Learning To Be Kind To My Body Again

My husband and I have been trying to have a baby since we first became engaged three years ago.

I've known since I was fourteen that conceiving was likely to be an issue with me; Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) stopped my periods barely a year after they started. As I got older, the problems increased - cysts on my ovaries which ruptured periodically and landed me in hospital, cysts in the muscle wall of my uterus, cells growing down from my cervix...blah. Falling pregnant was never going to be easy.

The process started with Metformin, a medication that just doesn't agree with me. It causes frequent, violent bouts of diarrhoea and I spent the better part of twelve months running for the loo multiple times a day. My Metformin experience culminated in a particularly violent bout which struck in Mong Kok - an area of Hong Kong famous for having the most people per square kilometre than any other part of the world. And yeah, that ended about as well as you can imagine.

Then I started Clomid. Clomid is a bitch and it turns me into one. Then Clomid had to be supported with progesterone. Progesterone has a similar impact as Metformin, albeit a little less violent. Then the Clomid had to be increased multiple times. So did the progesterone. I was an aching, gut-damaged, hormonal, oily-skinned, oily-hair, psychotic bitch for twelve months. It was a great start to our marriage.

We moved to full IVF. I over-stimulated badly, resulting in ovaries the size of oranges. It took two months to recover, at which point I started oestrogen and progesterone to prepare for the embryo transfer. The diarrhoea returned, as did the normal progesterone side effects. I fell pregnant with my son and the progesterone support steadily increased for the first twelve weeks of my pregnancy.

Somewhere in the middle of the whole journey, I gave up on my body. What was the point in taking care of my skin when the hormones undid it all? Of trying to keep my hair clean when it was destined to look lanky and oily by the end of the day? Of wearing makeup when I looked tired and haggard and unwell?

Moreover, what is the point of taking care of a body that has so fundamentally betrayed me by failing to do what it was designed to do: conceive and carry a baby? 

Since the baby died (and writing those words has not become any easier), I've resolved to be kinder to my poor, battered body. Like it or not, I am facing another round of IVF - hopefully before the end of the year. It makes sense to be kind to the vessel required to facilitate this.

My plan is so simple and probably something most women do as a matter of course. Nevertheless, it's comprised of things I've largely ceased doing for myself:

• Walk five times a week
• Shampoo my hair twice and condition it deeply each time I wash it (about every three days)
• Shave my legs each time I wash my hair 
• Exfoliate my face each time I wash my hair 
• Invest in a good facial cleanser and moisturiser
• Colour my hair as needed (as opposed to whenever I feel like it)

As I said - simple things. But it's all about learning how to be kind to my body again.