1 February
I’ve calculated that I’ve had 189 periods I didn’t need to have.
One hundred and eighty nine!
That’s 756 days of unnecessary bleeding out of my vagina.
Not to mention 756 days of needless abdominal pain.
And I can’t even think about the totally avoidable monthly stress of leakage. Any time, any place, anywhere.
All totally pointless!
What on earth have I been thinking?
Having realized I’d wasted over fifteen years having periods, I was on the phone to the doctor’s at eight sharp this morning.
‘Can I ask what the problem is?’ the receptionist asked me.
‘I have endured unnecessary pain and suffering for nearly sixteen years,’ I told her.
‘Can I ask where?’ she pressed.
‘Mainly in the West Midlands,’ I replied, ‘although I have lived in the southeast for some periods of my adult life.’
‘I meant where on your body,’ she said with a sigh. I knew what she meant but, hey, who doesn’t want to miss the chance to irritate a doctor’s receptionist?
‘Oh. Stomach mainly,’ I replied.
There was a pause while the phone operator considered my medical fate. I felt she needed more facts.
‘I would consider that it is the lack of information provided by this practice that is partly to blame for this prolonged illness,’ I added. ‘I need this situation resolving urgently or … or—’
‘How does ten thirty sound?’ came the reply.
Before he even asked, I told the doctor what I was there for.
‘I would like the magic pills that take away the pain and suffering that I have endured for the past sixteen years,’ I said.
‘I’m not sure there are any such pills,’ the doctor said, frowning at me suspiciously.
‘Oh, there are,’ I replied. ‘I heard about them at my book group.’
‘Your book group?’ he asked. He looked uncomfortable. He wanted rid of me like I was some mad old woman.
‘Yes, my book group,’ I replied.
‘I’m not sure if a book group is where you should be getting medical information.’
‘It’s a very well-educated book group,’ I told him. ‘Fiona’s mother went to the same school as Judi Dench.’
‘How interesting,’ he replied. ‘Did your book group members happen to mention what these so-called magical pills were?’
‘The contraceptive pill. The one which means you don’t have to have periods.’
The doctor bit his lip. ‘Well, you shouldn’t need your book group to tell you that contraceptive pills are readily available.’
‘No, I shouldn’t,’ I agreed. ‘You are absolutely right. But … but I’d forgotten that they stop periods. Totally and utterly forgotten. But it’s really quite brilliant, isn’t it? I mean, why don’t they shout that from the rooftops all the time. They’re really, really badly promoted.’
‘Well I—’ began the doctor.
‘I mean, it’s all about sex, isn’t it?’ I continued, needing to share my view on the matter. ‘All they bleat on about when you take the pill is that you can have sex as much as you like and it will stop you getting pregnant. But it can also stop your periods. I mean that’s amazing. For a woman, that is. I can understand why men don’t much care since they are not active beneficiaries of the “not having periods” thing. For them the “not having babies” thing is more applicable; however, I can assure you that the “not having periods” thing is … well, bloody amazing.’
‘They’re not guaranteed to stop periods,’ stated the doctor. ‘And it’s not right for everyone and there are other potential side effects and …’
‘But there is a pill that can stop your periods, am I correct?’ I demanded.
‘Yes, certain pills can.’
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘For the past sixteen years I have known I didn’t want any more kids. I’ve had no need whatsoever to menstruate. I have had 189 periods for no reason due to the very poor communication surrounding the other benefits of the contraceptive pill. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?’
The doctor was no longer looking at me. Just studying my notes on the screen in front of him.
‘How old are you, Mrs Collins?’ he asked.
‘Forty-eight,’ I replied after I had thought for a few moments. I was at the point in life where it took effort and mental calculation to remember my age. I could tell you my mobile phone number more easily than how old I was.
The doctor wrapped a blood-pressure band round my upper arm quicker than a slap band round an overexcited toddler’s wrist. As he looked down at the reader he casually mentioned, ‘At your age you need to be monitoring for symptoms of the menopause.’
‘I know, I know,’ I replied. ‘I know it’s out there. It’s partly why I want to go on the pill, so I – not the dreaded menopause – can control when they stop.’
‘There are downsides to taking the pill, you know,’ he said.
‘I know, I know,’ I muttered. ‘But you had me at “yes, it can stop your periods”. I’m definitely too old to have periods though, right? I mean, when did you last see a middle-aged woman in a tampon advert? Tampons are clearly not for us. They are for women in bikinis using rollerskates. I shouldn’t be allowed to have periods.’
The doctor took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead. ‘Look, I will give you a prescription for a pill which should stop your periods. Happy now?’
I sat there and thought about it for a minute.
Then I broke into a very broad grin.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Actually I am.’
3 February
Slightly frustrated, having read the instructions for starting to take the pill, to find that I can’t start straight away. I have to wait until the start of my next period. This feels kind of cruel, given that the only reason I am taking the pill is so I don’t live in constant dread of my next period starting. However, I figure this time it will be a period to celebrate because this will hopefully be one of my last.
