This post is in commemoration of International Day of Action for Women’s Health. Go to http://www.may28.org/about/ to find out more.

When the dust of IVF and pregnancy and birth and breastfeeding finally settled, I found myself back in this suddenly unfamiliar body. This wonder of a place that had forced my always-loud mind into mute mode so it could do the back-bending work of becoming my son’s mother. So we had to get to know one another all over again.

There have been new delights: I’m pretty good at running. Mostly after my children, but sometimes to everywhere and nowhere for no reason at all. When I get to it, yoga is actually pretty invigorating. I am an avid and capable baby carrier. I have soothed my children simply by attaching them to my person and walking, to everywhere and nowhere.

There have been some nasty surprises, chief among them, premenstrual dysphoric disorder. PMDD is one of those little-known ‘women’s disorders’ is relatively common but that you still have to explain and caveat to death every time you bring it up. PMDD means a number of things for the 5% of bodies who endure it. For me, it means that my body overreacts to the tonal fluctuations that occur during my menstrual cycle. I experience what should be an undercurrent of change as a season change. My pelvic pain during ovulation is so severe that I can’t walk. My eczema flares up leaving my hands and scalp bleeding and swollen. I can’t get out of bed or finish the day without small, frequent breaks. My brain goes into fight or flight mode and every thing seems a threat or a catastrophe.

It is not, generally speaking, a fun time. Over time, I have developed a keen sense of which in my big bag of remedies works best at which point in my cycle. It is an ongoing exercise in stillness and listening to which I am unaccustomed. It’s also a tricky balancing act wherein I have to try the productive and healthy options first, but forgive myself for reaching for the junk food or the caffeine when comfort is in short supply.

PMDD is agony. It is made even more agonising by the lack of real scientific curiosity about it. All of the strategies I have found to cope have been developed by women who got tired of waiting for someone to save them, and who realised that maybe noone ever will. So they delved into the unknown depths of their bodies and their psyches and stitched together wisdom from allopathy, homeopathy and everything in-between. It’s not a science but it is enough. The only catch is that fellow PMDD warriors have to be willing to stay in our bodies. Especially when it is the least comfortable place in which to live. We have to stay, quiet and restive, listening to the responses to all the efforts we put into feeling some relief.

A strange blessing slipped in with the curse of medical misogyny. For now, it will have to do.