It started when I was eleven, shortly after breast buds and ditched training bras. My menstrual cycle signaled my newfound womanhood, but it was anything near "normal." In the locker room, other girls would tease me for my happy trail running up my stomach. Little did they know, I had ten times more hair on my rear end. I began growing noticeable, dark hairs along my chin and cheeks. My grandmother had pinned it on my Italian heritage, and told me that if I shaved it, it would grow back. I listened to that piece of advice for a good while, but eventually gave up on it, mainly due to ridicule from my peers and internalized ideals of female beauty. She was right about it growing back, but it's coarseness never changed. The hair had always been very thick.

Eventually, we forked up some cash for laser hair removal. To date, it is some of the worst pain I have ever experienced. An extremely hot device was stamped on the problem areas. I went for four separate sessions. That summer, I finally felt comfortable wearing a bikini. The hair was still there, but barely noticeable. It was the best I had felt in a long time.

Then fall came, and with the change of the seasons, the hair returned, too. I was devastated. My mother took me to my physician, and even after countless blood tests, nobody seemed to know what the problem was. For years it was suspected that I may have been suffering from a thyroid problem as it runs in my family, but the test results showed otherwise. My thyroid was totally healthy.

Then came the period pains. They were excruciating, made me sick, and brought me to my knees. Nobody I knew was in pain like this, and it felt like there was no one who understood how bad my pain was; that I wasn't simply being dramatic. The periods were irregular; sometimes twice a month, sometimes none at all. My physician recommended seeing an endocrinologist. My mother drove out to the city with me to the only endocrinologist we could find in the area.

That specialist finally helped us find a diagnosis. After testing my hormone levels, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) at age fourteen. I had never heard of it before. The doctor explained that my tests showed I had an imbalance in hormones in which I produce more male hormones than female hormones. This was the cause of the cycle irregularities and hair growth. Along with those symptoms comes the worst part: ovarian cysts. Instead of my eggs fully maturing, they would form cysts and occasionally rupture. This was the cause of the pain.

The endocrinologist sent me to get a sonogram to see if I had been developing cysts. Sure enough, there they were: white circles hanging out in my ovarian sacs. It was all the confirmation needed.

I was started on a diabetes medication, because women with PCOS tend to also suffer from insulin issues and those kinds of pills usually work, but it didn't help my cycle or much else. I was moved to once a day birth control, which allowed a daily release of estrogen and would eventually help regulate me. But it was not a remedy.

Later in high school, my symptoms got worse, especially the pain. I visited our local Urgent Care center for severe pains in my lower abdomen, and they were so concerned about the pain levels that they sent me to the emergency room because they thought I had appendicitis.

The ER thought I was suffering from it, too. I waited hours to be seen and eventually get a sonogram. Upon further examination, the screen showed that I had a ruptured cyst. I was sent home and recommenced pain killers and rest. That's it.

PCOS also causes intense fluctuations in mood, and many people who have it also have a mood disorder. I already have a mood disorder, so my time of the month is even worse.

Years later, I have come to terms with my PCOS as a chronic illness. There is no cure and I will have it until I reach menopause. I am likely to get endometriosis at some point and, because my eggs don't mature, have a miscarriage if I ever decide to get pregnant in the early stages of pregnancy. I find myself longing for the eventual day I may have to get a hysterectomy and the pain will stop.

I have a high pain tolerance. I've broken my arm twice and had various ailments I've lived through without difficulty whatsoever. Nothing compares to the pain PCOS causes me. I become bloated from my cysts, and when they rupture, they cause a burning sensation that lasts for days. It has left me bedridden, unable to go to work or attend school. A regular dose of pain killers never helps. It always has to be more than the recommended dose, a heating pad, and long, sleepless nights. Even then, the pain relentlessly persists.

Over time, PCOS has engrossed every area of my life, from academia to relationships with others. Most things other women would go to the doctor over in fear of an infection are just daily issues I go through with my illness. It's an extra layer of difficulty I'm forced to work through.

What I do know is that I'm fortunate to have a diagnosis. It typically goes undiagnosed and is the leading cause of pregnancy complications and miscarriages, yet so many women don't know they have it. The number is just estimated, anywhere from 1 in 10 to 1 in 20 women, and as much as five million women in the united states experience it. Still, doctors are unsure of the cause of such an ailment and the only option is management. This includes a healthy diet, exercise, contraceptives, and avoidance of triggers of PCOS flare-up's.

But I have faith in modern technological developments, and at my young age, there's still plenty of time for a solution to come.