PCOS: A Day in the Life
Most girls have to deal with frizzy hair, a reddening, mountainous pimple, or looming stretch marks. I have to deal with these problems too, but tack on facial hair, constant weight gain, mysterious periods, and the possibility of infertility, and you’ve got a recipe for PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) is a fancy way of saying that my hormones are seriously out of whack. This condition is an understatement, as it affects the entire way I live. My first day at UCLA was a little distressing once I glimpsed my reflection in a bathroom mirror as I roamed Rolfe Hall; was I looking at myself, or was Wolverine peeking back at me through that smudgy glass? Do what I may, whether it’s my trusty Sally Hansen bleach, face waxing, plucking with tweezers, or the good ol’ Gillette, my facial hair grows back in what seems like seconds. It’s challenging enough acclimating to UCLA as a transfer student — my dream school for so long — and having to deal with the issue of facial hair making my self-esteem…well, non-existent.
I trekked over (and I mean trekked- the span of this campus feels more like a hike than a walk) to the Ashe Center to see what my options were for dealing effectively with PCOS. After hearing the usual “there’s no cure” speech from my doctor, I felt hopeless that I would have to live with my ever-growing facial hair incessantly. I felt alone in dealing with such an insecurity, often looking at my friends’ faces and desperately wishing I could have a face that wasn’t sprouting out little thick, black hairs as far as the eye could see. Every morning in the communal bathrooms of my dorm, I enviously watched how some girls dove right into bouncing their Beauty Blenders on their face, swirling creamy foundation onto their hairless skin, while I had to find a way to obscure my facial hair before even thinking of getting ready for the day. I felt like a mad scientist as I concocted my face bleach mixture, the chemicals burning my face, leaving my brown skin with a tinge of pinkness and smelling like a chem lab.
As the quarter progressed, I found that I had less and less time to cry over my hairy situation. Being a transfer, in its own right, is a huge challenge (and joy, too — the pizza at De Neve, anyone?) Also, an observation I can say undoubtedly, is that no one really cared about the garden of hair that was growing on my face. Everyone had their own deadlines, worries, and excitements to ruminate over. This realization helped me grapple with the fact that we are all facing challenges as students, whether its PCOS, long commutes,or working full-time to pay for tuition.I found that no one was scrutinizing the staggering sideburns that decided to stay — no one except me.
As I begin my senior year, I’m no longer as insecure about the flaws that come with having PCOS. I’ve come to accept that, yes, I will probably always have hair on my face. This was hard to come to terms with, but after surviving my first year at UCLA as a transfer, I know I can’t allow something so minuscule as hair govern my life and who I am. Dealing with the struggles of PCOS has become my personal norm, and I have to embrace what is not in my control. And if someone does happen to mistake me for Wolverine in the halls, then at least I know I hold the strength and animal-keen instincts to guard my confidence.
