“Today’s Menopausal Madness”
(19th May 2026)
Today was one of those menopausal‑ND chaos days where everything I touched seemed to unravel in my hands.
It started at the chemist. I queued for my prescriptions, juggling three different items, using my HRT exemption card, and somehow still managed to pay £30. I walked out thinking I’d done everything right — until I got halfway to the garage to collect a parcel that, as usual, “wasn’t there.” They never know where anything is, and I don’t even know how I end up with so many parcels, but it’s the same every time.
On the walk home, it hit me: Why have I paid £30 when I’m exempt? And actually, all three should be exempt because I have to have all three — I’m progesterone‑intolerant, I can’t have standard HRT, and my whole system is a hormonal circus.
Then the realisation: The £22 HRT exemption only covers… HRT. And only one of the three things I need even falls under that. The shock factor here is I can't take regular HRT because progesterone intolerance so these the same yet individual NOT COVERED.
So really, I should’ve bought the full year’s exemption. But with a menopausal ND brain, you don’t think that way. You think in spirals, not straight lines.
So I turned around and walked all the way back to the chemist to tell them they’d overcharged me — only to be told there were actually four prescriptions. The extra one? Iron. Because my ferritin is low.
NHS = BLOOD TEST say OKAY level (but) borderline ONLY and because ND brains burn through iron like rocket fuel. Of course........... ironically you have a brain that's misfiring and you have to work it harder than ever.
I got home to be greeted by the guinea pig, who had been roaming free in the kitchen for two hours because I forgot he was out. Luckily he hadn’t chewed a wire or electrocuted himself. Small mercies.
Then came the egg incident.
I was bending down to empty the washing machine while peeling an egg and eating it at the same time — because that’s how an AuDHD‑overloaded brain works — and I choked. Properly choked. Panicked, stood up too fast, sinusitis blocking half my breathing, perforated ear screaming, egg lodged in my throat while my brain was still thinking about the carpet fluff in the washing machine drum.
And then I remembered: I have no taps. I haven’t had taps for three weeks. But my brain still expects the kitchen to look like the picture in my head, not the reality.
So I had to either choke it down with cold tea or run to the garage for water. I chose the tea. Not my finest moment.
By this point, my brain was fried. Completely worn out. I hadn’t eaten enough to fuel it, and this is the sad truth of menopausal ND life: The tornado that used to run at 850 miles an hour now sputters at 450, and even then, only 75% of the tasks get done. The other 25% evaporate into thin air.
By the time I’d offloaded the whole saga to Rich — while cooking pasta, while he went for a run — I’d already forgotten to eat the food I’d cooked. It was just sitting there, staring at me from the side.
And to top it all off, I sent two people my book this morning — the book I’ve poured myself into, the book I was so excited for them to read — and neither replied. Kim’s in Canada, so the time difference explains her silence. My son must’ve missed it. But the real kicker? I didn’t send them the PDF. So even if they had tried to read it, they couldn’t.
I was waiting all day for a little spark of positivity, and I didn’t even get the file format right.
Today I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. And it made me sad.
But this is the truth of ND‑menopause: You’re doing your best. Your brain is doing its best. And some days, the world just asks too much.
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