HORMONAL FUCKERY AT ITS FINEST
(An Exceptionally Bad Luck Week)
So let’s list the chaos.
At the start of the week, I ran up the stairs with a handful of washing and a handful of jewelry, trying to do ten things at once. I walked into the bathroom, grabbed a cotton bud without thinking, and shoved it straight into my ear on autopilot — ND meno brain firing in the wrong direction. A stupid, split second misfire. Pain. Shock. The whole thing.
Wednesday was therapy, and I left feeling like I’d failed. How did I not see it? How did I not notice that the thing I used as an example would actually backfire on me? I filled myself with that thought and carried it for the rest of the day.
Sleep support, sleep support, sleep support — but my sleep has been terrible since Wednesday. It made me realize too much. It made me think too much.
Then I wore flip flops for far too long, and I thought I’d hurt myself because my calf was tugging. Not my calf exactly — the back of my leg, the bit that always plays me up with spinning. Right behind the knee joint. There’s always something wrong with me there. A tight tug that comes and goes — and of course it’s decided to come this week.
Treated to a health spa glory by my Son and Daughter In Law, I spent ages at Nirvana, relaxing on a jet. ND me actually felt great in the moment — as I do with all things soothing sensory — but I guess the jet was too powerful, not something I usually do. Just un-fucking lucky, and somehow I’ve hurt my foot now. So I woke up on Saturday ready to go spinning — the one thing that gives me the endorphins I need to stay upright after a week of filling out and hormonal Russian roulette — and my foot said absolutely not.
So my ND scale rocked completely, because I’d said no to my baby granddaughter’s cuddle — spinning felt important, the thing that keeps me upright. And in the end, I got neither.
That’s what it feels like: a bullet in a gun. You never know what’s going to happen. Will it shoot you down or won’t it?
My eyes have been really dry, and my blood test results show my estrogen level is really low. There’s nothing I can do — I already use recommended eye drops. Calling the opticians only to be told to “drink more water” when I already drink litre's blows my mind, but it wasn’t their fault, so I didn’t lose my shit. I just said okay. They did mention prescription eye drops, so maybe that’s something I can look into. And that my eye test isn’t due until December? That’s a win, I guess. Time blindness means I’m not always up to date.
But let’s be honest — the circle of continuity of care for women is not good. Even though I give it my all.
And my last injury of the week: my shoulder. I’ve somehow hurt the top of my shoulder — right at the top of my arm — probably from carrying around a 2 litre water bottle because my car is out of action, so I’m physically lugging it everywhere. So yes, I’ve managed to hurt my shoulder this week as well.
Six ailments in one week. Does it sound like drowning or swimming? Because I genuinely don’t know.
FOOTNOTE: A CRAIG DAVID STYLE MENO WEEK
MONDAY: shoved a Q tip in my ear while carrying washing and jewelry because ND autopilot said multitask or die.
TUESDAY: leg twinge behind the knee — the spinning spot — decided to make a guest appearance.
WEDNESDAY: therapy backfired and my sleep fell off a cliff.
THURSDAY: dry eyes, low estrogen, and opticians telling me to “drink more water” when I already drink like a camel.
FRIDAY: spa jet too powerful for my ND meno skeleton; foot now fucked.
SATURDAY: said no to my granddaughter’s cuddle for spinning… and got neither.
SUNDAY: wondering if this is drowning or swimming, or just the over fifty hand I’ve been dealt this week.
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