I had my first hot flash at 13 – it was the menopause

I remember everything about the day I was told I was menopausal.

The doctor’s office was hot and stuffy and had that heavily clinical smell only a GP surgery can have. My hands were clammy, and the words ‘please don’t say it’ were playing on repeat in my head.

And then the moment finally came. 

‘You have premature ovarian insufficiency (POI).’ Said the doctor and with that, my mum (who’d been in the chair next to me) broke down.

Her head fell into her hands as she cried, full of despair. She was fully aware of what this meant. As for me and my reaction? I hadn’t a clue what just happened. 

I was just 15. I’d barely even started puberty but now I was being told I’d have to grapple with the fact that I was going through something that most women don’t experience until their forties.

My life, my future, had changed irrevocably in an instant.

The symptoms first began two years earlier with hot flashes and my periods suddenly stopping. Now, as a 13-year-old, at first I was somewhat happy that my period magically didn’t come one month, and then the next and so on because they were excruciating. I would be in agony with awful abdominal pain every month. 

But after a few months, I began to get concerned as I just didn’t feel well. I confided in Mum and we went to see a doctor who, without running a single test, diagnosed me with anorexia and told us that my periods had stopped due to my lack of nutrition.

At this point I had no reason to doubt my doctor’s word. They knew best, right? But in the months and years that followed, I began to suffer with more and more symptoms.

First came the horrendous hot flushes. I’d feel this sudden rush of heat that would gradually start from my head to my toes. It made me feel like I was wrapped up in cling film, unable to breathe, think or simply act normal. My face would go bright red and I would drip beads of sweat. 

This of course led to strange looks in the school corridors and I was soon fed up with being called a ‘tomato’ while walking between classes. 

Before all this, I’d rarely worn makeup. But I became so aware of everyone around me and scared of them seeing my face burn up, that I wore foundation to school most days.

Soon, having between 30-40 hot flushes a day was normal for me. Then came the insomnia, brain fog and the anxiety about every aspect of my life – not an ideal combination when GCSE exams were on the horizon. 

I also experienced other unfamiliar emotions: I was angry at things that would never have bothered me before, like the sound of my dad chewing too loudly. I felt as though I was going crazy. 

Plus, despite retaining a healthy weight and not over exercising, I never regained my periods either.

By this point I knew something was wrong. Yet no one else seemed to connect the dots or take me seriously. Again and again I was pushed away by the doctors until out of pure luck, I was finally given one that listened.

From the first GP appointment she anticipated I was going through menopause. This was the first time someone had ever uttered that word to me and I must admit I was confused.

I’d seen my mum, nan and aunties go through the menopause, and of course, none of my friends had so I rightly believed it was something ‘older women’ go through, not children. Yet here I was.

Life became mentally and physically chaotic for a while as I went through blood tests – to examine my follicle-stimulating hormones (FSH), luteinizing hormones (LH) and estrogen levels – and a pelvic ultrasound and tests to see if there was any activity in my ovaries.

Even with all this happening I was still full of innocence and naivety – It was this big, scary thing that I didn’t know anything about, and I never thought I would be menopausal.

Sadly though, I was.

According to the Daisy Network – the UK’s biggest menopause charity – POI affects 15% of women globally. Like me though, 90% of those women don’t have any reason behind their diagnosis.

Lots of questions remained about how this would affect my future, but as the doctor spoke about the implications and concerns about my bones, heart and brain, I simply sat there in silence.

Part of me suddenly felt the burden of menopause – it was like a weight I couldn’t get off my shoulders – and yet another felt relieved I wasn’t going crazy. 

In the year that followed, while I was frantically studying to get into sixth form, I was forced to undergo many stringent tests to see whether there were any eggs left. Devastatingly, there were none and the prospect of having my own biological child was immediately snatched away.

Menopause can be a daunting reality at the best of times, but as 16-year-old, it was even more challenging to comprehend.

It means that I’ve been forced to plan a future with children years before my peers due to major decisions like adoption, donor egg conception and IVF and also to be more up front with partners hoping they will understand.

Now, aged 21, I’m starting to digest my diagnosis, face my fertility options with my partner and find the right hormone replacement therapy. But with hindsight, I wish more had been done to help me before it was too late.

If I’d known about things like Newfoundland’s home test menopause kit which tests for elevated FSH levels during my diagnosis, maybe it could have indicated my condition a lot sooner allowing me the opportunity to harvest and freeze my own eggs.

Instead, all I was handed was a leaflet about menopause and sent away.

I’m thankful that there is now a wealth of information – if anything we are almost oversaturated – but the main thing women need to know is you have to advocate for yourself.

Menopause, and to some extent periods, are still taboo topics, but neither of these are things to be ashamed of. 

I was isolated from my peers because I wanted to hide my condition. It didn’t seem fair that while they were going through puberty, I was going through menopause. But had I spoken up sooner, had I known the signs, maybe things could be slightly different.

As girls and women we need to start being taught about the importance of our menstrual cycles and the changes that can occur in our bodies. We need to be open to sharing our stories, only then will we realise we are not alone.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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