I was signed up to a course of six monthly injections of a drug that would suppress my oestrogen levels temporarily, ceasing menstruation and reproductive capabilities in an imitation of the natural menopause.



Endometriosis growth is stimulated by a woman’s menstrual cycle, with the peaks and troughs in hormone levels causing the endometrium lining to grow each month. So inducing the menopause means no oestrogen, means no periods, means no endometriosis. I like to consider it in terms of baking: You can keep the eggs, the flour, the sugar, and the butter, but without the baking powder the cake ain’t going to rise.

Naively, I didn’t really consider the effects of tanking hormones but was relieved that my painful periods would be under lock and key for the foreseeable future. Within a week of my first injection, though, I realised I had underestimated what was in store.

Most women experiencing the natural menopause will gradually transition over a period of years, allowing their bodies time to adjust to a new rhythm and their minds crucial time to acclimatise. But for me, the full gravity of the treatment hit overnight.

Almost immediately, I developed hot flushes that would go from 0 to 100 in five seconds. Beads of sweat would collect on my upper lip, my T-shirt would stick to my back, and I would feel like I was being incinerated from the inside out.

Worse, I developed an unshakeable paranoia that everyone around me could see exactly what was going on. The physical symptoms caused my self-confidence to take such a hammering that my thoughts became increasingly insular.

From Friday drinks with friends, to work lunches or visits with my in-laws, a hot flush could hijack my train of thought at any moment as I found myself scrutinising whoever I was talking to for any sign they had noticed my face melting off, while simultaneously trying to subtly blow on my top lip, which I'm sure looked flawlessly discreet. I worried that the erratic behaviour behind my attempt to mask my daily personal saunas, my mood swings, and my withdrawal into myself was just as noticeable as the symptoms themselves.

My body changed rapidly, too. I gained weight in the hips and my upper arms, and I started recognising parts of my mum and my grandma in my new shape. My hair thinned and became coarse, and I felt like I had completely lost my sense of identity – an otherwise healthy 25-year-old, with plenty to offer and a promising future.