Am I going mad?

About a year ago, I started to wonder if I was going mad. No, for all the cynics among you, it wasn’t anything to do with Jason Donovan, but instead it was because my memory was shot to pieces, I was exhausted more than I thought physically possible and I was simply struggling to function. I put this down to grief and the fact I’d been doing too much. It was also around this time a year ago I realised I wasn’t Wonder Woman so that was that. If I just took the pressure off and eased up a bit, I’d feel better.

But then I had a chance conversation with my Occupational Health Advisor at work. I’d been under her for a few months since my return to work and we spoke about a wide range of things. She asked me if I’d considered that I could be perimenopausal.* And to be perfectly honest, no I hadn’t. She then told me how in some circumstances trauma can affect hormones, it can exacerbate things and potentially bring on menopause earlier than you might normally have gone through it. Trauma and grief. The gifts that just keep on giving. She recommended that I just go to the doctor and have a bit of a MOT to get myself checked out.

Now. I’d like to say that I went and booked an appointment there and then. But I’d be lying. I was 41 years old, surely this wasn’t something I’d be going through? I genuinely felt this was something that happened in your late 40s or early 50s. And I wasn’t experiencing hot flushes which is essentially what the menopause is right? Or at least that’s the impression that the world used to portray.

Yet over the next few weeks, it played on my mind more and more. I started to think back over the past few months. The breast pain I’d be experiencing before my period started. The cramps I’d been having during my period that at one point were so bad I physically struggled to get up off the floor. I’d never suffered with any PMS for nearly 30 years, but again I hadn’t really joined up the dots. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was just too busy to stop and think.

And then, I had a conversation with my daughter.

• Me: “Can you go and tidy your bedroom before Debbie comes tomorrow?”
• Miss C: “Who’s Debbie?”
• Me: “Stop being ridiculous. Just go and tidy your room so that Debbie can clean it tomorrow.”
• Miss C: “Seriously, who’s Debbie?”
• Me: “You’re really starting to annoy me now, just go and tidy your room before the cleaner comes.”
• Miss C: “Have we got a new cleaner then? Our cleaner is called Kim, not Debbie.”

I just stopped in my tracks. She was completely right. Kim had been our cleaner for a number of years and I’d been fortunate that this was something that I’d still been able to keep on to help me out after Mr C died. Debbie was the cleaner who went into my nan’s house once a week.

I decided that maybe I should book a doctor’s appointment after all. Because after all, losing my mind was something I didn’t really need to happen on top of everything else. Like I say. Trauma. The gift that just keeps on blinking giving.

I went to see the doctor in early December. I sat down and explained why I was there. That I wondered if I might be experiencing perimenopause symptoms. She asked me to list what these were and then said, “is that everything?” Here we go, I thought, this is when she tells me to stop being ridiculous, that I’m too young and to go away. When I said no, she responded with “well, it’s not like you’ve not got enough to be contending with is it?” Maybe this was real. Maybe everything I’d been going through wasn’t because I was grieving or going mad. Maybe there was more to it. She recommended blood tests and a scan just to check there wasn’t anything else affecting me. And to go back to see her in January.

At the next appointment, she told me that my bloods and scan were all normal. She asked if I wanted to try HRT. Again, my first thought was I’m 41, surely I’m too young for HRT? but I figured what was the harm. If there was even a slight chance of getting my mind back, I was willing to try it. Within two weeks, I felt like a new woman. I was functioning like I hadn’t functioned in such a long time. I couldn’t actually believe it; my brain was back! I sort of turned into a woman on a mission, just excited to be able to function and remember things. I drove home from visiting my sister one day and the random Spotify playlist threw a ridiculous amount of kryptonite songs at me. When I got home, I messaged her the songs in the right order they’d been played. Three months earlier I’d have been lucky to even remember that I’d been to see her that day.

