Having spent the last two days welded to the sofa, feeling utterly sorry for myself and, having lost so much blood this week that I could hardly stand up, I finally caved and went back to the doctors this morning.
By this point, I would have cheerfully agreed if the doctor had suggested I remove my uterus myself, using a rusty knife and a plastic spoon, with no anaesthetic. Luckily, she is less of a drama queen than I am and has given me some tablets – Norethisterone, a synthetic progesterone – which should stop the bleeding in time for further investigations next week.
Next week will see the removal of my copper, non-hormonal, IUD and me going back on the pill (probably Yasmin). I have been very much against this for some time, as the pill – along with any other hormonal medicines – sends me quite loopy.
I am what might best be described as ‘bipolar-lite’, non medicated, and deal with the inevitable ups and downs by working my life around it, taking advantage of the highs and the energy they give me by throwing myself into work or decorating or somesuch and mitigating the lows by taking time out when I need to hide away and mope.
However the pill, despite trying different types and having breaks and all the other things you’re supposed to do to find the ‘right one for you’, seems to – without fail – amplify any low-level bonkersness, making the highs higher, the lows lower and the transition between the two extremes much swifter. Understandably, I’m wary of trying another hormone-based treatment and that’s before I even think about the other complications the pill can lead to, even in women with sound mental health.
Right now though, I’m willing to give it a go. The delightful B, my ever patient, ever understanding partner, has promised to keep a close eye on me. The trouble with anything mental is that it’s the mind and the perception of reality that’s affected and you don’t often realise that your feelings and behaviour have altered until it’s too late and folk are asking you why you stripped naked in a car park full of people in the middle of the day.
The doc thinks the IUD may be aggravating things, i.e that the IUD itself is poking into one of the fibroids. We discussed this in Jan when I got the full diagnosis but at that point I was only bleeding heavily for about 2 weeks out of four and the pain wasn’t crippling. Reluctant to go back on the pill, it was also fairly pointless having a Mirena type (hormonal) IUD fitted then – it takes about a year to settle in and at that point we were considering trying to start a family ‘in about a year’. I would have just got into some kind of menstrual routine when it would be removed and have to go through the whole year of settling again further down the line.
So I said I’d live with it. After all, I could hack it for a year, couldn’t I? And it would be worth it, knowing I wasn’t at risk of doing something stupid and irriversible due to being a bit of a mental case.
Well, in the ongoing fight between body and mind, body is winning. Or losing, depending on which way you look at it.
Our family plans are still up in the air for various, not terribly dramatic or interesting reasons, and so we must find a way to live with the issue until our plans are more solid. In the meatime, I am finding it increasingly difficult to work (I’m self employed and the one thing you MUST be, if self employed, is reliable) and our lives are consumed by pain and blood related shenanigans, getting in the way of everything.
So. Well aware that I’m putting my mental health at risk, I am nevertheless taking the gamble.
I’m also taking some time off from work. It’s about time for the annual xmas slump anyway. I’m running on empty at the moment and need to get rested. I also want to monitor how this new pill affects me over xmas and beyond and as I’ll be spending a lot of time with family and friends who know me pretty well they should be able to spot any major personality changes.
Once upon a time, I swore I would never prioritise anything above my mental health again. Looks like it’s time to break that promise.
Next post: The pill and other hormone treatments – real life experiences.
