Battling Through Medically Induced Menopause In My Thirties
I want to share my story – as a 32-year-old woman who experienced medically induced menopausal symptoms and found there wasn’t enough reliable information available – in the hope that it’ll help others during the emotional rollercoaster of PCOS and menopause.
From the time I started my periods at 11, they were agonizing. But the women in my family suffer from period pain, so I believed it was normal, and no one ever suggested anything otherwise. The pain was enough to double me over or leave me curled in the fetal position on the floor. Over the next few years, I tried to adapt to the pain, mood changes, and irregular periods that popped up whenever they felt like it. There were times when I questioned if the pain was normal, but I dismissed it as me being paranoid. Even though I was taught about periods, I was never taught what was abnormal or when to seek help.
It wasn’t until the age of 20 that Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) was suggested to me. For those who don’t know about PCOS, it can be excruciatingly painful, affects you in a multitude of ways, and never goes away unless you remove the ovaries. PCOS affects an estimated 6–13% of reproductive-aged women, and up to 70% of affected women remain undiagnosed worldwide.
I was in a lot of pain and had missed my period, so I ended up seeing an out-of-hours doctor at the hospital. He thought I had an infection and that I could be pregnant. When I explained that I’d taken numerous pregnancy tests, all with negative results, that’s when he mentioned PCOS. He suspected my ovulation cycle was later than expected, which, alongside the pain, fits the symptoms. I was sent home with medication and instructed to go to A&E if the pain worsened.
Over the next few days, the pain got worse, and off to A&E I went. It was a horrible experience. The staff were overworked, rude, and didn’t believe me, making it clear they thought I was wasting their time. They wouldn’t do anything but roughly prod my stomach and give me a pregnancy test. Feeling defeated, I peed in the bottle and handed it to the nurse, knowing what the result would be. After half an hour, the rude nurse ushered me into a room with a big grin on her face. I was pregnant! Her attitude flipped – she now believed me, and I was worth her time. She ran some tests that showed I had quite a bad infection, which led her to dismiss the possibility of PCOS. She sent me home with new medication.
I spent almost four years trying to deal with the pain. By this point, I was struggling with weight issues on top of the other symptoms, and trying but failing to conceive my second child. But any time I tried to talk to the doctors, I was dismissed. I managed to convince one to refer me for a scan which confirmed cysts on both ovaries, but nothing came of it. I reached breaking point, stood my ground, and demanded a referral to a gynecologist. She sent me for scans and ran tests, and at the age of 24, I was officially diagnosed with PCOS.
To help me conceive, she recommended the drug, Metformin, which should really be renamed hell on earth. I suffered from the most awful stomach cramps that made me want to cry. But after two and a half heartbreaking years of negative pregnancy tests, I conceived my second child. It was a difficult pregnancy due to other medical conditions, and just a few months after my son was born prematurely – at the age of 26 – I was sterilized on medical grounds.
Throughout the years that I have knowingly lived with PCOS, one common theme I have noticed is the lack of awareness, especially among male doctors. If I had £1 for every male doctor who has told me cysts aren’t painful, I’d be rich! Symptoms are dismissed, a doctor tried to gaslight me, and a nurse told me to stop eating cakes. I don’t even eat cakes.
It’s an endless wave of frustration.
Fast forward to 2023, I was struggling again with the constant pain and my emotions. My periods were all over the place – sometimes coming twice a month or absent entirely. I went to the doctor (and for once saw a helpful one), who immediately referred me to another gynecologist. Initially, he tried to dismiss my pain, but he did recommend that I trial Zoladex injections to shut my ovaries down, essentially putting my body into a medically induced menopause. The aim was to see if my symptoms reduced, with the possibility of a hysterectomy further down the line.
Over the next six months, I trialed these injections, which successfully reduced my PCOS symptoms. Still, as they reduced, my menopausal symptoms increased. To help understand why I struggled with these so much, it is worth noting that I have multiple health conditions and disabilities, some degenerative, meaning I suffer from chronic pain and migraines on a daily basis.