I wish I could say that this was the end of the story. That everything became rosy from this point on. But again. I’d be lying. After a particularly inspiring life coach session, I started completing a daily journal that I’d been given about 18 months previously but had lived in my bedside drawer. I also started using the Balance App to log any symptoms I was still experiencing. Within a few months, I started to see a pattern. There were still weeks when the exhaustion was debilitating. But these tended to be at the same time every month. I remember one of these was in April and I considered not going to see Jason at The O2 because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stay awake and was too scared of driving home late at night. Miss C had a friend to stay a few times, both of which coincided with one of these weeks, and I’m fairly sure she must have thought I was beyond miserable at moaning about how tired I was and going to bed so early. But she was incredibly polite about it bless her. So, I started adjusting the HRT dosage to see if it made a difference. And lo and behold, it did. Right. Back on track. I had this nailed.

But in June, I changed the progesterone part of the HRT. Partly because it was becoming incredibly difficult to get hold of (in April I’d had to try five pharmacies before I found one that had it in stock) But what I didn’t do was change the oestrogen part. I didn’t think I’d need to. I was still going to the doctor for regular check ups but part of the joy of HRT is that it can be individual, and you do have to adjust it based on your needs. Over the course of June and July, I went downhill and backwards. I was struggling to sleep and kept waking up in the night. The exhaustion was so bad that on a few occasions I’d be working at home, put my head on the desk for a few minutes and wake up 45 minutes later. I’d come out of meetings, read my notes and have no recollection of having been in that meeting. I’d sit down for five minutes before cooking dinner and wake up an hour later. I was craving sugar and kept raiding the biscuit tin. Which in turn led to some weight gain. As well as the bloating I was experiencing. I went out with a friend at the end of July and looked at myself in the mirror, hating myself. I couldn’t decide what to wear, “can you go and find me a bin bag?” I said to my daughter as I felt that it might be the only shapeless thing I could wear. This wasn’t me. I didn’t like it one bit, I felt that HRT was proving to be the biggest mistake of my life.

And then in August, I had another chance conversation with one of my mum’s friends who used to be a nurse. She recommended that I completely reset. That I go back to the bare minimum of the oestrogen and see if that made a difference. Within two days, I was sleeping through the night again. Within a week the exhaustion was abating. I could have cried. She saw me a couple of weeks later and said how much better I was looking. I wanted to hug her. I didn’t as we were in a swimming pool for an exercise class and that might have been weird, but I really wanted to hug her. I’ve been on an upward trajectory since. My levels have settled out and I am now functioning again. Still journaling. Still using the Balance App.

Yet. For someone who is comfortable talking about her life and her experiences, I didn’t talk about this. I didn’t talk to anyone at work. Nobody knew that I was struggling. And the reason now seems a tad ridiculous. Because I didn’t want it to be another thing. As I said this to my career coach in September, I could hear how utterly stupid it sounded. But this was my concern. I’m the one whose husband died. I’m the one who is caring for a nan with Alzheimer’s. I didn’t want to admit that I was also struggling with perimenopause. I didn’t want to sound like a blinking sob story and as though I was making excuses.

My career coach was of course understanding. I told my line manager the following week. Who was of course also understanding. I started making more use of the Peppy App that I’m able to access via work. I know I’m exceptionally fortunate to work for a company that does allow conversations like this to happen. That does provide access to apps and guidance when you need them. I just wish it hadn’t taken me quite so long to make use of it and to admit it.

Because here’s the truth. My life didn’t stop when my husband died. I’m still going to go through what a number of people do, people are going to die, people are going to fall ill etc… I am still (God willing) going to get older. I am going to go through the menopause because it’s a part of life. I can’t stop life happening because I’ve had my “thing” in my husband dying. It doesn’t work like that. This is a fact of life that all women will go through. Widowed or not. But being widowed does add another layer of complexity. When I was falling asleep when I should have been cooking dinner, there was no-one else to step in and do it. When I was struggling to function on a daily basis there was no other adult at home to step in, do what needed doing and take the pressure off. When I was feeling fat, old and ugly there was no partner to give me a hug.

Yet I am starting to feel better about myself again now since things have levelled out. Since I’ve been slightly more open about what I’m going through. I just wish I’d been brave enough to do it earlier and not let my other life experiences stop that.

* Please note. I don’t claim to be an expert on perimenopause and HRT. This is my story and what I have learnt. Please, please if you are experiencing symptoms or are in any doubt consult a medical professional or look at apps such as Balance.