and gents. If you’ve got a girl you care about in your life, send her to this post, or at least pass along my advice. Periods suck. We should try and help each other make them suck less.