A scattering of pimples across my face. Extreme bloating that left me looking three months pregnant. Uncontrollable emotions. The signs were all there, but the sight of actual blood in my underwear when I went to the toilet was a shock. After seven years, my period was back.
I came off the pill in 2015 when my husband and I decided to start trying for a baby. I assumed my period would start up again within a few months, but time went by and nothing happened. Six months, a year, 16 months… I’d read that it was normal for periods to take a while to return after being on contraception (I’d been on the pill for ten years and regularly went without a break so I didn’t have to deal with having one) but this seemed a little too long. How could we start a family if I didn’t even have a cycle?
A nonplussed GP referred me to a private doctor, who reiterated that there was nothing to worry about and waved off my concerns about the length of time that had passed. Intentionally or not, I was left feeling that my problem wasn’t particularly important, despite the fact that my body wasn’t doing something that it was biologically programmed to do. Despite the fact that it meant we were struggling to conceive. In the end, I was diagnosed with secondary amenorrhea (the absence of three or more periods in a row by someone who has had periods in the past) which is often a result of hormonal issues, even though numerous hormone tests and a bone density scan came back without any abnormalities.
We ended up being referred for fertility treatment and after two IVF cycles, I fell pregnant with my first child. I’d heard horror stories about the first post-baby period, tales of cramps that rivalled contractions and off-the-scale PMS, but because I was predominantly breastfeeding, I knew it might be a while before mine made an appearance (the milk-making hormone prolactin stops you from having a period).
By the time my baby was 10 months old, we had cut down to one feed a day and stopped completely soon after. Still, no period. I had, however, started to notice that at certain times of the month I was struck by all the classic symptoms. I began noting the dates down in my phone and sure enough the bloating, mood swings, food cravings and breakouts occurred every 28 days or so. The only thing missing was the blood.
When my son turned one, we started to talk about a second child. It was all very hypothetical – we weren’t remotely ready and we assumed we’d need IVF again. While we had an embryo waiting safely in the freezer from our previous cycle, having successfully conceived meant we wouldn’t be able to have treatment via the NHS. We didn’t know if we could afford to go private or even if we were ready to go through it all again. The first step was to speak to my doctor about the fact that my period hadn’t come back, but before I could make an appointment, the pandemic hit.
As the months went on and my period remained AWOL, I just assumed we were back to where we started. No cycle = no baby. Then one day, I woke up and felt completely floored by exhaustion. When my son had his afternoon nap, I lay on my bed for three hours, feeling completely unable to move. Was I ill? Depressed? It was only when the nausea kicked in that I dared wonder if I might be pregnant. After three days of extreme fatigue and sickness, I took a test. It was positive. Clearly, I was wrong to assume that because I’d needed IVF and still wasn’t having a period, I didn’t need to use contraception.
My daughter was born in May 2021 and our breastfeeding journey has just come to an end this week. Like with my son, by the end we were only feeding once a day, so my prolactin levels had been dropping for a while. About a week ago, I began breaking out. I sobbed uncontrollably at the news. I was an angry mum and and angrier wife. I bloated whether I ate broccoli or a baguette. I wanted carbs and sugar and when I went for a run, my usual time was way off. It’s been so long since I had a period – seven years to be exact – that despite the glaringly obvious signs, I still didn’t really entertain the idea that I might actually have one.
When it came, I was completely unprepared, scrabbling around in one of the bathroom boxes I hadn’t yet unpacked from our move for a rogue tampon, asking my husband to Google whether they have a sell-by date. They do by the way, it’s five years. Would I remember how to put one in? Yep, it’s just like riding a bike. Would I still be a light to moderate flow gal? Still trying to figure that one out.
While I got off lightly on the pain front – I was expecting my cramps to be debilitating after all this time – emotionally, the only way to accurately describe how I’ve felt is WILD. On the day my period arrived, I felt batshit crazy. I know time has a way of distorting our memory, but I’m 99.9% certain I wasn’t ever that hormonal during either of my IVF cycles or pregnancies. I was incapable of rational thought, angry at everyone and everything, permanently on the verge of tears and parenting two small children felt beyond me. By the end of the day I felt flat and exhausted.
The hormones were still raging on day two, compounded by a night of terribly broken sleep with the baby and a 5.20am wake-up call from the toddler. I still hadn’t got a handle on my flow either, sometimes a tampon would see me through a few hours, sometimes it needed changing after less than one. That’s another thing, so much has changed since I last had a period. From period pants to cycle trackers, there’s a whole new world of period paraphernalia to get my head around. Immediately, I messaged my girl’s WhatsApp group asking them to share their trackers of choice. I read Hannah’s period pants review. I joined a conversation that, for a long time, I’d had nothing to contribute to. It felt a bit like getting my first period all over again – I was finally part of the gang.
It’s crazy that I’m only really just beginning to understand my menstrual cycle (and how it affects me) at the ripe old age of 35, but I hope that by doing so, I can manage the physical and emotional symptoms that come with it and give my body what it needs at each stage, whether that’s inhaling a giant bar of Tony’s or using exercise as a physical outlet for my incandescent rage. It’s like a long-dormant part of my body has finally woken up, and it feels good. Y’know, as good as bleeding from your vagina while feeling like your slightly losing your mind can feel.
Leave a Reply