Our recent telephone conversation:
Neens: You okay mate?
Me: Nope. Not even a little bit.
Neens: What’s wrong?
Me: I lost my shit tonight, can’t even remember why, ended up not eating dinner and now I can’t stop crying.
Neens: I hear you mate
Me: Are you not good either?
Neens: (in a slightly disturbing and rather sinister whisper) I’m 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, you’d sound just like Liam Neeson in Taken. Go on try it!
Neens: I’m angry (you’re 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 together…at each other, at life and most definitely at the menopause.
But here is what we don’t like. We are so bloody sick of being made to feel like we have some social issue just because our body is doing what it’s 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. It’s not guaranteed though. For instance, I could tell you what I ate yesterday but don’t ask me what I did 10 minutes ago.
Neens’ thinks her brain fog is more impaired when she gets distracted. After 18 years, I can categorically tell you that’s bullshit. Bullshit mate. And here’s why. Neens is so easily distracted…I mean its ridiculous. Her menopausal brain fog however is the stuff of legends. It’s legend…wait for it…dary. She will be remembered in history. Although sometimes, it’s 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. I’m sure she’s 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 Alzheimer’s.
A couple of weeks ago, Neens was having a particularly stroppy day (to be fair, she’s generally not a stroppy person although she is a Diva…) and I was having a ‘everybody is picking on me day’. It was NOT a good combo. We were not a good combo.
So, I’m talking away and she says to me ‘mate, can you stop talking. I can’t remember what I needed to say. You haven’t stopped talking and now I’ve forgotten’. I just stared at her…silently willing myself not to cry. I’d made her forget? Me? I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t actually me that made you forget love! I’m pretty sure that was the bastard menopause.
I’ll leave you with this. On the day I wrote this I sent a text to Neens.
Me: ‘FFS!!!! I’m just doing a draft for this weeks blog. And I know you won’t 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!