I'm an editor at a Chicago-area newspaper. I decided to tell my readers about my PCOS.
I'm rather proud of this column, so I hope no one thinks I'm a big show-off to post it on two threads. It's just been, well, cathartic.
I also plugged the Web site. Here it is:
Somebody asked me the other day why I don’t have children.
(Rude!)
“No husband,” I said, which used to be good answer to that question.
But recent scientific advances have proven that two people can conceive a child without a legally binding document.
No judgment here, but I’m going to want somebody to help change diapers.
Another reason: I just saw a documentary about a couple with a set of twins AND a set of sextuplets.
The mother of eight has polycystic ovarian syndrome, which causes fertility issues, among a number of other ugly symptoms. So she got a little help from science. More power to her.
I have PCOS as well, and I’m positive that, if given the chance, I would have the first set of eleven-uplets.
And frankly, I’m just not responsible enough. Ask my cats.
“She forgot to feed us again. I’ll tip over the Iams bag. Did you remember to pay the water bill?”
My relatives would receive UPS boxes with holes in them.
“Did Jana mail us one of her kids again? We’re not keeping this one. I don’t care what kind of ‘exchange program’ she thinks she’s running.”
Whether I can have children is immaterial at the moment. Right now, I like being “auntie” to my goddaughter, Julia, 18 months; and her sister, Elizabeth, 3-1/2.
I baby-sat last August. After a morning of pulverizing breakfast and drawing on the furniture (washable markers), I decided we should get some fresh air.
We went to the garage for the stroller, me carrying two hats, two sippy cups, a garage door opener, a cell phone, a bottle of sun block, an auxiliary pacifier (in case pacifier No. 1 got chucked in the street) and then-10-month-old Julia. I believe Lizzie had a third sippy cup in case we blew a tire on the stroller and had to wait by the roadside.
It soon became apparent I could not open the stroller with an eyelid, which was all I had left.
I turned to blonde, angelic Lizzie, and started loading her little toddler arms with items. It occurred to me that I trusted her to hold my cell phone, but not to hold her sister.
I looked around the garage.
The first rule of baby-sitting: Never lay a baby next to a bandsaw.
Lizzie and Julia watched patiently,
although both seemed a little dubious. “Auntie Jana’s forgotten her brain medicine.”
Baby on hip, I kicked open the stroller with a foot, a hand and an elbow. Julia’s eyes bulged for a second as I accidentally squished her with my arm in my kerfuffle with the stroller.
A-ha!
We set off down the driveway.
Then the stroller started to fold up again.
I snatched them both from the jaws of death as the stroller caught fire and exploded at the end of the driveway.
Actually, I stomped the bejabbers out of the stroller until it bent to my will. Then I decided it was too hot outside and maybe we should go back in the house and taste the crayons.
See? And that was only two very well-behaved, smart, cute children, who frankly were there to supervise me.
Really though, if you have PCOS, you should check out
www.soulcysters.com. They have a chat room and great forums for all of the symptoms, plus a lot of support for women hoping to conceive.
• Jana Thompson can be reached at
jthompson@nwnewsgroup.com.
OK, so it's not a poem ... 
