When Christie Watson put on an HRT patch she found herself thinking about sex, all the time. What was going on?
I began using HRT patches at 42, after a seemingly catastrophic breakdown that resulted in my climbing into a Sainsbury’s fish-finger freezer. My mental health was horrendous. I felt totally outside my own skin, dissociated, and that I’d lost my sense of self. I told a therapist that I related to Mrs Dalloway, a chronically depressed – and arguably narcissistic and bourgeois – fictional Virginia Woolf character. She suggested that these feelings could all be down to perimenopause, a term I’d only heard of vaguely, in passing, even as a former nurse. Perimenopause, she told me, can be an extremely rocky road, lasting up to a decade before menopause itself.
My GP didn’t bat an eyelid at my bizarre symptoms, but offered me low-dose HRT patches and described the side-effects as minimal in most people. Some women experience breast tenderness or feeling sick, or headaches but, she said, this usually settled down. I hoped the patches would lead to fewer perimenopausal symptoms and a balancing out of my mood, some comfort and at least some realism.
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