Menopausal Diary of the Day

 

Menopausal Diary of the Day

Today was the doctor’s appointment —

the one that took four months

and two changes

just to get a face to face

with the one kind doctor I actually trust.

I waited because he’s kind,

but honestly, even if I hadn’t waited,

I doubt I’d have been seen any quicker.

I went in with a full print out of my issues,

determined to stay on point

because I’m terrible at getting distracted.

But of course, the second someone is kind,

I’m gone.

And he was kind.

He listened.

He cared.

And that derailed me immediately.

I tried to get my points across

in between his concern

and his sadness for my bad time.

But sympathy doesn’t treat me, does it?

Perimenopause has been a whole saga.

I don’t even know how many appointments I’ve had —

mostly phone calls,

because there’s rarely someone who can deal with me,

and phone calls are easier

when I know I’ll get distracted

by whatever is happening in the room.

The first thing he offered me today

was the Mirena coil.

That snapped me right back into focus.

Do you know how many Mirena coils I’ve been offered?

I am progesterone with a capital P intolerant.

Twice I tried HRT.

Twice it hurt me.

And then there were the two attempts

to put the coil in —

both times without numbing my cervix,

both times a disaster.

The first time they messed around so much

I bled.

The second time they waited a few months

and tried again,

and I was so discombobulated by the pain

that I went home  (They Re-Prescribed Progesterone)

and started taking progesterone HRT

without even realising what I was doing.

That’s how out of it I was.

The problem is trusting the process

when you don’t know the process is the problem.

I didn’t know until perimenopause.

And then add ND into the mix —

I know everything that’s going to happen

before it happens.

I took a PowerPoint presentation

to stay focused.

I still lost focus.

Eye contact derailed me.

Kindness derailed me.

He was nice —

that’s so unusual

it threw me off balance.

I did leave with an outcome,

but now I have to make sure

the blood test is actually for what he said it’s for.

Because I’ll go home

and research something else entirely.

I know about hot flushes.

I know about SSRIs,.

There’s a new medication for hot flushes

but it’s so new they don’t want to give it out yet.

No surprise there.

So I’ll weigh up two low dose SSRIs,

because apparently

they help control body temperature.

My temperature has been out of control for years —

exacerbated by perimenopause,

but I still think something else is going on

under the disguise of “hot flushes,”

because that’s what society sees.

Hopefully I’ll get somewhere.

It’s only taken me since 2020 —

the mastalgia,

the neurodiversity unravelling,

my PMDD warrior daughter,

my son’s CP,

the medical negligence,

the menopause negligence —

all of it.

If ChatGPT asked what my job was,

it would probably say GP.

I’ve done that much research.

I feel like I should be wearing a white coat

with a name badge.

I feel sad it’s taken so long

for anyone to help me.

And I feel strongly

that doctors should be trained in ND.

They should know I will distract,

digress,

wander off the point.

They should take the piece of paper I bring

and go through it with me

step by step

instead of expecting me

to stay on track alone.

So here’s to the future —

and to finally being understood.