Perimenopause is not fun, but it is inevitable

Perimenopause and its older sister, menopause, can seem like the cruelest jokes after a lifetime of hormone-related struggles. Rebecca Wadey from Ensemble was overwhelmed and panicked, until she started talking and listening, and realized she wasn’t the only one.

2020 has been a confusing mess. I pride myself on my ability to cope with stress, analyze the big picture without overwhelming myself, and stay focused on my goals and priorities.

Seriously, I’m like a Zen master in training since a cancer diagnosis in 2003. But the hot sweats, the panic attacks at 3 AM, the rapidly worsening vision, the heart palpitations, the migraines, the fatigue and mental confusion have hampered my ability to cope this year. In fact, at times, it has been overwhelming and depressing. Not from Covid-19 (though that alone would), but from a complete breakdown in my coping mechanisms and what appears to be a rewiring of my brain pathways. As if he was suddenly in charge of something that he had no idea how to drive, much less how the engine works.

At 44 I feel incredibly young to navigate this minefield, as I stand on the precipice of perimenopause, staring at the horizon of menopause, wondering exactly how I got here. And how the hell will I get out?

In 2018 I was asked to moderate a panel on “aging gracefully” hosted by some amazing leaders from the New Zealand wellness community. In the midst of the discussion about hydration, rest, vitamin D, and other interesting topics, a line emerged from an integrative physician that resonated so clearly with me.

“Many women go their entire lives without mental health problems. Then in middle age, with menopause, they are suddenly forced to deal with emotions and problems that they have never had to deal with before and are not well equipped to do so. “

The room fell silent at this. I remember looking around in a women’s room who finally felt seen. my eyes went full of tears.

He was 41 years old and had just started experiencing the “first hot flashes”, if you will, of perimenopause.

The fact that he went through menopause early did not surprise anyone. Diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 26, I had been told that it was possible that chemotherapy ‘threw’ me into menopause (most verbs to describe the process are violent, which you will understand once you experience it) . That did not happen. Since it is a hormone dependent cancer, I started taking a drug, tamoxifen, to stop ovulating. Again, they told me to wait for menopause. When it still didn’t happen, they gave me injections (Zoladex) to induce it once and for all.

A chemically induced menopause is especially violent and my poor little body hated it. From everything that had happened that year, the loss of my breast, my hair, the weight gain due to the medication, I still felt that, on some level, nothing had changed the essence of I. Until menopause came. My energy ran out, I could no longer be in a room with groups of people. I stopped going to Kings Arms concerts, stopped sleeping, and just thinking about something uncomfortable made me sweat so much that I often needed to change my clothes.

Of course, it was a means to an end, the end of which was survival. Of course, I will be eternally grateful for that. And by the fact that my determined little hormones made their way through the other side, allowing me to have two beautiful children.

But I’ve never stopped feeling like my poor hormones are constantly getting me into trouble. Ever since I had my period at age 10, when my school wasn’t equipped to deal with it (if the pad burner weren’t so full of vandalist junk I could actually use it; the kids standing outside the cubicle would hear the creak being used and mocks me mercilessly), until they told me my cancer was literally feeding off of them, thus far experiencing early menopause. I really feel like I’m being trolled.

Other examples of such trolling: when I managed to have a severe endo attack during chemically induced menopause. It was initially diagnosed as secondary ovarian cancer due to my body’s supposed inability to function like this. Later, when I was pregnant, hormonal changes in the proteins in my blood led to an increase in cancer markers that led oncologists to assume that I would die of secondary cancer after giving birth. And the fact that this weekend I had my first period in six months, which brought with it more debilitating endometriosis pain.

Since the talk about “aging gracefully” two years ago, I have worked incredibly hard to balance my hormones. I practice yoga and meditation. Like many leafy and cruciferous vegetables, freshly ground flax seeds, and healthy oils. I drink very little. I spend a fortune on CBD products and supplements.

In a pre-Covid world, this kind of “self-help” was a luxury, an active and interesting self-research project on what modalities worked for my hormonal (and mental) health. In 2020, as my estrogen levels have plummeted, so has my income. I no longer have $ 120 a week to spend on a vitamin regimen. And there are terribly few other options.

Maybe it’s just my age or maybe there’s an opening of social barriers, but I’m starting to see a lot more discussion about perimenopause and menopause; how desperate and isolated he can be. Most of these stories end with “and then I discovered HRT and it changed my life. I realize there is no reason to be afraid of it! ”.

Unfortunately for me, there is a reason. As a breast cancer survivor, I am not a candidate for hormone replacement therapy and never will be. For me, the only prescribed response is a low-dose TSS or an antidepressant. I’m certainly not against this, it just feels strange after 44 years of no mental health issues.

It seems stranger, even, that the medical profession does not have practical answers or solutions to something that affects half the population, so women have to suffer the downright exhausting work of defending themselves. From researching the billion dollar “wellness” industry and snake oil vendors to find an individual solution, to managing homes, families and businesses while suffering significant physical and emotional malfunction.

And, of course, most of this is done in silence. Society is repulsed by an aging woman (just ask Donald Trump or Leonardo DiCaprio) and there is nothing that screams more “I’m old” than the mention of menopause. So we keep dyeing our hair, injecting our wrinkles, plucking the hair from our chin, clenching our teeth and moving on; maintain jobs that allow us income to cover the illusion without ever letting the real damage be occurring internally.

If I sound vaguely hysterical it’s because I am.