Be Warned: we will be discussing a lot of 'punctuation'

Warning: Delvin into some personal stuff here…
Ok, so if you didn’t know before you’ll know now, I have PCOS. A basic explanation of what that means, as explained to me by my doctor, is as follows:
Women with PCOS are classified as such because their ovaries are covered in a milky film that consists of multiple tiny cysts. Because of this, women with PCOS generally have messed up menstrual cycles which effects a number of other things in their body, which includes being more prone to diabetes, unnatural hair growth and unnatural weight gain. And then of course all of that effects just about everything in life. It doesn't seem like it would meddle too much in daily musings, but unfortunately it does. (End doctor part).
These women have a much harder time losing weight, which of course messes with self-image in our hollwoodized world. Hair growth is another problem. Checking to make sure they don’t look like the spawn of Sasquatch before they step out can take quite a toll on self-image too. And the whole diabetes thing – well it’s not enough to just watch what you eat. Usually these women will have to take Glugophage or Metphormin with their meals to make absolutely sure that their blood sugar is in control at all times. No one wants diabetes, especially prematurely.
I started having issues when I was 10, but we couldn't put a label on it until I was 18. We took a trip to Pakistan and went to the doctor there. They did a checkup, an ultrasound, and lo and behold, everything that was wrong with me could be classified in four capitalized letters: PCOS, which stands for poly-cystic ovarian syndrome. I remember crying the day I was finally labeled; I cried because I hated the fact that there was something legitimately wrong with me, but also because I finally knew what it was. It was a kind of relief.

I remember my adolescent years and mann, I was a hellish child. For real, the spawn of satan. My mother should get a golden carpet entrance to heaven for those 3 years alone because I look back now, and I don’t know how she didn’t kick me out of the house. I was always depressed, which caused me to always be angry. And at 11 and 12, I didn’t know how to take control of my anger. Efforts to control my emotions were always futile, and THAT was frustrating. And because we couldn’t figure out what was wrong, why I was feeling this way, and everything else, it all just became a vicious cycle of ups and downs.
I won’t go into the details of my menstrual history because, well nobody wants to delve in that personally. Hell, I don’t even want to get in that personally. What I will do is give a quick summary of the basic points, not going into month by month or emotional accounts here. So, I started when I was 10, and it was always irregular since then. At 13 one of my cycles lasted over 2 months, which scared all of us so I finally went to the endocrinologist who prescribed me birth control. Big mistake. Over the course of the 3 years I was on them, my weight shot up 60 pounds, with no hopes of losing an ounce in sight. I stopped taking them at 16 and that’s when we realized that my body had become completely dependent on them. After I stopped, I didn’t have a cycle for over a year because I wasn’t taking the medicine. Finally in Pakistan I was given medicine to regulate without hindering me like the birth control did. And very slowly, the weight has been trickling off and Allhamdullillah, I’ve been regular. = Basic summary.
Now all of this…sucked. There isn’t even a better word for it, it just sucked. From middle school through most of high school I was constantly depressed for just all of this. I hated having gained so much weight, I hated not being regular, I hated how my mood would take me from depressed to angry to just BLAH, especially during my cycle. It was like my hormones were having a rave inside my body, but I was the one with the hangover. Not cool.
And you know, I know this sounds like a sob story but the fact of the matter is, I was a teenage girl. You know you’ve all seen those movies with the high school or middle school girl feeling misfit and out of play, yadda yadda yadda. Well on the outside I was happy, and bold, and did my best to be optimistic and not think about all this. But then every day when I had to sit in front of the mirror to inspect my face and neck, making sure I plucked any unruly hair, well you can’t suppress how that makes you feel all the time. That’s when, if you multiply those teenage angst movies by 3, you get how I felt back then.
As I got older the PCOS got to me more, not because teen angst anymore, but because I realized that I had no idea whether or not I would be able to have children when I grew up (and at that point I didn’t know it was PCOS). Menstruation in woman is the biggest sign to say ‘congratulations! You have the natural ability to have babies!’ when that messes up, what are you supposed to think?
I had no idea what to think. I had to be on birth control to menstruate, which means I can have kids. But birth control hinders having kids…hence the term ‘birth control…’ very confusing.
Anyways, the point of all this is to explain how PCOS really affects women. It’s not just an illness that you can take medicine for to fix it. It’s a legitimate disorder and, get this, it doesn’t have a cure yet. The two ‘cures’ are either surgery to get the milky film physically removed, or sex (my bad, I wasn’t paying close attention to this part when the doctor was talking, but it had to do with the hormone changes your body goes through during sex that breaks the film and shifts things around). And in either case, you hope that the cure lasts, but you don’t know how your body will change or react later with your cycle, and during and post-pregnancy.
To paint a bigger picture: this makes for a VERY awkward conversation before I get married. Because PCOS effects my reproduction, I do have to talk about this with my future husband before I get married…which is scary as hell. Of course all the basic insecurities can’t help but bubble up – what if I get rejected because of this. What if I really can’t have kids. What if I’m just not meant to get married or have kids. (It’s a pessimistic downward spiral, we shall not go any further down). But you get the idea. Things get complicated.

