Metafit and Metformin

It's no secret that I have a condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, I've mentioned it in my blog posts a lot. But I am not sure that I have ever written a post on here that is specifically about it. I've known I had PCOS since I was about 14. As a teenager, too embarrassed to talk about it, I took to the internet to try and make sense of what was happening (and not happening) in my body. My searching led me to PCOS which explained my totally infrequent periods, the low mood I experienced so much of the time and the rapid growth of my leg hair that made Standard Grade PE a bit of a bind at times. 

I knew I had it. 

But, I didn't know how to tell anyone. My lack of regular cycle was something that bothered my mum, I knew that, and every now and then she would say "if it doesn't show up soon we will need to see the doctor" but it would eventually show up and we would be back to ignoring the issue - it turns out my mum was good at ignoring health issues, she ignored her breast cancer for too long and had secondaries by the time she went to the doctor about it. It's something I am working hard to address because I have inherited her reflex for burying my head in the sand, but I need to reset my default. As a result, I have probably seen the doctor more in the last two years than in the previous 28 years of my life combined, and it is still always a battle to make an appointment.

So after years of ignoring the issue and a few more years of trying to seek help, I finally received an official diagnosis of PCOS in 2013 but it has taken until just a few weeks ago to get a proper course of treatment. It has been a battle to get the GPs and Gynaecologists that I have seen to look at and understand the whole picture. Before I got married the party line was that I should be on birth control to address my symptoms. The problem with that is that it doesn't address the underlying cause, so as soon as you cease the medication all of the symptoms return, and on top of this my mum's medical history has put a question mark over my suitability for hormonal treatment. 

Once I got married the way in which I was treated changed dramatically. This was probably also, in part, due to us having conceived and lost a child, but becoming a Mrs seemed to change how the doctors treated my PCOS. Suddenly all of the conversations became about fertility. 

Often it felt like I was not being heard. 

Fertility, of course, is part of the picture, but it's not the whole picture. Following our miscarriage I was emotionally everywhere and my body was not playing fair. Appointment after appointment I tried to push the fact that my main concern was the unpredictability and frequency of bleeding that I was experiencing (gone were the days of months between periods that I experienced as a teenager) along with chronic pain, urinary issues and constant carb cravings, to mention just a few symptoms, and appointment after appointment the main topic of conversation coming from the doctor was about their assumptions that we would conceive again naturally, and that if a year passed without that happening then they would look at referring me to gynaecology in order that I could be prescribed Metformin. Metformin that would likely help to regulate my hormones and lessen my symptoms - the symptoms that I felt were being brushed over in favour of discussing our fertility. 

After a lot of pushing, I eventually received an appointment for the gynaecology clinic in July 2016 (6 months after the referral was made). I was so sure that this would be the start of things changing for me. I was sure I would leave the appointment with an action plan for getting my body back on track - not just for fertility reasons but so I could actually live my life. The appointment couldn't have been more of a disappointment, yet again, my voice wasn't heard. A scan showed that I had no cysts on my ovaries, which of course is good news, but this does not mean that I was misdiagnosed. It is fairly common for women to have the syndrome without any cysts, something that causes a lot of debate over whether the name of the condition is appropriate. However, the doctor I saw dismissed many of my symptoms as "not her area" and sent me packing with nothing more than a prescription for IBS medication and a repeat appointment for 6 months time, which she only gave because I burst into tears when it became clear she was dismissing my situation. IBS medication was not going to treat the prolonged bleeding which was slowly but surely wearing me down.

The repeat appointment came in January and I was delighted to find my appointment was with a different doctor who was under the same consultant. As he began referring to my notes from my last appointment I couldn't hide my frustration, thankfully he was sympathetic to my situation and made a point of checking in with the consultant and eventually recommending I be treated with Metformin. 

It took nearly 4 years from my official diagnosis to receive treatment. 

I have been on the medication now for 5 weeks and it has mostly been positive. It will take time to see whether it is effective and we hope that it will provide some respite from my symptoms to allow me to make the longer-term, sustained changes to my lifestyle, diet and exercise that will see me able to manage the condition more naturally.

Coinciding with starting the medication I have kickstarted my programme at the gym. I have tried gym membership before and always lost interest through boredom, but this time I used gentle cardio to get myself to a place where I felt fit enough to try some classes and I have found that I much prefer this way of exercising. I don't know whether it is the Metformin or the Metafit but I have seen a real difference in my weight, appetite and physical fitness over the past couple of months. 

