Put The Axe Down And Come Out Quietly

So I finally abandoned the hippy-dippy herbal supplement crap and went to see the doctor about my menopause symptoms. I alertly noticed that things had perhaps gotten a little overwhelming when Gary and I were having conversations like this:

G:  Are you okay?
A:  Oh lordy, I'm sorry I'm cranky, it's this damn menopause.

Then, fifteen minutes later:

A:  God, I'm so hot!
G:  Is it the menopause again?
A:  What do you mean, "the menopause again?"
G:  I just meant --
A:  Don't you go blaming everything on menopause! There's nothing wrong with me!
      Just because I say I'm a bit hot DOESN'T MEAN IT'S THE MENOPAUSE AIEEEEEEEEE

Doctor Geoff was really good. "How did you come to believe it to be menopause?" he started off. "Google," I said. Straightaway Doctor Geoff could tell he had a troublemaker on his hands. "Well, let's do some blood tests first so we can rule out other things, and we'll go through the symptoms as well."

We ticked off pretty much everything on the menopause list (aching joints, hot, cold, dizzy, moody, tired, slit-eyed with barely-controlled homicidal rage if Gary changes the TV channel, etc), and then Saroji over at pathology briskly drained me of several litres of blood. I passed the time by reading the computer printouts of the screening markers covered by each test. Great! Menopause has pretty much the same symptoms as dengue fever! Except that with dengue fever, you don't swivel your head like the Exorcist if Gary asks for an extra sandwich in his lunch.

"Well, it certainly sounds like menopause," said Doctor Geoff as he took me down in the path lab corridor with the emergency tranquilliser gun. "Here's a prescription for a mild course of HRT support for a couple of weeks, and a straight-jacket for Gary to bring you in with if it doesn't work." "Thanks Doctor Geoff!" I said as he gently peeled my hands from around his throat. I managed to get to the chemist without deliberately running anyone down, and retrieved my prescriptions from the hatch as Mena pushed them towards me with a stick from behind the menopause security screen.

So hopefully the HRT chemicals will help smooth things out and I can get back to making dinner without making sinister, steady "hack...hack...hack" noises with the cleaver while staring blankly at the space above Gary's head, and he'll be able to sleep next to me without the axe clenched in his hands.