Read the first part of Helene‘s very honest (and funny) menopause story – from hot flushes to losing her career, confidence and identity before finding her way back. So, put the kettle on and enjoy.
My name is Helene. I’m 62. And my epic long 10 years of the menopause is just about over now. But it started when I was about 52 and a half, which is average for UK women. At that time, I lived in South East London.
And I had an amazing GP called Dr Rosemary Leonard. She’d written a book about menopause, which was quite good. It didn’t particularly help me personally, but it did show me that people were actually starting to write openly about this stuff. And she was very, very sympathetic.
You’ve got to put your big girl pants on.
But you know, no matter how sympathetic somebody else is, you’ve got to deal with it yourself. You’ve got to put your big girl pants on.
Today, 10 years later, in my new career, (get me 62.) I actually met another woman who, as we were parting company on from the training course that we had been attending for our new said careers, said, “you know, I didn’t think I’d make it along today because I’m having such hot, terrible hot flashes”. I just replied, ‘Oh, you poor thing.’ I assumed she was the same age as me, but maybe she wasn’t, I don’t know. And to hear that her hot flashes were so debilitating that she thought she might not make it to a new course for a new opportunity was pretty awful. Although the guy that was training us was pretty sympathetic I hope that I was able to give her some comfort by going you know what “yeah, I get it” – my main bit of advice for the menopause is everyone’s different and what helped me at the time was cinemas they’ve usually got great air conditioning – I was having particularly hot times during the summer of god knows whatever year it was 10 years ago and that’s the only time in my history that I’ve ever been to the cinema by myself because I just knew that I could hide in the dark and sweat away or at least get cool and nobody cared. Also I could blame the popcorn and ice creams for my increasing weight gain.
My main bit of advice for the menopause is everyone’s different. What helped me at the time was cinemas. They’ve usually got great air conditioning.”
Since reading this site, like Venus,’s story, I didn’t know half of those things about the menopause. What I do know is that my oldest friend from school went through a very early menopause at age 36. She didn’t tell me that until years later and I never knew what she went through but, yeah, the horror of it was pretty awful. Crying if she burnt the toast. Feeling lonely and depressed. Thought she had early dementia as she was forgetting everything, looking in the mirror thinking who is she?
I’ve always been quite luckily self-employed and quite gainfully self-employed not a major mover or shaker but I did all right. And luckily always able to choose my own hours of work which meant that I could manage my symptoms but I didn’t even mention them as I wasn’t even worried about them half the time – just sleep in or stay up late or scream or shout or whatever. It didn’t matter as no husband no kids. I did have a husband (and I’m glad I haven’t got anyone anymore) so – let’s get to the crux of the story that Venus wants…
Looking in the mirror and thinking, ‘Who is she?’
We’ve known each other for, I hate to say this, but probably 20 years now (I hate to say because it’s a long time) but Venus has been a really great friend to me and seen me through thick and thin. We’ve had some great times together and some outrageous times together and I’m thinking about the flight back from Argentina (what happened in Argentine stays in Argentina) where we’d a great deal of fun together – and since the husband and the divorce (which was pretty bloody awful) we’ve been mates and mostly kind of ‘single mates’ which has been fine, and we’ve had the occasional boyfriend here and there.
Venus is currently in a very loving supportive steady relationship with a really great guy – I was not that lucky or just not that bothered and I suppose I was sort of in the middle of menopause , but I did meet a guy because I thought actually, you know this is actually worth saying, because I thought I had to get out there. I thought I ought to get dating.
I met a guy online. He was alright. We shared some interests, blah blah blah. Weirdly enough, out of all of my exes, he’s the only one that I still talk to – he knows the score that when it finished, it finished. It finished for good reasons – neither of us was particularly right for each other – but strangely he’s remained a very good friend – that’s good.
Anyway, there I was, happily post-menopausal. Kind of getting on with life. Kind of hoping that, well… perhaps I’d better backtrack a little bit and say that the nice, comfortable business that I had, was one of those that was decimated by COVID.
My professional life stopped overnight.
There followed 18 or so months where it was, a case of ‘can I bring it back, can I not?’
It wasn’t coming back.
I had to retrain. I chose an area to retrain in that, in retrospect, wasn’t the best choice.
And also, I developed Polymyalgia, which I’m wondering why ? but looking back now, was probably a symptom of long COVID. Or menopause.
However, nobody knew that at the time.
Polymyalgia is where your joints basically seize up. It started in my knees, then moved into my hips. Looking back, I can see how some of it overlapped with the kinds of symptoms people were talking about. But I suspect this was actually something different.
