I had hoped to make this blog, my story, linear. However there are a few reasons why that won’t work. One, as I previously shared, I am now into my third year of Perimenopause. Two, my short-term memory is so bad these days that if I don’t tell you now then you won’t find out until for a good couple of years. Ask me anything about last year and I can recite the details no issues, ask me anything about last week I’ll have to get back to you. I forget doctor’s appointments, dentist appointments, days out, birthdays, you name it; I forget it. The forgetfulness has varying degrees of verve. Normally influenced by a motley crew of components: HRT – Hormone Replacement Treatment. To date I have been on five different types of HRT, 2 types of anti – depressants, the contraceptive pill (even though I am sterilised) and the Mirena coil. I was going to request a timeline from my doctor of medications I have had bestowed upon me to include in this blog. But I forgot to ask.
Anyway where was I? Oh yes, memory loss. This has afforded many a source of hilarity and befuddlement for friends, family and co-workers over the last few years. I work as a Floor Manager in a Contact Centre. My job involves dealing with people, process, customer service, industry regulations and policies aplenty. There is a lot to remember, and I have been in my current role for one year, Support and Controls Manager. You can probably see what I am eluding too. I NEED TO REMEMBER THE DETAIL. I am known for my organisational skills, being a bit of a control freak and I love developing people. A perfect match. But memory to me is like summertime to the British, mostly cloudy with the odd breakthrough of sunshine. Not all doom and gloom though, many people have had lots of fun with it: no mum I definitely paid you back that £20.00, yes love you definitely drank the last of the gin, and yes I did ask you to complete that task. I am like a stand-up comedian with no come back, a singer with no song, a writer’s mental block and dare I admit it – my mother. I have a question for all those women out there reading this, either Perimenopausal or Post. Does your memory make a comeback, is a revival on the cards, can I expect to be as excited as I was when Take That announced their reunion??
A previous boss (I am going to call him Amin, this is an Arabic name, ‘meaning faithful and trustworthy,’) took to keeping a tally sheet of things I had forgotten to do. Oh how we laughed as the finishing touches to another five bar gate were completed. I never told him but I hated that chart. It was akin to a list of ex-boyfriends that had rejected me (not to brag but there are not that many thank you). Have you ever watched ‘Meet the Fockers’? Fockers parents are so proud of him despite him being terrible, that they proudly display all his trophies of his under-achievements. Well that’s how this made me feel. Now please don’t think ‘ What an arsehole‘ about my boss. He wasn’t, isn’t, couldn’t be: not in his DNA. This was his way of dealing with me and to be fair I do joke about my menopause a lot. It’s how I cope. You will get to know lots more about this wonderful man, he’s a great friend, wiped away many tears, and is now au-fait with the over 40-‘s physical and physiological functions of a Perimenopausal woman. Much to his dismay. The vagina monologues is not top of his list of ‘plays I must see’. If you get what I mean. Why would this bother me, if I make fun of myself shouldn’t others be allowed to participate. Of course and here’s the thing; the logical me embodied deep in my spirit, laughed, nay roared at this amusing undertaking. It’s the emotional me who scrutinises, dwells and distorts. The hemispheres of my brain mimicking the act of a contortionist.
I have never been a worrier, always been a fly by the seat of my pants type of girl. I think people who meet me assume I am confident, very confident. I was. Before HRT. Before menopause. My younger carefree self is screaming at me to ‘get a grip’. Take it all in my stride. Wear my Teflon coat with pride. The simple fact is, I can’t. Well not all of the time. The things I agonise over are; am I going to lose my job, does my boss hate me, does my boss like me, do my friends like me, am I useless, am I uncaring, am I too honest, not honest enough, the list is exhaustive and exhausting . And I am powerless to stop it. I can at times control it depending on the magnitude, and the time of the month. Yes it gets worse as I near my ovulation. ‘ I may be ovary acting.’
So the new HRT is called Femoston, my partner swears I have had a variation of this one previously and that ‘I was a f****ing nightmare’. I can’t remember, one plus to memory loss. There are 50 types of HRT according to the ‘Women’s Health Concern’. That means I have 88% of potential amalgamation’s to try. Hip Hip Hoorah. I saw my favourite doctor at my last appointment – waited 14 days for an appointment with her. I will call her Dr Down Under. She is my dealer, I rely on her for my hit, she has control of my emotive and physical being. Last visit I advised her that I had progressively been feeling worse, taking to my bed more, needing 10 hours sleep minimum and my cycle had recently only lasted one day. Don’t get the ‘congratulations your transition is over’ banners out just yet. She proceeded with the usual checks, consulted her screen then hit me with findings. I was on a HRT for a woman over 50 that was post-menopausal, the HRT had tricked me and my body into thinking that I was a 55-year-old woman. That explains the recent temptation to Sky-plus Loose Women!
This has lead to the change in medication, I have been on it now for eight days, no new symptoms yet, tiredness still prevailing, Libido still oscillating. However I remain hopeful, try to eat well, much less alcohol, hope to be back to the gym once my energy returns. And rely on my memory to not serve me well. Sometimes I do want to forget about me.