The Single Mums' Secrets - Janet Hoggarth Page 0,9
of cold water, that in the end it just felt like the right move was to permanently separate.
‘How old is he?’ Ali asked.
‘Forty, two years younger than me.’
‘Is he with anyone else?’
‘Not that I know. I want him to be happy, but I think it might sting when he does meet someone.’
‘Of course it will.’ Ali sipped her wine and inspected me. ‘You know my friend Ursula has polycystic ovaries. She’s on the pill to control all the other weird symptoms she gets. She grew a moustache when we were at university. She used to Jolen it until it got too bushy. That was when she went to the docs and they discovered what it was. When did you know you had it?’
‘When I was eighteen. My periods never really got going properly and I had acne all across my back. Mum took me to see a gynaecologist and they put me on the pill after diagnosing PCOS. It helped, but my periods still weren’t super regular. It got rid of the acne though and helped with low mood. It wasn’t till I was in my twenties that they discovered the weaker ovary was so unpredictable it was almost useless and the good one had been cut off with a blocked fallopian tube that they couldn’t fix.’
‘And you’re sure you’ll never change your mind and try IVF?’
‘Certain. If I hadn’t decided to with Tom, the likelihood of me making that decision with anyone else is beyond doubtful. Besides, I’m too old now. I’ve started with an early menopause like my mum – she got hers over and done with by forty-three.’
‘So your periods have stopped?’
I loved how any conversation among most women could inevitably swing to the universal discussion of periods. Especially women in their forties as we faced the perimenopause and the ersatz nirvana that was the end of the monthly bleed.
‘Not entirely. Almost though. I haven’t had one for ages. Everything has been slowly sliding towards becoming even more irregular than normal. My periods could be every six weeks sometimes a bit longer because of PCOS. But now I’m getting night sweats, palpitations, insomnia, a few generic warning signs the menopause is on its way, though with PCOS, menopause is usually a bit later, so who knows?! I keep meaning to get my bloods done for hormone levels, but they can be misleading. I’m just about coping so far. Though if things speed up, I might just slap on HRT patches.’
‘Fucking hell, I have no idea what to expect. Close my eyes and go la la la if my fanny dries up. It’s how I cope with most things in life!’
I laughed and wondered if men discussed their petulant prostates and erectile dysfunction over a pint in the pub. My strong hunch was no.
By the time I’d left Ali’s I had somehow managed to imbibe almost a bottle of wine. I had tomorrow off to see Louise, which was a good thing because I was averse to dealing with patients when fuzzy round the edges. It usually resulted in me staring into the distance while they regaled me with lengthy tales of suspected slipped discs or arthritic knees. Over the years, most of us had worked out when you could subtly drift off to mentally write the shopping list, or think about what you were making for dinner later.
‘Hello, Christa. How are you? Not seen you for a while.’
Why now, God, when I’m a bit wobbly?
‘I’m fine, Carl. How are you?’ I jammed my key in the front door.
‘I’m good thanks. You been at Ali’s?’ He lifted up the bin lid and rammed the bag inside, his eyes unwavering from my direction.
‘Yes, she very kindly cooked me dinner.’
He nodded. I was itching to run inside.
‘Are you coming to the BBQ tomorrow?’
‘No, I’m at my sister’s helping out after the funeral. I’m absolutely wiped, so I’m just going to go. Sorry.’ Not sorry.
‘Sure. Didn’t mean to keep you. Get some sleep. I hope your sister is OK.’
I nodded. Of course she wasn’t OK. Carl was qualified to offer these prosaicisms. He knew the quotidian code really meant I hope your sister isn’t losing her shit and drinking every hour of the day to block out the pain while the world has the audacity to continue spinning on its axis.
‘Thanks, Carl. See you later.’ I wondered how long it would take before I stopped feeling like an awkward teenager every time I saw him?