Our recent telephone conversation:
Neens: You okay mate?
Me: Nope. Not even a little bit.
Neens: Whatâs wrong?
Me: I lost my shit tonight, canât even remember why, ended up not eating dinner and now I canât stop crying.
Neens: I hear you mate
Me: Are you not good either?
Neens: (in a slightly disturbing and rather sinister whisper) Iâm angry
Me: (cue nervous laugh) fucking hell chick, that voice was scary
Neens: I know hahahaha
Me: If you can do that again in an Irish accent, youâd sound just like Liam Neeson in Taken. Go on try it!
Neens: Iâm angry (youâre going to just have to trust me on this but once again, Neens just sounds like wee Jimmy Krankie!)
Me: Forget I asked!
Neens: Which HRT patch are you on?
Me: The last one in the pack.
Neens: Me too.
Now between us, we can find humour in just about anything. We laugh a lot togetherâŚat each other, at life and most definitely at the menopause.
But here is what we donât like. We are so bloody sick of being made to feel like we have some social issue just because our body is doing what itâs supposed to do.
We both decided to get through this with HRT and whilst we are probably both still in the settling down phase with it, there have been so many personal improvements for us. I am no longer having 17 hot daytime flushes a day. I call that a result.
For me, my brain fog has improved. Itâs not guaranteed though. For instance, I could tell you what I ate yesterday but donât ask me what I did 10 minutes ago.
Neensâ thinks her brain fog is more impaired when she gets distracted. After 18 years, I can categorically tell you thatâs bullshit. Bullshit mate. And hereâs why. Neens is so easily distractedâŚI mean its ridiculous. Her menopausal brain fog however is the stuff of legends. Itâs legendâŚwait for itâŚdary. She will be remembered in history. Although sometimes, itâs a bit heart-breaking. She just looks lost as she valiantly tries to remember what she was about to say. We laugh. Because, what else can you do. Iâm sure sheâs mentioned this in stories, but I know she finds comfort in it being a menopause symptom as she has previously worried about it due to her Dad having Alzheimerâs.
A couple of weeks ago, Neens was having a particularly stroppy day (to be fair, sheâs generally not a stroppy person although she is a DivaâŚ) and I was having a âeverybody is picking on me dayâ. It was NOT a good combo. We were not a good combo.
So, Iâm talking away and she says to me âmate, can you stop talking. I canât remember what I needed to say. You havenât stopped talking and now Iâve forgottenâ. I just stared at herâŚsilently willing myself not to cry. Iâd made her forget? Me? Iâm pretty sure that it wasnât actually me that made you forget love! Iâm pretty sure that was the bastard menopause.
Iâll leave you with this. On the day I wrote this I sent a text to Neens.
Me: âFFS!!!! Iâm just doing a draft for this weeks blog. And I know you wonât remember (oh the fucking irony if you do) but what was our funny conversation the other week about brain fog?
I waited for the dots to appear.
Neens: Not a fucking clue!
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