This past week, however, has felt like a bit of a backwards step, I arrived at the full dose of Metformin on Friday and while I had been tolerating 500mg and then 1000mg really well, the jump to 1500mg was a jump too far. Within hours of the dose having upped I was experiencing extreme nausea, complete loss of appetite, extreme fatigue, irritability and low mood. I battled on until Tuesday until I could take it no longer and phoned the doctors for some advice. I've been told to take it back down to 1000mg for the next couple of months and then we will review where things are at. 

I am disappointed that I wasn't able to tolerate the full dose and I am unsure about what the ramifications of that will be in terms of the progress I will see on the lower dose. But I also feel like my diet and exercise routines have regressed. Feeling so poorly this week, I have allowed myself to eat anything that took my fancy because so much of the time the thought of any food made me feel extremely sick. The extreme fatigue has also kept me from the gym - no metafit or body attack for me this week. 

It feels frustrating not to have continued to move forward.

But perhaps it has given me an opportunity to put some things into their right place. In our bible read-through group this week we were sharing from 1 and 2 Timothy and the verse that really struck me was:

8 for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.

I felt really convicted about how much of my thought-life has been occupied by the progress I have seen with my new medication and my new gym regime and, in comparison, how uninspired I have been to committing myself to prayer, worship and the Word. I've been reminded that while investing time in addressing physical health and fitness is important, it has to be coupled with investing time in my spiritual health and fitness because that is what truly lasts. 

We have to let our physical fitness serve our spiritual fitness. 

So this week might have been a write-off at the gym and I might have eaten a lot more toast and nutella than vegetables and whole foods but this week I have been more frequently in the Word and more fervent in prayer. And next week I will seek to make room for both as I come back again to the verse I felt God laid on my heart for this year:

But seek FIRST the Kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be added to you.

Matthew 6:33

The Blessing of a Closed Door

In the past 4 years I have interviewed for a crazy amount of jobs. In all but two cases (for 2 pieces of sessional work) I have got right to the final stage and missed out narrowly to someone else. Even the part time job I am in now was offered to someone else before it came my way.

Every time I have found myself frustrated and having to work hard to fight off the whispering lies that fill my head saying I am not cared for by God, that He doesn’t have a plan for me and that I will never achieve anything; whispers that say that I have no purpose. Lies, lies, lies, but so easy to listen to when for the eighth time in four years the much-anticipated phone call is filled with lovely, encouraging remarks about me but ultimately no job offer.

Eight times in four years.

Despite all of this, I haven’t been without work in those four years. In fact, I have been perhaps too busy with freelance work. God has provided again and again. Eight times in four years I have missed out on jobs that I absolutely could have done while my diary has been full with short term, creative projects. Maybe it’s time to take notice? Maybe this is one of those times when I discover the floor is littered with big shiny copper pennies that God has been dropping and I haven’t been noticing.

Maybe it’s time to take notice.

Of course I was gutted when the latest interview process ended in a no-thank-you phone call - once again filled with lovely comments but ultimately no job offer. Of course I had a good old cry and a short-term crisis about it. But today I am feeling filled with hope.

This latest closed door has been a real blessing. It has facilitated an opportunity to look objectively at my diary, my priorities and our long-term hopes and dreams. It has highlighted that perhaps I have been viewing this lifestyle all wrong. That I have ordered things wrongly and missed the beauty of God’s design for my life over these past four years and in this current season.

Seek the Kingdom of God ABOVE ALL ELSE, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.                                                                  

Matthew 6:33

For too long I have let my transient work diary rob me of truth and the things that really matter in life. From here on I will prioritise my relationship with God, strengthening our marriage, investing in our church community, and getting and staying healthy. I will trust that God will provide the work that we need in order to pay our way. This is, of course, terrifying. It is so contrary to all that we are told by the world but it is in line with the call of scripture. My absolute go to verse of late has been But I trust in You, O Lord; I say “You are my God.” My times are in your hand (Psalm 31:14-15). I am going to start taking hold of that promise. There is no safer place to be than in the palm of God’s hand.

With this new perspective, looking back over each of the eight closed doors I can see glimpses of what God was doing. With the first three came the decision to move back to Glasgow where I met my lovely husband, I’ve had some incredible opportunities, reconnected with old friends and made some amazing new friends, as well as being closer to family. Others have left me freed up to work on some amazing projects or saved me from horrible commutes that would have been soul-sucking.

God is in control. He knows what is best for me and even when I might be upset about how it plays out, He is working for my good.

As we approach a new year, and as I grow very close to turning 30, I am ready for a fresh start, not in a new job, but with a new mindset.

Adding my voice to the discussion

There's been a lot of chat in the news today about the findings of a new piece of research by Imperial College London about the link between miscarriage and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). 

