The problem
‘I’m going on HRT so I can find out if the problem is M.E, myself … or YOU.’
This is what I told Pete recently, after he enquired about my recent doctor’s appointment to discuss if I might be perimenopausal and if it’s worth trying HRT.
‘Oh, right. Does the doctor think you’re perimenopausal then? Maybe that’s why you’re so moody …?’
(Or maybe the fact that you’re calling me moody, Pete, is – shock horror – making me moody.)
‘Possibly. The thing with perimenopause is – as with most other conditions relating to the female body … it is under-researched. There is no definitive test to say whether I am in fact perimenopausal, or whether my symptoms are coming from my ME/POTS. There’s a LOT of overlap between the two, which makes it difficult to pick them apart. It could also be that I’m suffering the effects of both at the same time.
‘Oh, right.’
I smile at him: ‘OR, I might feel the way I do for perfectly valid situational reasons relating to the people and problems in my daily environment. For example, when you’re annoying the crap out of me, Pete, my irritability and anger might actually be a totally valid response to your twattish-ness, and fuck all to do with my hormones.’
… I’m teasing, of course. (Albeit what I’m saying IS true.)
‘Or it could be any combination of all of the above.’ (The most likely option).
Annual ‘dip’
The thing is, my ME always gets worse in autumn/winter. I’ve no idea why – it just happens this way and I’m used to it. However, this year, my ‘dip’ has happened much earlier in the season than normal, and so far … it seems I’m ‘dipping’ a lot further than usual. Not only that, but throughout the entire school summer holidays, I was definitely ‘not okay’ – in new and unfamiliar ways. I felt more overwhelmed than usual, less able to cope, socially anxious, tearful, and flat. I isolated myself a lot at home because, although I felt desperate to see my friends, I just didn’t feel able to reach out to them for support; the thought of calling or messaging them was too overwhelming.
Then came guilt and disappointment, because it seemed like all of O’s friends were out having fun family adventures, and he was stuck at home having way too much screen time (which O was VERY delighted about … even if I wasn’t).
And I just want to know … why?
Scenarios and symptoms
The list of daily life scenarios that can ramp up ME/POTS symptoms is endless. And the ways in which we respond to those scenarios, and the escalated symptoms themselves – I’ve recently learned – can overlap rather a lot with the symptoms of perimenopause. The holidays aren’t normally THAT hard for me. So, how much of what I’m experiencing is chronic illness, how much is perimenopause – and how much is a normal response to external factors beyond my control? It’s way too hard to pick apart.
Merry to murderous
Let’s take irritability and anger, for example. Now, I can go from merry to murderous in a nanosecond – especially when I’m on my feet trying to get stuff done around the house. And it’s because quite often, I feel like an upturned hourglass – with a brain that’s about to run out of sand (well, blood). I can literally feel my head being slowly starved of oxygen – thanks to POTS causing my blood to pool in the lower half of my body – until I have no choice but to sit or lie down (ie., turn myself the other way round) before I collapse.
In addition to this, I also feel like I’m constantly working against a broken clock, because I never know how long my M.E will let me do a ‘thing’ before I get that familiar feeling of crushing fatigue and nausea wash over me, leaving me debilitated and with no choice but to stop what I’m doing to sit or lie down. I’m like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, constantly running around with a massive clock, panicking about running out of time. Then throw O (my 7-year-old son) into the mix, wanting my attention, playfulness, problem-solving or any other cognitive processing skills – and we’re now squeezing out every single final pathetic teeny tiny drop of energy I have left … and it’s fair to say, I’m REALLY struggling. Only, I’m so used to feeling like this that sometimes I don’t even realise how much I’m struggling. Or, sometimes I do, but I’m determined to finish what I’m doing first before stopping to rest (never a good idea).