All this isn’t easy to just ignore. Women with PCOS have to deal with it every day. It can take a toll on us, every day. If we let it.
If we let it. As I’ve already stated, I finally got to label what was wrong with me after years of figuring that there was something wrong with me. But I’m thankful that I found out what it was when I did because, now that I can look back at my life and everything I have been given, I’m actually quite appreciative for my PCOS.

That's one major thing I have learned about all of this that we call life. No it’s not all a mindset. But your mindset has a big part to play. I shamefully admit that I spent way too many years of my life with the “woe is me” and “life is unfair” mindset. Ok, true that I was an immature adolescent but, I totally self-victimized here. Seriously. Oh yeah, having PCOS still pretty much sucks, and I do get into my crazy bouts of emotion now and again – but it ain’t that bad ya’ll. This is gonna sound cliché, but at least I have my 5 senses and all my digits. I mean can you imagine not knowing what taste feels like? Or smelling? Or not being able to hold anything? And just everything!
The way I see it, everyone has to have a trial in their health life. All of us. It can range from diabetes and cancer, to acne or just not having the ability to put on weight. With the spectrum that broad, it is inevitable that every single person on earth will have some form of a health issue; they’re all our individual tests.
With that said, I think I’m pretty darn lucky with my thing. In fact, I’m quite thankful for my PCOS. It’s really helped me grow into myself. Yes, it did suck when I thought about it and let myself get down. But when I was out and about, living life, life was good. Scratch that, life is great Allhamdullillah. I have grown to really like my body, possibly more than the average female (which is saying a lot!), and really work on myself to like who I am as a person. (Haha - Don’t I sound like a self-help book!) But for real, so many of us constantly criticize ourselves about just everything. I’m not saying we shouldn't work on ourselves – who couldn't do with improvement? But I think I’ve found a good balance of working on self-improvement, without hating myself. From what I've observed, that balance seems to be hard to find for a lot of people, so I’m quite thankful.
I've learned to not be ashamed of something that has never been in my control. This is one of those topics that I have learned to be open about, because it is a medical matter. I've learned to not pretend there is nothing wrong and hope everyone just thinks I’m lazy or something. No something is wrong, but that’s not the only thing that matters. I've learned it’s not just a matter of accepting, but also learning to not be ashamed, afraid, and learning to move forward with what I've been given.
And I've learned to work on things that are important. Ok fine, so I can’t lose all the weight I want super fast, and I can’t do much about the other stuff either but take the medicine I have and visit the salon if I get annoyed enough. Slow and steady then. In the meantime, I can focus on much more important tasks. That ranges from the basics of praying 5 times a day and reading the Quran, to working on controlling my temper and opening my mind to all the different things this world has to offer. Thoreau had it right…to some extent….

Anyways, so the point of writing this whole thing is because September is PCOS awareness month, and yes half the month is over, but here’s the awareness. PCOS is there, women have it, and it’s legit. Your mother, or sister, or maybe your daughter could have it. No one can really do anything about it because it really is a personal disorder (then again what disorder isn't personal). But now you know that it exists. I guess the one thing other’s can do is just plain, be, nice. Words of comfort, a hug, etc, carry a long way. Whenever I start to get depressed my brother just sits with me and lets me whine until I feel better. In fact, there have been plenty of occasions where he’s gotten me a frap or something to eat, just to make me feel better. And all of it works, every time. A kind thought or action doesn't go unappreciated when you feel like crap. And after I’m done getting the crappy feelings out of my system, I’m back up and taking in life.

Who knows what the future has to offer, and who knows what will happen to me. But with this at least I have learned to not fear what has to come. Life is a test, and what test isn't hard. But you can’t tell me you don’t feel like the king of the world when you get an A or a B after working really hard for it. I feel like that’s how we should treat life. Shoot for the highest grade possible. Who would have thought that a disorder could teach you so much about life, and living, and growing, and just everything. Allhamdullillah.

And now you have been edumactionafied.

I'm ranting...about Eid! Ridiculous I tell you!

Yeah, I can’t believe I found something to rant about on Eid, but I did…and it sucks…

It has been an exact week since we celebrated Eid, and I do miss all of it, not just from this year but from my childhood as well.

Let me begin by telling you a little of what my Eid memories consist of, because to me those days were ideal ones.

Every year my dad would take me to this shop known as Poshak (back when it was a simple family-store, not a money-sucking business branch) and buy me my Eid suit. I would always let Abu choose the suit for me. We would buy bangles from the same store, as well as shoes and mehndi.

My aunts would put mehndi on my little hands as well as their own, and all night I would sleep in an awkward position so as not to ruin the design and have minimum chipping.

Back then I hated the scent of mehndi. Who would have thought I would grow to sniff my henna-ed up hands loving the smell of the green paste.

