Ever seen that meme that asks you if you’re really suffering from depression or just surrounded by assholes? That’s kind of how I feel about things at the moment.
I’ve not updated here for a while because I was frankly sick of thinking, let alone talking, about my rogue reproductive organs. To recap, I’ve been trying to live in a hormone healthy way to avoid drug therapy, i.e. hefty progesterone treatment or the infamous bloody Mirena coil. I decided to go my own way, ditching red meat, dairy and nitrates whilst moving to all vegan, organic cosmetics. I restricted my caffeine, readdressed my drinking and tried to do more yoga.
I landed myself in hospital early in November.
I had been in rising pain for days but avoiding the Drs due to work pressure to be in the office, so on Friday night the second we locked up I head straight to our walk in centre and then shortly thereafter to A&E. After a brief inspection for appendicitis and a very long wait to see an on call gynaecologist, I was sent home with slightly better painkillers than before and told that I must reconsider some hormone therapy, as for my current stage of adenomyosis (and endo suspicions that they will not currently investigate) that is all they can offer me. Later posts will hopefully reveal whether or not this is bullshit. But sitting outside a ward of pregnant ladies at one in the morning, dreading the horror and humilation of being admitted overnight for a bellyache was something of a wake up call. I wasn’t on my period, I hadn’t eaten any bad/trigger foods, I’d had plenty of sleep and been drinking my water and I was in agony. My lifestyle fixes weren’t working. Even I thought I had a burst appendix for a little while, I was that unfomfortable, particularly when anyone tried to touch me. It became clear to me that I can’t go on like this, in constant fear of every twinge in my increasingly middleaged body and necking enough cuprofen to keep my local Boots in profit until Brexit. I can’t keep doing nothing and worrying about it. What if it’s just a bug? What if it’s endo? What if they don’t believe me? What if they sign me off work? What if they won’t give me painkillers and what if another eight people want to shine a torch up my nunny again only to tell me that they can’t help me?!?!?
I sucked it up, went back to my GP and have started to take Cerazette- a mini pill/POP type therapy and boy have I been hyperaware for side effects ever since. Side effects like tiredness, insomnia, weight gain, booby pain, depression, anxiety, migraines, extended bleeding, spotting, it goes on and on. And it seems in the last month I have had pretty much all of them. But then again, it’s Christmas and I have to ask who hasn’t been tired/teary/grumpy towards this end of the year?
Getting ready to host Christmas through a particularly wanky period of work stress in December very nearly destroyed me, and I’m still not sure why. I’m talking general preparation anxiety sure, like stinkng my house out with cheese for weeks just incase I couldn’t get it later; having actual nightmares about our butchers forgetting my turkey or my oven not being big enough; laying awake in a sweat trying to remember who does and doesn’t like cabbage and how I was going to cope if my OH didn’t finish his gift shopping in time. I cried. I barely slept. I zombied through my existence on masses of ibuprofen and strong coffee. And why?? Just for Christmas??? This is not me. I love cooking a roast and I love having people over, I love Christmas for heavens sake and this year it has been lovely but also flatter than I expected because I was just so bloody anxious about it all that when it came to it I was so relieved that it wasn’t a disaster that I didn’t actually enjoy it fully. I’m now exhausted and spending my days off dozing through the existential dread that is anticipating going back to work in January and watching a lot of Disney.
Is it my girl bits doing this to me? Is it the medication? Is it those tossers at head office?
It is so hard to say. If it was June and I had started hormones and felt like this, I’m pretty sure I would be off them by now but I have to give some space to the possibility that I’m just a bit worn out. It’s been a rough year.
A few things I can say about my minipill experience so far is that the period I had when I stared taking it was drawn out but more or less comfortable after the second day. I’ve definitely experienced some serious fatigue sessions and brief but pointy headaches. And I find myself now, on the day I should have been coming on, having a no-period-period. As in I’m not bleeding, but I am experiencing all of the other period symptoms such as deep hip pain, bloating, stabbing sensations and the ability to sleep for ten hours at a time with next to no refreshment value. It is nowhere near as bad as it was pre-POP though, I must say. A quick chat with some of my Endo buddies has revealed that this is common enough and plenty of POP girls still need hot water bottles and codeine once a month despite not actually bleeding at all. Is that ok though?? Does that mean it is working or that it really isn’t?!?!?!
I dunno. I’m going to stick with it for now, and until my 6 month gyne review if things don’t get any worse. In fact, if they don’t get a bit better once we are in to the new year too. I’m sticking to my low meat and dairy diet and kicking all the processed pre packed crap back to the curb now that the feasting season is over. I’ve joined a January pilates course in the hope that it might limber me up enough to get back to jogging now that I don’t feel like my uterus is falling out every time I get past a slow trot up the road. I’m shopping the sales for organic cosmetic treats as going back to cheap shampoo on a brief weekend away made me feel like I was literally rinsing my locks in over-perfumed slime.
I’m going to see out the year in the warm, enjoying my Christmas pyjamas and a cheeky glass of red and another early night and hope that things get better. In a couple of small ways, they already have.
Next stop, 2019. I’ll see you there.