It's been both encouraging and heartbreaking to read the many comments and responses to the published pieces that have been shared on the Tommy's Facebook page today. Heartbreaking for obvious reasons, but encouraging to see that I am not alone.

I have written a lot on this blog about our experience of miscarriage and I have written more still in my own personal journal, where on the whole my thoughts and feelings are a lot more raw. 

Less than a month ago I wrote this:

Also feel worried a lot of the time that I really have a mental health problem that needs addressed. I think PTSD... I have a fairly constant fear that I am dying and that another bad thing is waiting around the corner.

In my last blogpost I wrote about the work God has been doing in me and the healing that He has brought to my heart and mind. I think that it is only really since I started seeking healing through prayer that I have been able to see and articulate what was and is going on in my head and heart. And so much of it is affirmed in this research.

So, I am writing this blogpost to add my voice and our experience to the discussion and to stand alongside the call for better aftercare for women who experience pregnancy loss. 

I have struggled so much with a feeling that I should have been doing better, and with a perception that others would think I should have moved on. I could see other women who had experienced miscarriage who seemed to be doing better, which added to my fears at my lack of ability to move forward. I spent many months feeling stuck, struggling to sleep and waking up feeling unrested when I did, feeling a tightness in my chest, feeling like only bad things lay ahead of us, desperate to be pregnant again, resentful of anyone who was pregnant, feeling like a failure, feeling guilty that my body hadn't been able to carry the pregnancy. I would be and sometimes still can be struck, without warning, with an overwhelming and debilitating sadness. And all the while I have felt that I shouldn't be feeling any of it. That it wasn't legitimate.

My experience with the NHS throughout has been varied. My initial contact from the EPU felt very abrupt and harsh with the midwife suggesting I just wait it out and see if the pregnancy passed, as well as being told that I didn't need to bring my husband for the scan because we wouldn't see anything anyway. Then having to wait in a little corner of a windowless corridor for our scan, unable to settle for the pain in my abdomen, as a stream of heavily pregnant women passed through the corridor. 

The midwife who performed the scan was very compassionate and couldn't have been more thorough or kind.

The GP I saw the following week was overly positive and focussed on us getting pregnant again, with no room for me to be sad about the pregnancy we had just lost.

I've had GP appointment after GP appointment to try and address the continuing chaos in my body related to the PCOS symptoms that have gone wild since the miscarriage. 

Only one GP in the whole practice seemed to understand that fertility wasn't the whole picture. He left the practice in the summer.

I found myself in tears as a doctor told me that there wasn't really anything they could do for me, I felt I was being left with constant bleeding and untreatable mental health problems. They said that there was nothing they could give me to alleviate the bleeding because it would muddy-the-water of the blood tests they insisted on, birth control was not considered to be an option either because it was inconsistent with our want to become parents, and because of my mum's history they said it could mean I was at an increased risk of breast cancer - not helpful to my already huge fear that I was dying! (This advice has since been contradicted) And because we were not contracepting, they wouldn't recommend prescribing anything to help my mood either. 

At no point have I been offered any sort of talking therapy.

Who's the better storyteller, you or me?

Having been married less than 18 months we are still often asked how marriage is treating us. People generally expect us to gaze romantically at each other, sigh and talk about how fantastic it has been, or they expect the usual cliched jokes about arguments over dirty socks left strewn on the floor, who is doing the dishes and which programmes to watch on the telly.

It's not been so black and white for us and our answer doesn't fit into either category. It's not that we are not getting along, in fact our relationship has never been stronger. But the truth is our first 16 months of marriage have been laced with trauma.

After a chilled and lovely engagement, and a completely joy-filled wedding day I expected we would coast into wedded-bliss and be gazing and sighing and generally in a wee bubble of newly married loveliness for a while. But almost a month of not having a proper home, followed by the discovery that we were pregnant and the subsequent discovery that we were losing the baby burst our wedded-bliss-bubble within our first two months of marriage. And honestly, it's been really hard. Somewhere amidst the pain of what happened I lost a part of myself. I became an envious, bitter, obsessive monster that I didn't recognise and it was scary.

I know that for some it will be hard to understand how deeply our miscarriage shook me. Often I have given myself a hard time for the heavy weight I felt I was carrying, because it seemed I should have been doing better. But in amongst the grief and deep feelings of loss were questions over my identity as a woman, shame, and a deep and desperate longing to be pregnant and give birth.

Around the anniversary of our loss, I had a bit of a meltdown. It hit me one day at work, out of nowhere and I couldn't stop the tears. My boss sent me home, Owen rushed home to be by my side and then on the Monday morning I pulled myself together and went back to work. As I chatted with my boss during the week she asked if I had ever considered going along to the Healing Rooms for prayer. It had been something I had thought about but never quite gotten around to doing, and as the busyness of work carried on through the week I forgot about our conversation.

