Reasons why I’d make a rubbish cave woman – #23
The great thing about this blog being anonymous is that I can write about whatever I want. So let’s do it……let’s go there……MENOPAUSE!!
(Feel free to run away, menfolk.)
Menopause has been on my mind a lot lately. In fact, I think it’s been on a lot of people’s minds. You can barely walk down the street without tripping over the latest webinar or coffee morning on the topic. The last networking event I went to was hilariously awful (I might write about that separately), but the one thing I did get from it was a leaflet for a “Menopause in the Workplace” event being held by a local law firm. Well, I guess I do look about that age now. They certainly weren’t foisting those leaflets on the twenty-somethings in the room.
And, in truth, I am getting to that age, although that particular fact had passed me by until a few months ago. Yes, the tide of grey hairs laps ever further back from my forehead, and yes, hangovers have long since ceased to be something I’ll tolerate for the sake of a “good night out”, but otherwise I’d been blithely carrying on like a slightly slower and fatter version of my 30-year old self.
That is, until recently. I’d noticed for a while that exercise was becoming harder and harder to cajole myself into, although I’d attributed this to my inherent laziness and a general slowing-up as I entered a new decade of life. I’d also noticed an increasing tendency to fuel myself with sugary drinks and treats on physically demanding days; again, I thought, just poor discipline on my part. But I was somewhat perplexed to find myself requiring a snack if I wanted to stay awake for a car journey longer than 30 minutes. Most people my age regularly survive on far less sleep than I get, without needing to shovel cashew nuts into their face continuously on the motorway.
This all came to a head around the turn of the year, when I realised that I was falling asleep two hours after every meal I ate, and there was nothing I could do to stop myself. And then the joint pain started.
At first, it was just a niggle in my back. “That’s strange,” I thought, “I must have overdone it at the gym. I’ll lay off the kettle bells for a few days and give it a chance to heal.” But three weeks later, that niggle had grown into a raging ache. It was the first thing I noticed in the morning when I woke up, and the last thing I thought about at night. Pushing a trolley around the supermarket became agony, and unloading the dishwasher turned into an activity requiring a half-time sit-down.
At this point, as any sensible person would, I went to see my GP. She was lovely and sympathetic, and ordered a barrage of blood tests which showed….absolutely nothing. She also sent me to a physiotherapist, who assessed my strength, flexibility and reflexes. He also found nothing amiss. After a full MOT – for which my inner hypochondriac was very grateful – there was no indication of anything actually being wrong with me. Plus, after a month of agony, my back was suddenly feeling much better again, with 90% of the pain having disappeared overnight following a huge migraine.
Is this perimenopause? In a bid to find out, I am now doing something I intended never again to do; pumping my body full of hormones. And while it’s early days, and my inner scientist’s placebo warning light is flashing wildly, I did manage a 4 km run earlier today without any significant pain in my body. It felt as though possibly I had a little more energy in my legs than last time, as well.
So, perhaps this is all down to my treacherous hormones. If so, it’ll be nice to know that, but also hard not to feel a little betrayed by my own body. And I can’t help but wonder – how did/do women cope with the menopause without access to hormonal and pain relief medications? If this is indeed perimenopause, it’s been pretty unpleasant so far for me, and it’s barely begun.
Not for the first time, I find myself reflecting that it’s a good job I was born in a time and place where physical hardiness is a bonus rather than a prerequisite for survival. I certainly wouldn’t fancy my chances right now against a sabre-toothed tiger.