My mother would wake me up early the next morning to shower and dawn my new clothes, and then we would all head out for Eid prayer. We met all our neighbors and family, and I would show off my pretty outfit, "Abu got it for me!" In every house we went to, the savein tasted just slightly different. But I have yet to eat un-delicious savein. The thin noodle-like whey floating in boiled and sweetened milk with puffed up raisins and nuts was its own kind of heaven.

And then of course there was Eidi.

Eidi has a special meaning. Whether the adults are on good terms or not, whether you’re related or not, whether you've ever met before or not - none of it mattered when it came to Eidi. Regardless of everything else, adults gave children Eidi. It didn't matter who the adult was or who the child was. It didn't matter if it was a crisp new one dollar bill, or an enticing five dollar bill. All that mattered was that it was Eidi. It was a gift given to the child by an adult to celebrate the day of Eid.

And it's always special. I can still remember all the people that gave me Eidi from my first memory of Eid to now. When I was younger I would say "No, it's ok," because I was shy about taking anyone else's money but my parent's. But the adults would give a hearty laugh at my reply, un-curl my hand and place the money there while patting my head.

Eidi, hugs, mehndi, new clothes, savein, early morning Eid prayer - all make for just beautiful memories.

Unfortunately, I don’t think kids nowadays get to have as lovely memories of their Eid as I have.

You see, just like children remember all the kind, big-hearted adults that give us Eidi, children also remember the people who do not give them Eidi.

I saw adults with a stack of bills in their hands actually turn away from kids they did not want to give Eidi to. I heard these adults literally say “Where are the children? I don’t even see the children.” They said this in front of other children. There were plenty of children. They just didn’t see the ones they were specifically looking for. And boy, did those kiddos notice. Little faces drooped with confusion and hurt. I felt like I could read their minds "How come I don't get Eidi?" but of course, they would never ask in person.

I saw adults pick and choose the children they gave Eidi to, in front of other children. Not cool. That's just hurtful.

Just seeing that made my heart pang, I don't even want to think of how the little children that were noticeably ignored felt.

I didn't think I would have anything to criticize on Eid of all days, but what do you do when blatant acts of discrimination happen in front of you?

That's exactly what it was too, pure discrimination.

You know, I realize that the economy sucks, and we're all trying to save money, etc. etc.

But it's Eid.

Eid.

Eid is supposed to be the exception. After all, if we can spend money on our new clothes, and shoes, and bags, and everything else, than why not pass out a few bucks to make a child happy?

Seriously, even one dollar handed to a child with a smile makes the Eid special between that adult and that child.

In the same manner, turning away from a child without handing them anything, but clearly stating that you are looking for other children to give money to, makes the Eid a hurtful one.

It's a repulsive act quite frankly.

The damage done: the child was hurt on Eid, the child will remember the adult for that hurt (their discrimination and un-giving nature), the adult saved a few bucks.

Was it worth it?

Because that does not sound like it was worth it to me.

And you know what's even worse? These adults who specifically selected kids to receive Eidi, their children were not discriminated against.

There was a line that was formed, and all the kids passed through this line receiving Eidi. Family member's children, relative's children, friend's children, in-law's children, all walked through and received Eidi from, get this, 6 adults.

That's it.

Of all the families that were there, of all the 30plus adults, not even half were at the front of that line. 6 adults, which consisted of my father (who I am very proud for his open heart and hand), Sarwat, Ayesha, Shaulkut, Farqunda, and Farhana (excuse me for just using first names and not whole titles in this blog), while their own children were discriminated against by other adults in getting Eidi.

These six adults gave Eidi to every single child and young adult that passed through that line, whether it was one dollar, two dollars, or five. It didn't matter to them whose child it was, or how their relation was with the child's parents. All that mattered to them was that it was Eid, and Eid meant giving Eidi to children.

All those kids that passed through that line now have a positive perspective of these adults. When their parents ask who gave them Eidi, the children will think of these adults.

And then, they will think of the adults that turned away from them to avoid giving them Eidi.

In the afternoon, when the kids sat to count their Eidi, I saw how little their faces got when they counted their earnings and realized how little they got in spite of the number of adults that were there.

Children shouldn't have bitter-sweet memories like this of Eid.

Like I said, I know the economy sucks, but Eid is the one day that you’re supposed to make an exception for.

Well, we can’t go back in the past and change anything. I just really, really hope this doesn’t ever happen again. I want Eid memories for all the children to be good ones. Eid is a day of celebration. Celebration means happy (it's supposed to in my book anyways). Therefore, children should be happy on this day of celebration.

I loved Eid as a child, and I still do. I love getting my clothes ready, getting our house ready. I love staying up late and putting mehndi on all the girls’ hands. I love waking up early for Eid prayer, and then meeting everyone for food and hugs and pictures and Eidi. And I want all the growing children to love Eid and all it has to offer as well.

I hope that next year, all the adults that screwed up this time put in a greater effort to make Eid especially spectacular next time. I think they owe it to the kids.

Eid rant. I swear, I didn’t think it was possible. And yet, here is my completed entry to contradict that.