I had inflammation in my knees. I couldn’t bend my knees, literally could not bend my knees. It moved up into my hips, moved up into my shoulders, moved down to my elbows. When it moved down to my wrists, I rang the doctor in tears eventually, because if it had moved into my hands, the pain would have been unbearable. That particular doctor was very good. (He’s also apparently a TV doctor. I didn’t know that, I just knew he was my doctor.)
I couldn’t bend my knees. Literally, could not bend my knees.
He immediately heard me crying on the phone, which I don’t cry easily. And put me under very heavy dose of steroids and some other stuff and started my road to recovery.
There was polymyalgia. Job gone. Career gone. No money.
Couldn’t get a new job because I was physically unable to move very much or walk very much. PIP [Personal Independence Payment – a UK benefit] will not help you. They didn’t ‘get’ it.
The GP practice advised me to appeal.
I appealed.
Still didn’t get it.
There was polymyalgia. Job gone.
Career gone. No money.
This is where the ‘ex-guy’ comes into the story again, lets call him Pete, he is a very kind and thoughtful chap.
When I felt able to get into the car and drive to the local shop without needing attention, I asked Pete who runs the village community shop – (which is supported by a charitable trust. They don’t pay their volunteers, but they give a bottle of wine at Christmas and a small hamper.) I asked him if I could volunteer at the shop in order to get some skills back, get to talk to people, get to use, you know, tills and barcode reasons, stuff like that. He did, which is great. And he actually put me on the road to recovery, whilst at the same time not expecting anything from me apart from friendship, which was lovely. So friendship and help appears when you least expect it.
Friendship and help appears when you least expect it
What followed from there was me gradually getting more confidence, learning a few more basic skills than your average 14-year-old would learn on a Saturday job or work experience. But it got me back, after a while into another job, just a waitress in a tearoom.
But again, integrating with people into a new job, which was bloody awful. I was out of the frying pan, into the fire and it turned out to be just too hard on my joints because, 60-year-old women can’t do the same work as 18-year-old’s. But employers seem to want you to do that, particularly in what they call hospitality business.
Anyway, sort of towards the end of that career, which is last July – July 25 – I’d seen that the – what can I call it? – the ‘entity’ that I worked for, had questionable practices.
I went to work looking like fucking Robocop
My own business, which had come back slowly after COVID started to make a little bit more money. And actually, this is probably my first post-menopausal. ‘hoorah’ was the strength to being able to say that day, you know what? ‘That’s it! I’m out of here, I don’t need you anymore. I’m not going to stick to these rules. They’re shit. I’m worth more than this. I’ve got more experience in one of my toes than you’ve got in your entire heart and soul.’ So last July, I Said ‘fuck you’. And I left.
I’m worth more than this. I’ve got more experience in one of my toes than you’ve got in your entire heart and soul.
Of course, I was panicked. And then I spent a couple of months really panicking. Living off the proceeds of the other business. And applying for unsuitable jobs. I’m too old for, I’m physically unable to do the things the younger ones can – like standing on your feet for up to 9 hours.
But now I live in the West Country.
And it’s very bad for employment here. And virtually the only jobs that are available are in hospitality. And there is a fucking stupid work ethic that makes you stand on your feet all day – which is just madness – hence previous comment.
I am physically too old to be standing on my feet for 9 hours.
I was taking painkillers to go to work. Taking painkillers whilst being at work. Taking painkillers when I got home. Taking painkillers first thing in the morning. Developing a monster of a varicose vein. A massive one in my upper right thigh. Which hurts, by the way. And buying all sorts of ridiculous compression tubes to put my leg in. I went to work looking like a fucking Robocop.. They treated people better than me. They treated other staff worse than me. It was time to go… Rant over. There you go.
I’m going to stop there for a minute… before I get to Part 2 of my story, which Venus has called Menopause, Funerals & Questionable Decisions
Coming up in Part 2 of Helene’s journey
After walking away from a job that was draining her confidence and navigating the chaos of menopause, Helen? finds herself facing something else entirely:
The next chapter Helene finds herself facing something else entirely:
funerals, motorbikes, jury service, excessive travelling, too much wine, one impulsive Harley Davidson purchase and several decisions that, in hindsight, should probably have come with adult supervision.
In other words, just another chapter in menopause. For this one, you’ll need to pour yourself a glass of wine – or 2.
Read it now: Menopause, funerals, motorbikes and some very questionable decisions
