Menopausal Madness

My take on menopause was that I was going to, maybe, get a couple of hot flashes, in my early fifties, a slight change in my body and the end of periods forever more (yeay). No more hormonal outbursts, no more cranky, I-want-to kill-someone moods and no more purchasing of sanitary products that may or may not give you cancer if you stuck them up your vagina. I would be free at last from the evil that was menstruation.

Okay, so I seriously misunderstood what was about to happen to me. I'll run you through it. Don't get me wrong, not everyone will experience such severe demonic and early menopausal symptoms as me but here's what can happen if you are extremely unlucky:

At forty-three-years-old and way overdue on the removal of my coil, I made an appointment with my doctors to have it taken out. The appointment did not go well. I had given birth to a child in my thirties, so I was used to medical professionals having a root around my vagina. But this was strange. I'm not at all prudish. If you need to look, go ahead. I had a female nurse, who was very nice. She'd clamped me open while chatting about the weather and told me to relax, so she could pull it away. I tried, I really did, but it just wasn't going to happen. My vagina became stubborn and did not want to relinquish my coil. It had been there for twelve years, maybe it had grown attached. Anyhow, it was truly stuck and I was left alone with my stubborn vagina and the coil to think happy thoughts and relax my cervix. Easier said than done.

The coil eventually came out, after a serious amount of tugging and red-faced, polite smiles. It was embarrassing to say the least, especially when the nurse had said: "Well that was different," and left me to dress. I was relieved to be home and glad to have the thing out of me. But not for long, some six weeks later and I would have given a kidney to have my coil back.

I was on a hike and a quarter of a way up a mountain, following my partner. We were seasoned, did climbs quite a bit, but on this occasion, I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't keep up with my partner who looked at me as if I was messing around. "Are you sick?" He'd asked because I had turned a funny shade of tomato and was, to be frank, blowing out of my arse. Sweat was pouring from places I didn't know it could and I could barely pick my legs up. I felt as though I were dying.

That was the first day I thought something was seriously wrong but didn't link it to my coil being removed and I was too early to even be thinking about the menopause. So it had to be cancer. I had convinced myself I was dying. Some six months later, I actually wished I was which is a terrible thing to say. But I'll tell you why.

After several trips to my GP who'd informed me I was too young to be going through the 'change' even though I had every symptom going. I had come to the end of my tether. I was wet, every hour, sometimes three, four times an hour. I would explode from the inside, and rupture like an inferno that came from my toes to my head in an exhausting wave. I would literally open fridge doors where ever I may be and sometimes stick my head in - I've done it in supermarkets and once in a showroom. I would glow and my hair would stick to my head like rodent fur. It could happen anywhere, anytime.

I had a fan plugged into my computer at work and people began to smile at me sympathetically (The sweaty, red-faced woman). It was Hell. I felt shivery, then on fire, then freezing cold. My car fan was on, then off. I would stop my car at busy junctions and burst into tears. It was a daily living Hell. I had no control of my body I couldn't regulate my heat or my mood.

I no longer slept through the night. I would change my bedsheets, at least twice and in the end, I'd give up and have a pile of towels next to the bed to soak up the sweat. The quilt was on, then kicked off.I was so tired by morning I was a complete ratty bitch and could have easily become violent with even the slightest ignition. It was horrendous and I didn't recognise myself. Eventually, after a near breakdown, the consumption of countless Galaxy bars and severe depression, I marched myself back the GP, who relented and gave me the test. It was confirmed two weeks later I was indeed peri-menopausal.

This was just the beginning. I began to notice subtle physical changes, receding gums, weak hair with breakage at the front. My waist expanded and the weight started to creep on. I was becoming middle aged, but worse, I was looking middle aged and my laughter lines were starting to away from my eyes and run down my cheeks. My confidence plummeted and I didn't want to socialise. Initially, I'd refused Hormone Replacement Therapy, terrified I would get breast cancer. I began to say 'fuck' quite a lot and have demonic outbursts that were akin to an out of body experience. I could here expletives coming out of me that were insanely disgusting but I couldn't stop them. Everybody was a C U next Tuesday.

It was after a three-week bout of no sleep that I crawled to my doctor and begged for HRT! I would like to that was happy ever after and things turned out fine but that was just the beginning of the next horrific chapter...

Check in for my next blog soon. My top tip for today is buying a Spanish handheld fan they're only £3 on Amazon.