Saturday, 20 August 2011


Hot flushes = sweating. Emotional = moody cow. I had all the symptoms, I must be starting “the change of life”. It was a given, I’d of put money on it. Why else would I be perspiring, I looked like I’d dunked my head in a barrel of premium lager. I attempted to put my not particulary thick glossy mane (it’s shortish and fine) in a teeny tiny pony tail to keep my neck cool (husband liked it, a bonus). I spoke to mum (and dad) about it and my annoyingly always right mother advised a trip to my GP. I did as I was told, I couldn’t keep snapping at hubby for using the wrong salad dressing (don’t you men know anything, grrr) or opening the bedroom window a millimetre to wide when I seriously look like my face is melting in front of his eyes. Sexy? Of course not, it’s the damn menopause, what do you expect(*shouting)?
I made the appointment, I opened my heart to my very nice female doctor, she’ll understand, she looked old (about 50). She was probably hot flashing(the technical term) as we spoke and knew one salad dressing from another (*shouting again). “Have a blood test” the fabulous Doc says.
One blood test later, having to put up with a massive bruise where the needle went in (nauseous now), I was back to see the greatest GP that ever lived! “So what’s the verdict Doc, do I need hormone implants or something as equally grown up” I grinned!
“No” it said “you aren’t menopausal”

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