A week later we had our church weekend away. The weekend was very significant for me and I spent most of the worship times in tears as I remembered afresh the truth of God's unfailing goodness; something that I knew in my head was true but that I had lost from my heart. On the Monday morning I woke with a debilitating migraine and had to call in sick, but in my usual style I was back at my desk first thing on Tuesday morning, exhausted but determined to work. My boss, however, was having none of it and sent me home, telling me not to come back for the rest of the week.

Her kindness reminded me of our conversation about the Healing Rooms, and I felt that the least I could do was to give it a go since she had given me the week off. I have now been along three times over the course of a couple of months, and truly believe God has been doing a healing work in me.

Through all of this I have discovered that I have a habit of trying to join the dots and see the finished picture before it is ready, and throughout the past few months I have come up with many grand versions of how my story will pan out, one example being that God would heal my body in the first prayer session and I would conceive and be able to testify to His greatness. At the same time as I was beginning to seek healing through prayer I was having a series of blood tests to look at my hormone profile and to see if I was ovulating. Of course, with the great story I had convinced myself was going to unfold, I was sure the answer was yes, and not only that, but that I was pregnant too. So I was bitterly disappointed when the results showed that there were no signs of ovulation. But God challenged me, "Jen, who is the better storyteller, you or me?" And I had to concede that the One who knows the end from the beginning is definitely the better storyteller.

What I have come to realise in the last few weeks is that God has done a serious work of healing in me, but it's not physical, it's a healing of my heart and mind. This is consistent with some of the pictures that the folk who have prayed for me have shared, and I can also feel the evidence of it in my life. I feel much lighter, envy has no hold on me, bitterness has melted away and I am no longer desperately obsessing over pregnancy.

What I know is that God knows us intimately. He knows exactly what is happening in my body, and I believe He has promised us that children will be in our future. So, rather than spend this season striving for something that will come later I've decided to enjoy the season we are in. A season that is not just for waiting but a season that is full of adventures and blessings that are for now.

I am not for a moment saying that I am over the grief, I have enough experience of grief to know that it doesn't work like that. But the heavy weight that I was drowning under has been lifted. I am enjoying my work, I can see beauty in the world and I can rest. I have a renewed energy, a hope for the future but also a hope for today. God has revealed truths about Himself to me and has spoken to me about who He has made me to be. I am left hungry for more of Him. I am hungry for Him, not just what He can give me. And I trust Him, that He knows me best, that His story for me isn't like His story for anyone else, it's uniquely mine. And that His version of the story is way better than my own!

Glucose and Goodness

Three weeks ago I spent a few days in London catching up with friends and siblings (and seeing the incredible Glenn Close in Sunset Boulevard!) It was lovely to be there and hard to believe 11 months had past since my last visit. A real highlight of the trip was hanging out with two of my best girls on the Friday night. It was a great time of catching up, laughing and enjoying time together, and we rounded off the night by praying for each other - as we used to do often when I lived there.

As the girls were praying for me Jess shared that she felt God was saying that something I was eating was causing my health issues - as many will know I have PCOS, and I have experienced a whole array of difficulties in the wake of our miscarriage last August. I knew as soon as she said it that it was sugar that was the culprit and so when I got home to Glasgow I started planning meals and snacks that were refined-sugar-free. And for two weeks I stuck to it (with just a tiny cheat on the middle weekend when I let myself have some naan bread and mango chutney with a homemade curry). 

I felt amazing. 

Things regulated within a matter of days. And one of the biggest things that I noticed was how bloated I had been. I am definitely overweight but not as much of my excess weight as I had anticipated was actually fat. I discovered a shape that had been hidden for ages. I even felt energetic enough to get back out for a run (in the middle of a hailstorm - not ideal).

Since Friday, however, my new regime has fallen apart. It's amazing how quickly things disintegrate when one chaotic day sneaks in. And it's amazing how that one day of making poor choices has snowballed into almost a week. And it's still more amazing how aware I am of the effect of those poor choices on my body.

My mood has been much lower, the bloating is back, my joints are inflamed, my muscles are achey and there is a cloud in my head that is stopping me from being productive.

This wasn't really how I saw the testimony of God's goodness panning out. I had supposed that I would to be able to just tell of how the word of knowledge that he gave to Jess that night had led to all good things. But instead I am testifying to His goodness in the midst of the mess I have made of things. I am sat here feeling weepy and sore and I know that it's my poor choices that have led me here. 

