Ongoing medicalness from the front line of the menopause

My brain is a bit soupy today, so there will be no sense, but I am just checking in to say I atent dead.

Good things have happened:

Finally got my hair cut and am empinkened again. I was born to have pink hair.

I made it to the pub quiz this week and didn’t fall asleep. We didn’t win, but we didn’t disgrace ourselves either. I did have a slight hangover on Wednesday morning, but it was  weirdly nice to be suffering from something deliberately self inflicted for a change. Not that I’ll be doing it every week. I’m not that much of a masochist.

I met up with my lovely, author friend, Kate yesterday. She came down from Sheffield specially to force me to go and see Rent with her at the theatre. She’s educating me in the ways of musical theatre, as I am very much allergic to them. I surprised my curmudgeonly self by enjoying most of it, although sung dialogue makes me want to punch a wall, it transpires. And I thought Roger was a massive dick, and Mimi was too good for him. Also, I love Angel. I am firmly on the side of the drag queens. Forever.

On the flip side:

I am still not good at engaging with current affairs. I find myself enraged and then feeling helpless and tearful and somewhat overwhelmed. I don’t mind being enraged. I do mind feeling overwhelmed. I will know things are properly back to normal when I am angry and then I roll my sleeves up and tackle things. It will happen again. Just not today.

On the menopausal side:

I have been feeling mostly much better emotionally which is fabulous. For a couple of days I woke up feeling utterly normal, which is rare and was most enjoyable.

In the early hours of Thursday I woke raging with itch.  Obviously I decided it was chiggers, and then nits, because it was the middle of the night and I was half asleep and am always at my most dramatic at those times. Thankfully the drama is usually in my head and stays there, rather than me waking everyone up to announce my imminent demise. Otherwise I would be writing this from beyond the grave. Not because I would die of chiggers, but because everyone else would batter me to death for waking them up.

Eventually I came round to the crazy idea that the itching was probably menopausal and that made things slightly less tense. Although it didn’t dissipate much for the rest of the night and resulted in very broken sleep. Friday morning was a fragile, itchy affair.

The itching is quite common apparently. It is called forMication rather than forNication, which is disappointing in itself. I wish forNication was a side effect instead. ForMication is something to do with all the oestrogen in my body, hieing for the hills and may signal the much anticipated ‘husk’ part of my existence due to the fact that this affects the skin/collagen in the skin.

Apparently I could become flaky, wrinkly, and thin. Thinness only applies to skin, fatness is apparently all the rage everywhere else in the menopausal woman’s body. This begs the question of why more menopausal women don’t split open really. I mean if the skin gets thinner, less elastic and easier to tear/flake, surely with all the added fatness going on, there’s bound to be a lot more bursting women about? Albeit briefly, before they get swept up and thrown in the bin.

So as far as skin goes. Imagine a Peruvian mummy, curled foetally on its side. That.

I have taken sound advice on this front. I have anti histamine, oats for the bath, Aveeno products and fractionated coconut oil to douse myself in. Even if this doesn’t work I will be irresistible to horses and flapjack lovers the world over, and able to wriggle out of unwanted embraces like a greased pig, so it’s not all doomy.

Last night after getting back from the theatre I also started to bleed. I was warned this might happen and thought I’d dodged a bullet when my period failed to arrive on Wednesday, however it’s making up for the lateness now. It’s all a bit buckets of blood, and I’m crampy and tearful, but reasonably stoic in the face of the inevitable.

I did cry about it all last night, but I think that was the combination of broken sleep, a long (albeit hugely enjoyable day) and disappointment that I had just changed the bed sheets and was now likely to bleed all over them. I am feeling more optimistic today. This is largely due to lack of itching in the night, more sleep and not bleeding on the bed sheets because even though I had to go to the loo multiple times in the night, I did not wake up in a welter of gore.

I’m hibernating today. The weather is cold and rainy, so I’m missing nothing by staying indoors except damp jeans, and soggy denim is one of the lesser known circles of hell, so that’s no hardship. I’ve got good books, a comfortable sofa, a significant supply of biscuits and pain relief/hot water bottle action is ongoing. I intend to idle the rest of the day away. It’s hard but someone’s got to do it.

2 responses to “Ongoing medicalness from the front line of the menopause

  1. Happy to hear that everything, on balance, seems to be heading in the right direction! I have had psoriasis for years now and so was suffering from areas of thinner skin years before the menopause, it’s a wonder there’s any of me left now. The itching can be unbearable, sometimes I think I would prefer to be in pain as at least you can take painkillers, other times I give myself a good shake and tell myself not to be so bloody stupid. You are doing all the right things, I am an antihistamine junkie and get through gallons of Aveeno and coconut oil.
    I wouldn’t worry too much about your inability to cope with current affairs at the moment, everything is so heinous that I would be deeply suspicious of anyone who didn’t feel overwhelmed. I am really struggling to find news that doesn’t make me want to bang my head repeatedly against a wall whilst keening plaintively, which in turn makes me very lethargic.

    Never underestimate the value of hibernation, someone has to read those books and biscuits don’t eat themselves… Xxx

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