Ladies Things

Those of you of a gentlemanly persuasion may want to avert your gaze now, as today I shall mostly be talking about 'ladies things.'

Oh blimey girls, are you at the hot flush age yet?? I am. A tad early maybe, but mid-forty menopause is the order of the day in my family, and actually I'm not that sad, because certain parts of my anatomy have been surplus to requirements for ages now, having completed my family over 20 years ago, and to be honest I could do without the faff. In the last couple of years, certain changes have been occurring, and the summer before last I went to my GP to get a blood test to find out just how empty the hormone bank was becoming.

'You're too young for all that,' said Dr Chuckles, when I told him the reason for my rare visit. (Dr Chuckles isn't his real name, but a close approximation of the pronunciation of his true surname which, although he is English, sounds Polish in origin. Far too many consonants, not enough vowels please Carole.)
'But I'll test you for your cholesterol level, and whilst I'm in the vein, syphon off another vial full to check your hormone levels.'

A week later I called the surgery for the results.
'Your cholesterol level is fine,' said the Receptionist, 'especially as it was a non-fasting sample.'
'Good,' I said, because even if it wasn't, I'm not giving up butter for anyone. 'What about my hormone test?'
'Inconclusive,' she said.
'What's that supposed to mean?' I said.
'Well,' said the Receptionist, who clearly ought to be a doctor because she seemed to know a lot about these things, 'some are up, some are down, so you might be menopausal, but then again, you might not.'
'Great,' I said. 'That's really helpful.'
'Doctor would like you to collect a prescription for iron tablets,' she added. 'Because you might be a little bit borderline partially anaemic.'

At this point I was overcome with vagueness - the test results, not personally. I thought, I'm not taking iron tablets, they send my bowels to sleep. I'll eat an extra pork chop a week or something instead.

But this last few months, the hot flushes have been increasing. I wake in the middle of the night roasting at 200 degrees C, fling off the duvet, steam for a while, and then get overcome with freezing cold. And two days ago, when I was perusing the chocolate moulds in Lakelands, I thought someone had set fire to my trousers, because I suddenly got very hot, very quickly from the knees up. Either that or I had a close call of the spontaneous combustion kind.

Also, I've been experiencing irrational mood swings. Now, I know I can be irrational, only I prefer to call it 'abstract' because I am an writer and artiste, but occasionally, and for no apparent reason, like I've banged my foot on a door post, or got a Pandora kitten claw stuck in my hand, I'll feel a deep sense of impending doom and burst into tears. Luckily, this hasn't happened in public, as I don't want to making an exhibition of myself, but it's been a weird experience nonetheless. I thought it could be related to all the rejection slips I've been getting or maybe worries about money. But it could be dwindling hormones, flinging me back into stroppy teenage mode. Not that I remember being a stroppy teenage - well, it wasn't allowed back in my day.

So I purchased a book about the menopause just to investigate the growing number of symptoms I've been experiencing and prepare myself for what was to come. Ye Gods, that was the wrong thing to do. I think I could be dead within a fortnight, or at least confined to a wheelchair and dribbling into my porridge.

HRT, aches, pains, bone thinning, fat padding, dry bits, saggy bits, mental breakdown, things clogging up, things breaking down - no wonder women of a certain age have been classed as bonkers for so many years, if this is what we have to look forward to.

So I've decided not to play by the book. I shall carry on like I always do and pretend it's happening to someone else and I am but a mere by-stander laughing cynically at one of Mother Nature's less successful jokes. Focus on the new teaching job, the arrival of my grand-daughter and the dream of a publishing contract and a house in the country with a bit of ground for chickens, geese, veg and maybe a pig or a goat or two.

It's a pity no-one has worked out how to harness the heat from a hot flush, though. Is flushing eco-friendly? I am, after all, producing my own heat without the aid of fossil fuels.