No Pain, No Gain: PCOS Ain’t for Sissies

It’s true.  PCOS ain’t for sissies.  You’ve got to be built to endure.  Built to fight.  Built to withstand the emotional, mental and physical pain that comes with this shitty ass syndrome.  Weakling’s need not apply.

If you are fortunate enough to suffer from hirsutism, you’re likely used to enduring painful hair removal treatments.  Whether it’s tweezing, waxing, or depilatories – it all involves some form of pain.  I started laser hair removal at 19 and have been doing it on and off since then (I’m now 32).  I go some years without it and then start again.  Despite all the years of laser hair removal, I still hate it.  It’s not the worst pain in the world but it’s not a pleasant experience either.  And some areas are more bearable than others.  In my opinion, the upper lip is pretty much the most painfully awful body part I have had lasered to date, whereas the upper chest area can be pretty easy.   Thankfully, I’m built tough.  Mostly.

The one thing I had never tried was electrolysis.  The reason was simple.  I was scared shitless.  Frankly, the idea of some needle type probe getting inserted into my face and then yanked out sounds… totally freaking painful!  Like I said, I’m a pretty tough gal.  Minus a kidney stone when I was 19 and a kidney infection last year, there’s not a lot that I can’t handle.  My pain threshold is pretty damn high.  But electrolysis?  No way!  Just look at the Wiki description of electrolysis:

“The practitioner selects a metal probe that slides easily into the hair follicle, usually the same diameter as the hair shaft or smaller. This is typically 50 to 150 µm (0.002 to 0.006 inches) for all three modalities. Care is given to insert the probe at the same angle as the hair is growing out of the skin. The probe is inserted to the depth of the dermal papilla or hair matrix, which is the site of formation of hair from highly mitotic and keratinizedcells. The power and duration of the electricity are started at the lowest setting, then titrated up until the hair comes out as easily as possible. If the patient experiences significant discomfort, the settings can be lowered.”

So, let me get this straight.  You’re going to stick a sharp needle like object into my flesh, then you’re going to zap some electricity into the hair follicle and then yank it out.   Um, no, thank you!

But after the recommendation of the amazing Bridget (http://www.electrologyboston.com), who performed by laser hair removal, I was convinced that electrolysis was the best option for me at this stage.   So, I agreed and summoned up the strength and willed myself to the office for my first session.  Naturally, I was excepting the worst.  On a pain scale of 1 to 10 with 10 indicating the most excruciating pain a person could experience – I was expecting electrolysis to register at a 50.  Maybe not 50 but something in the 30 pain threshold.  But in a shocking turn of events, it’s totally not a 30!  It’s not even a 20 or a 10!  Frankly, I think it’s actually less painful than laser hair removal.  Of course, there’s some level of discomfort (I would say it’s about a level 4), but it’s completely bearable.

Another plus is the fact that you don’t have to wait two weeks for the hair that is treated to fall out like you do with laser hair removal.  Not to mention the fact it doesn’t smell like laser hair remvoal (the laser is essentially burning your hair, which is not the most pleasant smell to deal with).   And with electrolysis, you have  instant gratification.  The hair is removed immediately.  And you don’t smell like a fireplace after the fact.

However, for me, the biggest downside to electrolysis is the time commitment.  It’s a slow process.  Each hair follicle on your face is removed one at a time, unlike lasers that can cover a large area with one zap.  With laser hair removal you go once every 6 weeks.  With electrolysis, it’s much more frequent, in the beginning anyway.  Right now I’m having to go for a half hour every week.  I hate that.  But eventually, that will stop because electrolysis, unlike laser hair removal, is actually permanent, which is what I’m clinging to as I go through this on a weekly basis.

Hair removal aint’ for sissies.  Neither is this shitty ass syndrome.

Hair-enomics: Reason #321 Why I’m Aways Broke

Hair removal is expensive.  It’s expensive, time-consuming, painful and can be slightly traumatic, especially in the beginning stages.  I’ve often felt that I’ve had more intimate and honest relationships with my laser technicians than I’ve had with the actual men I was in physical relationships with.

I am always at my most vulnerable during my treatments.   Right there, lying directly under the bright, flaw-magnifying, unflattering lights, make-up removed, flesh bare – I’m showing the world everything I’ve spent so much time and energy concealing.  I am naked.  I am naked and emotionally open in a way that I have never allowed myself to be with anyone else in my life.

When I first started laser hair removal  I was 18 or 19.  This was in 1998 and was before the market was saturated with all the laser hair removal chains that you see now.   At the time, I had to go to an actual plastic surgeon’s office where a trained nurse performed my treatments, something that you sadly don’t see as much of anymore, particularly with the big chains.  And in the beginning, I had a thick, full beard, which meant that it was going to take lots of time, money and patience for me to get the results I so desperately desired.  Results that I so desperately needed so that  I could begin to feel remotely normal and content with my appearance.

There was so much that went into an actual hair removal treatment.  So much that went into pscyhing myself up for getting to and going to my appointments.  It wasn’t merely the act of laying down and exposing my wounds to the technician that I feared and hated.  There was also the work-up and physical act of going to the appointment itself.  It meant I had to remove all my make-up.  It meant having to walk through a busy hospital and take a crowded elevator up to my doctor’s office.  It meant sitting in a public waiting room, exposing myself up to all of these people, to all of these strangers.  They could all see what I was.  They could see the secret I was wearing.  And all I could do was pray that I wouldn’t run into anyone that I knew.  It was one thing to expose my secret to a group of strangers, but it would be entirely different to do so in the presence of someone I knew.  Someone who knew me.

And before each treatment, I would sit in my car.  I would sit in my car and cry and do my best to pump myself up.  I would search for the strength I needed to make my very public trek to my appointment.  The strength to reveal my wound in the doctor’s office and to withstand the actual discomfort that came from the treatment itself.  And make no mistake – there is discomfort!  But it was what I wanted.  It was what I needed.  And I’ve never looked back since.

At 32, I’ve now had most of my upper body lasered at one time or another.  Face, arms,  abdomen, chest — you name it and I’ve had a beam of light and heat pointed at it.   And since laser hair removal is not permanent (despite what some of the companies may claim!), it’s a constant drain on the bank account, calendar, and psyche.  And for every good treatment and technician I’ve had throughout the last ten-plus years, I’ve had a bad one.  I’ve been overcharged and undertreated,  I’ve been lied to and sold shit and products I didn’t need or want and I’ve been burned, like actually physically burned by incompetent technicians.  And yet, I am so grateful to it for what it has done for the quality of my life.  Grateful for the chance for me to reclaim my body in a way that nothing else has been able to.

I realize hair removal isn’t for everyone.  And I don’t want to come off sounding like hair removal treatments are the only way to go.  That without them you won’t be able to function and feel confidant with your appearance and the PCOS.  I applaud and greatly admire the women with PCOS who forgo hair removal and just say a nice, “Fuck you,” to the world and to the excess hair.  In many ways, I wish that could be me (my finances certainly do too!). but I also won’t apologize because it’s not me.  I won’t apologize or defend my choices and the ways I’ve tried to heal myself from the burden of PCOS.  We must all find our own ways to deal with the various symptoms.  This just happens to be one of mine.  One of the many in my arsenal in the fight against this shitty ass syndrome.