It’s times like these you can guarantee that Pete will then swan in and try having a discussion with me about the mortgage, fixing the roof, finances, or something equally as stressful. … And that’s when I start losing my shit. Because, although it doesn’t look like it from the outside … my cup isn’t just full – it’s now overflowing all over the fucking place. If I wasn’t aware I was struggling before, I’m DEFINITELY aware now. And it’s impossible to know whether I’m now SO overwhelmed and losing my shit because I’m a) overstimulated, b) under-oxygened from POTS, c) racing against the chronic illness clock, d) under-oestrogened from perimenopause … or e) because Pete really has learned precisely nothing about women and a little thing called ‘timing’ during his time on this planet so far.
… Or f) all of the above.
Too much
Now, I can generally cope with the irritability and anger because, once I’ve lost my shit, I’ll go lie down for a while and feel calm again relatively quick (despite my ME taking longer to recover). But these new feelings I’ve been experiencing – the flatness, tearfulness, overwhelm, social anxiety, and like I’m ‘too much’ … IS too much. I can’t just let rip a load of ‘for fucks fucking sakes, bollocks, shit, and cunting hell’s’ … and then feel instantly better. This is new, unfamiliar territory for me. I don’t feel like myself at all – and I’m not sure how to manage that.
Meanwhile, my periods are still rocking up each month, as if to say, ‘nowt to do with me, love!’ And I can’t help but wonder: does perimenopause mean losing my fucking mind first, and my periods last?
Good talk
I got talking to some friends about my predicament recently, and they’ve all told me I should DEFINITELY be trying HRT. Three of them were speaking from experience (albeit healthy people experience; they’re lucky to not have ME/POTS thrown into the mix). Apparently, HRT can be quite the game changer.
Side note: Has anyone else in my age bracket noticed that, back in the 90’s, your mates would tell you about the latest great tasting alcopop that gets you pissed as a fart for less than a tenner, and which bars sell it; whereas now, they’re raving about HRT and giving you the name of their favourite local menopause nurse?
… How times change.
HRT: What if … ?
I know HRT won’t make my chronic illness go away. BUT … what if perimenopause is placing more strain on my body, and negatively impacting my ME as a result – causing my autumn ‘dip’ to be earlier and harsher than normal this year? I’ve mainly discussed the emotional effects of perimenopause, but there are plenty of overlaps between other symptoms of ME/POTS and perimenopause that I also experience and definitely wouldn’t be able to pick apart, such as brain fog, headaches, constipation, sleep problems, bloating, palpitations, internal tremors, and fatigue to name but a few. So I guess I’m wondering – could HRT at least bring me back up to my baseline?
I honestly don’t know the answer to this. Which is why I’ve decided to find out.
I just want to cry a little less, go out a little more, get my baseline energy levels back, stop feeling socially anxious, be less avoidant, sometimes be MORE avoidant, feel like I’m not ‘too much’ when I do decide to open my mouth, and like I’m actually living rather than overwhelmed, overstimulated, permanently fatigued, barely coping, irritable and easily angered. In a nutshell, I just want to feel like ‘me’ again.
That said, I also want my 30-year-old body and face back, along with an all-inclusive holiday to Mauritius for a month, where pina coladas are compulsory, a healthy diet is optional, and a tall dark handsome Man-God gives me a daily massage on the beach.
… Seems reasonable, no?
Brave girl pants and rose-tinted glasses
Anyways, at 3pm last Monday I decided to pull on my Brave Girl pants (the granny bloomers of course, since I’m now officially ‘cracking on a bit’). Then, I opened my new prescription, applied my first patch of HRT to my big fat thigh (hello dissatisfaction with my changing body) and went off to do the school run.
And as I walked to collect the person I love most in the world, and who – at a beautifully innocent 7 years old – never makes inflammatory statements about my mood or makes me question my sanity half as much as the grown-up I’m married to does – I found myself wondering:
‘Will this magical patch make my glasses a little more rose tinted? As in, when Pete’s pissing me off – instead of both eyes – will it help me to only want to stab him in one?’
… I sure fucking hope so. 😜
(Full disclaimer: I love Pete with all my heart. He has his moments, sure – but overall, he’s a very lovely and supportive husband. I’d probably give him 4 out of 5 stars on Trip Advisor, with the comment: ‘would marry again.’ He loses a star for not knowing how the laundry basket works.)