As my body was tricked into thinking it was going through menopause, the first symptom I noticed was my migraines amplified. They were so bad that not even my rescue meds could save me. Taking paracetamol somewhat eased the pain, but only enough to make me not want to cry. It didn’t last for more than two hours at a time, and with me taking it up to five times a day, I was overdosing and frustrated. I found out from my migraine specialist that taking that much paracetamol can actually cause headaches, but it was the only short-term solution I had.
Balled up on the sofa with my face buried in the pillows and curtains shut daily was not my idea of fun; especially not as a working mum of two. It was soul-destroying. And don’t even get me started on the hot flushes! My body felt on fire every few minutes, which drove me insane. Hand-held fabric fans became my best friend and accompanied me everywhere I went. It became a running joke between my friends and I.
Brain fog was the next symptom I noticed. I already struggled with this and didn’t think it could get much worse, but I was wrong! I went from struggling to string sentences together to not being able to form a single word out of my mouth or on-screen. I work in education, marketing, and publishing, so talking and writing is essential, the same way it is for anyone else.
No one tells you that your whole personality can change when you go through menopause. My entire mindset shifted, and I became confused about who I was. Things I’d normally like, I hated. My sex drive used to be so high that it would stop me from sleeping. I’d have to get up to have an orgasm just so I could get to sleep. But now? I had zero sex drive, and when I did have sex, I struggled with dryness and discomfort. I didn’t want to be touched in any flirty way. I used to love it when my husband touched me, but all of a sudden, I hated it. It felt more like a chore than anything else. Mostly, I managed to hide my distaste, but it made me cringe so bad that sometimes I snapped. I found myself having flashbacks about our sex life and feeling nothing but horror, shame, and embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I had ever had sex.
I wanted to want to wear nice underwear and flirt with my husband, but it all just felt so forced. I tried, but it didn’t feel right. All I wanted was to be comfy in my granny pants. I have drawers of really pretty corsets (things I haven’t worn since my hen do) and nice underwear, which I would never dream of getting rid of. But I was adamant I didn’t need it anymore and would throw it all away. Looking back, I’m horrified that that thought popped into my head, and I am so grateful I never got around to it.
I felt so confused and angry daily and struggled to rationalize. I had a short temper, anxiety, and panic attacks. It felt like I was functioning on autopilot. I was struggling to understand who I was and what was happening.
It wasn’t long before my pain levels worsened again. My entire body was racked with pain, and I noticed that my flare-ups were hitting me on a more regular basis and for longer periods at a time. The sofa became my prison during the day, and the bed became my prison at night. I was barely able to get myself up most days. A common symptom of the menopause is a reduction in bone density. This is due to the decrease in the oestrogen hormone, which leads to reduced bone strength. Even my gynecologist connected the pain with the Zoladex injections.
After my six-month trial with the injections, it was decided that I would have a total hysterectomy with the conservation of my ovaries. I must say that I found this highly amusing, considering my ovaries were causing the problem. Still, I was desperate for any relief from the PCOS. The thought of never having to deal with periods again was enticing. With all of my pain and other symptoms, I struggled to understand the point of keeping my ovaries, but the gynecologist reassured me that he would remove them at a later date if needed. He explained to me the risks of removing the ovaries with the other medical conditions I have, and I opted to keep my ovaries. In January 2024, under the knife, I went. The next few weeks were filled with binge-watching Netflix in bed.
One thing they don’t tell you is that your body still goes through monthly cycles. Minus the bleeding, everything else remains the same, including the sore boobs and ovarian pain. But having experienced such traumatic periods for so long, the lack of them was heaven. One of the craziest things for me now is realizing that a part of me felt relieved that that stage was “over” for me. I felt happy to not have to worry about future shame and embarrassment.
It took a while longer for the injections to wear off, but my body still hasn’t returned to normal a year after the surgery and injections. I still have pain from the PCOS, but it isn’t as severe as it was. I can manage it for the most part, and it only worsens during my cycles. For now, I can hold out, but the issue is far from resolved. My sexual desire has returned somewhat, but it’s not even close to how it used to be. My personality hasn’t completely returned to normal either, so I am still trying to navigate the minefield.
If my trial is anything to go by, I fear for when I really do go into menopause.
But I know I am not alone, and neither are you.
There is not enough information on PCOS and too much stigma surrounding menopause. We must talk about these issues and share information with each other so that no one suffers alone.