When I was 18, I finally got my PCOS diagnosis, which came with a side diagnosis of depression and anxiety disorder. I am going to explain precisely what PCOS is. 

Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is a condition affecting your hormones. It causes irregular menstrual periods, excess hair growth, acne, and infertility. It is characterized by the presence of cysts on the ovaries, although you don’t need to have cysts on your ovaries to have PCOS.

Following my diagnosis, I felt no need to hide it. The first thing I was told by a close relative was that I shouldn't reveal it to a partner. I was shocked. I didn’t think about the stigmatization of the fertility issues that came with it.

I will enunciate that while PCOS comes with fertility issues that can be managed, it is also a “we will only treat you properly when you are ready to have a baby” condition, which to me is just misogynistic. Doctors always feel the need to reassure you that you will have a child. Rather than try to help deal with your present symptoms, they opt for fatphobia and advise you to focus on your studies until you are ready to have a family.

I vividly remember the situation that was the last straw for me. I had come in complaining about how I had been bleeding for up to six weeks. The doctor explained to me exactly what PCOS was and how he suspects that is what I have—this was after I informed him I knew. My primary aim was to get better options on how to stop bleeding. After he talked about the fertility issues and made the usual foolery jokes about waiting until marriage and childbirth, I told him I had no interest in having kids.

This was his last straw. He got offended and insisted on not giving me the prescription needed. I had been prescribed this drug once before when I suffered from chronic menstrual cramps and heavy bleeding that lasted for more than a month.

This doctor told me, with the most ridiculous smile on his face, that he would not be completely comfortable prescribing this in good faith. He felt that suppressing my monthly flow now might affect conception later on. I later found out that pregnant women used it to reduce blood loss.

After going through four gynaecologists, multiple prescriptions of birth control and metformin, being told I was fat and needed to lose weight, comments about my laziness even though I complained of fatigue, and misogynistic conversations, I finally decided to just stop. Stop the doctor's visits and the medications.

This pushed me into the social media world of other poly-cysters. I was holding on to sharing experiences and finding better ways to cope with my symptoms. This was a futile ending. I reached out to a page on Twitter and joined a group chat on Telegram. Imagine my surprise when the majority of people there were older women focused again on how to get pregnant. This was not what I needed, so I left.

While my story is, of course, different from that of other queers who suffer from this condition, it is not unreasonable that similar situations breed familiar outcomes. Like me, there are a lot of Nigerian queers who have had similar experiences. I decided to interview a few on their PCOS journey.

Dara, a Nigerian writer who identifies as pansexual, stated that even though her mom was a nurse and was informed on reproductive health, she still felt so alone after her diagnosis.

 She said,

“Even when I had people around, I still felt alone because the journey was my own and the pain was mine."

On the issue of fertility, she explained that it never genuinely bothered her because she was not interested in having children but seemed to infuriate both her doctors and her mother. She was more focused on balancing her hormones, while her healthcare provider was more interested in her getting married quickly, so she could have a kid.

"They don't care about the quality of life you have; it's like you are just a walking womb that must be focused on reproducing.”

Chinonye, who identifies as queer, received her diagnosis two years ago. While she clarified that she might be open to having kids in the long run, she insists that, for now, she is particular about a healthy body. Surprisingly, her doctor, a close relative, showed disapproval when she informed him of this.

When she complained about the side effects of the birth control she was on, her doctor was livid.

I feel like I was heavily shamed about my period. I told my doctor that I didn't care about seeing my period anymore due to the effects of the drugs, and I wasn't even sure I wanted kids yet, but he said, "How dare you? Don't you want to be fertile forever?".

While Chinonye dealt with medical practitioners who were only focused on what her body could do in the future and not how comfortable it was for her now, she also emphasized the amount of unsolicited advice and comments she received from friends and even strangers about her diagnosis.

"This babe was like, I should grind this and that, do this, do that, and try to get pregnant now. I'm like, if I get pregnant, I'm aborting, and she said, Don't you want to at least try? I said no, and she looked at me weirdly."

Finally, a gay writer and student named Michelle shared that she had only been able to self-diagnose since her parents were not willing to take her symptoms seriously and she did not have the funds to get the help she deserved. She had to do her research, and that was how she learned about PCOS.

While she was battling with these symptoms, she realized she had also developed so much anxiety, and she linked the mental stress to PCOS.

It was also very easy for Michelle to conclude that her parents would get her a medical diagnosis if they were aware of the fertility issues that might arise due to her condition. She recounted a time when her mother expressed concern about her irregular cycles causing future complications when she was ready to have kids. Then, seemingly deciding that if there was any severe issue, she would finally get the medical intervention she needed all this while.

After each interview, I realized that we all wanted the same thing. Just like me, these people wanted acceptance, understanding, and something to ease their symptoms. We wanted to talk about depression, the changes our body goes through after the use of birth control, the bloating, having to do regular scans, the intense anxiety developed after every medication, the numerous scary side effects of medications, and the supplements, vitamins, and diets that were effective.

I want to talk about buying skincare products and finding the right one because, since I turned 13, I have not had a good skin day. I want to share my experiences on how it affects your sexual life and the intense fatigue and insomnia that come with it. The struggle of dealing with hirsutism, skin tags, checking your blood sugar level regularly, seeing your period for months or not seeing it at all, cramping with no bleeding, random spotting on random days, and having to listen to friends tell me how lucky I am that I don’t get to see my period monthly (stop saying this, it is disrespectful) needed to be addressed.

I want to talk lengthily about the emotional and mental turmoil that comes with all this. I need a space to express these challenges without hearing, even for a second, about how life with PCOS supposedly becomes more bearable when you're ready to have a child. I do not want children.

Before now, I have struggled to find a group of millennials or Gen Z that has helped in sharing their experience and coping mechanisms, but I have met amazing people over the years who have made me feel like I am not alone. People who have faced these same struggles. We help each other how we can, and it has been a breath of fresh air knowing you are not alone.

It's a child's world on PLANET PCOS. I wish it wasn't.