Thank goodness that He is a God of grace. Thank goodness that it's not all on me. Thank goodness that this slip up isn't defining. That he is there to pick me up and cheer me on as I decide to get back to it and follow His guidance.

My times are in Your Hands

A new year has brought a new church for Owen and I. After much thought and a lot of prayer we made the decision to move from the church where Owen grew up and where we got married to join Refuge Glasgow, a small church plant that meets in Pollokshaws Burgh Hall. I had been a part of the church in its very early days when we still met in a house (the house I lived in at the time) and so it is really amazing to see how the church has blossomed and grown and found its rhythm in the two-ish years that I was away.

We both feel very much at home there already and like it is a good fit for us. Never is this more clear than when it feels like the sermon is exactly what you need to hear! God has been doing a work in my heart over the last couple of weeks as I have taken small step by small step back towards him. Over the last 6 months my relationship with God has really suffered. I was feeling bitter and sore, I was finding it hard to pray and I had basically stopped going to church. Even as we started attending Refuge I could feel a reluctance in my heart. It just felt like there was too much to unpick with God and I was scared.

I had forgotten how gentle our loving God is.

I had allowed current circumstance to cloud my judgement and it didn't take long for me to grow a long list of grievances against God. Past hurt after past hurt came back to me and each one made me a bit more cold towards God. It was like a chain reaction, once I started they just kept coming tumbling out and I couldn't stop it.

We are currently working through Philippians at church and two weeks ago, while we were in Philippians 3 Matt (the pastor at Refuge) said a wee phrase that has really stuck with me:

Whatever holds your heart will shape your life

It was like a key that unlocked all that I was feeling. It explained the chain reaction. The bitterness that held my heart was shaping everything. It was the lens through which I saw everything, it was the reason my list of grievances kept growing and it was the reason I was in a huff with God. I was totally holding a grudge against him for all the things that have really hurt in the past.

Last Sunday we were in the first half of Philippians 4 and Matt was teaching on using big truths in little places. Being thankful for the big truths in the little places of our circumstances. It was the next piece of the jigsaw puzzle for me. I left determined to put this into practise.

This week something has changed. Some of that coldness has gone. Trust is growing back.

I was keen to find a big truth to hang on to in this season. There are so many but I wanted to find a go to truth that would be easily on my tongue when a bitter thought crept in. Today's devotional in My Rock, My Refuge held the perfect verse.

My times are in your hands.

Psalm 31: 15

For me, that is not just about surrendering to God in His sovereignty but it is also a picture of safety and of nurture. I will endeavour to place this truth over all things. It's a verse to sit with and meditate on in this season.

Just like the tree outside our window, I feel a growing season is approaching. Fruit is to come.

Entering the last year of my twenties

I never thought I would be the kind of person who felt burdened by being another year older, but a couple of nights before turning 29 I couldn't sleep for the fear that my impending birthday filled me with. Whether I had realised it or not, I clearly had some preconceptions about where my life should be at when I enter my thirties and suddenly I was feeling the pressure to get my life in check before the year is out. I had completely bought into the lie that if I've not checked off certain boxes by next January then I'm somehow unsuccessful. 

Despite my little crisis, I actually had a really nice birthday spending time with family and I was thoroughly spoiled with lovely gifts, one of which was Timothy Keller's book "My Rock, My Refuge - A year of daily devotions in the Psalms". I've always loved his books and have developed a real love for the Psalms over the last few years, so I couldn't wait to get started with it. 

Today's devotion centred on our tendency to forget that God is God and that we are not. And I realised as I read it that it was the key to my discomfort at entering the final year of my twenties. I had forgotten that God is sovereign, that He is so totally in control, and not only is He in control but He is acting in my best interests. 

I had forgotten that because He is sovereign, I don't need to try to be in control. 

Each devotional comes with a suggested prayer that Keller says should be used as a jumping off point  for praying the psalm for yourself. Today's offering was:

"Lord, so many of my problems stem from not remembering you. I forget your wisdom and so I worry. I forget your grace and so I get complacent. I forget your mercy and so I get resentful of others. Help me remember who you are every moment of the day. Amen."

It is so, so full of truth but in particular what struck me is that when I forget God I also forget who I am. I forget that I am made in His image. I forget that He made me for a purpose. And I forget that the only mould I should be seeking to fit is the one He made for me. So, I am letting go of my fear and discomfort, letting go of the measuring stick of "success" and grabbing hold of my God. The God who knit me together in my mother's womb and knows me better than I know myself. The One who has a plan and a purpose for my life, and the One who loves me unconditionally, no matter what, with a perfect love that casts out fear.