I read the instructions from cover to cover for some reason. Just in case I’d missed something. Something that was going to tell me: Sorry, but because you have been, let’s face it, a serial sauvignon blanc drinker, this magic pill will not work on you.
Thankfully I found nothing. What I did discover was that, There are no indications of any effect of Zetraphol tablets on alertness and concentration, which was good news, since alertness and concentration were both in pretty short supply. Increasingly I found I was able to remember obscure pop song lyrics from the Eighties more easily than why I had walked into a room. I did however note, in the side effects section, that Around one in ten women can experience mood changes, depression, decreased sexual drive, headaches, nausea, acne, breast pain, irregular periods or no periods and weight increase. Since many of those sounded very much like the onset of the menopause, I decided it was a risk I was willing to take.
5 February
Grandchildren parade day! Long overdue but needed to be done.
My mother called last week and made the comment that she’d forgotten what Freddie and Kirsty looked like and did they both like their Christmas presents? What she really meant was, You have totally failed me as a daughter as your children never come and see us. They are also very, very rude as they haven’t even had the decency to thank me for their Christmas presents, even though it’s now February. You are a very, very bad mother.
I somehow managed to get Kirsty in the car with the promise of calling in at Boots on the way home. Then I went and tackled Freddie, and to my surprise he said he’d love to go and see Nan and Granddad. Stupidly, my heart rose. Maybe Freddie had turned a corner and was finally feeling some empathy for others. I should have known better. As he walked past me out of the hall he grabbed the car keys off the hook and said, ‘As long as I can drive.’
Freddie has had five lessons.
Freddie is rubbish at driving, as he believes driving is a fun game rather than a life-or-death experience.
I’d taken Freddie out twice to practise, and the first time I took him he went down a one-way street the wrong way, insisting that it was allowed if there was nothing coming the other way. The second time he flashed a police car. And by that I mean he lifted his top up right to his nipples and gave them a wink. Why he is not in prison I have no idea.
So Freddie went to get in the driving seat, while Kirsty went to get in the passenger seat, leaving me to get in the back. We all stood at our doors and the standoff commenced.
It took ten minutes to negotiate who was sitting where. Freddie refused to get in the car unless he could drive and Kirsty refused to get in the back of the car if Freddie was driving as she gets car sick at the best of times. I told her that a legal driver has to sit next to a learner, to which her response was that Freddie shouldn’t therefore be allowed to drive. And so we continued round this loop for some time until I said, ‘This isn’t about who will drive, this is about going to see your grandparents, so will you please just get in the car!’
I stood firm, waiting for them to get in, no longer caring which seat. They locked eyes and then Freddie held his fist out. I thought he was going to hit her until she held hers out and they did rock, paper, scissors.
I held my breath. Freddie did scissors, Kirsty did paper, like an idiot, so Freddie clicked open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.
Kirsty got in the back seat and assumed the crash position, for which I had the utmost sympathy; if I hadn’t had to keep my eyes on the road, I would have joined her.
We were all doomed.
It was then that I noticed Freddie was wearing a black T-shirt with the words ‘SUPPORT SEX WORKERS’ emblazoned in bright yellow across it. I weighed up the option of asking him to get out of the car and go back inside to change, but decided we would never make it to Mum and Dad’s if I did. We would have to deal with Freddie’s attire when we got there.
‘I need to be home by six,’ said Kirsty as we pulled off the drive.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Cally’s coming round to do biology homework.’
Freddie laughed mockingly.
‘Watch that car,’ I shouted at him as he veered into the middle of the road. He oversteered, nearly mounting the pavement and narrowly avoiding a woman with a pushchair. Thank goodness Mum and Dad only lived ten minutes away.
‘Biology homework, otherwise known as stalking Carl Peters online,’ taunted Freddie, looking into the rear-view mirror the whole time rather than through the windscreen.
‘The road is that way,’ I told him, pointing vigorously forwards.
‘I know where he is tonight, actually,’ said Freddie as he sailed past the left turn we normally take. I decided to stay quiet. For now he was stable. Best not to rock the boat. ‘He’s at Kim Wang’s, pretending he’s helping her research universities when really he wants to have sex with her.’
‘Freddie!’ Kirsty and I shrieked at the same time.
‘Red light!’ I cried, bracing myself against the dashboard. ‘Red light!’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, casually slamming on the brake and promptly stalling the car.
‘It’s broken,’ he said, pressing furiously down on the accelerator. ‘It won’t go.’
‘You stalled it,’ I said, trying to stay calm. ‘Go into neutral, clutch down, ignition on, into gear and off we go.’
All was quiet until Freddie decided to drag up Carl again.
‘Yeah, so Carl has the hots for Kim and wants to shag her, just so you know, Kirst.’
‘Freddie,’ I said sternly. ‘Too muc...
