This is what would happen if men went through the menopause

If a 43-year-old perimenopausal man felt soreness, dryness and his libido dropped, he’d be able to walk into a chemist and pick up his HRT gel – along with his Viagra – and get back to living his life within minutes, writes Kate Tiernan

Davina McCall has been accused of ‘sensationalising’ the experience of menopause (This Morning/ITV)

How can it be that in 2024 we are looking to blame women for informing others about – and removing the shame from – the difficult and life-changing symptoms of menopause? But that’s exactly what we’re doing: for experts have now claimed that menopause is not a disease and is being “over-medicalised”.

”Most women navigate menopause without the need for medical treatments,” the experts said (I’d love to know how many of them were women). To which I would ask: well, how many women are actually offered treatment in the first place?

In the Lancet paper, which is the first in a series on the menopause, they also argued there is a lack of data on whether health problems are caused by menopause or simply by ageing. And to add insult to injury, the same panel of experts has blamed celebrities like Davina McCall for “sensationalising” the experience of menopause by sharing “horror stories” about the symptoms – and scaring women unnecessarily.

Far from scaring me, it was thanks to Davina that I finally began to understand what I was going through.

I’m 43 and I’m perimenopausal. I have a pink app to track my period, which about eight years ago replaced my dog-eared blood-red notebook. My relationship with my womb is a deep and connected one. We have not always been in harmony with each other, but we’ve been through a lot: pregnancies that were wanted and lost, pregnancies I chose not to continue with and three births (enabled by two major surgeries).

I didn’t expect to feel symptoms of menopause until I was 50. I first went to my GP at 41 with what I felt were changes to my menstrual cycle – sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, heavier but still regular. I had intense PMS that seemed to be lasting longer and longer. I was told it might be lifestyle and stress. I went away and started to research. Three months later, I’d read up on perimenopause I and felt informed. I was ready to go back.

I told them what was going on and said what I felt was deeply shameful at the time – that my vulva itches, all the time, and it’s really dry. Fact: no woman wants to say that out loud, but I did because I knew I didn’t have thrush and I wanted help. This GP, a kind and softly-spoken man older than me, said: “It’s probably perimenopause and it could go on for many years, but don’t worry, it happens to every woman.”

I was relieved, even grateful. But then I asked what he could do to help me.

“Nothing,” he replied, “you’re too young.” I was 42.

Over the next year, I fully committed to the “too young for hormones and it happens to every woman – let’s embrace it” mentality.

It was a challenge, but I was up for it. I focused on eating well, carried on exercising but added more weights, and drank a lot of dusty powders claiming to help “balance hormones”. I reduced my caffeine to one small cup of coffee – not too soon after waking, but not too late that it might affect my sleep. I slapped on vaginal moisturiser morning, noon and night and I consumed vitamin pills like I was an early Nineties raver.

But after a year, I felt even worse. I was more itchy, more knackered, my libido only present mid-cycle (at best). I was forgetting things and anxious about stuff that had never bothered me before. Also, I was arguing like it was an Olympic sport with my partner in the week leading up to my period – and he was feeling it too.

It was clear that the “natural acceptance” mindset wasn’t working for me, so I returned to my GP.

Blood tests showed I was anaemic. More tests showed I was otherwise healthy and the likely cause was heavy periods. So now I had strong elemental iron to add my pill-popping basket.

I spoke to another GP, a woman younger than me. My opening line was “please, please help me”. I listed all the symptoms I was having – plus, by this point I was also experiencing regular tinnitus and even heart palpitations.

But even she didn’t offer me transdermal HRT. Why? You guessed it: “You’re too young”.

Instead, she offered the mini pill and antidepressants. When I rejected them, she said there was “nothing else” she could offer a woman my age. “I’ll send the prescription to the pharmacy. It’s up to you if you take them.” Those were her last words in the matter. I left, angry and sad.

Six months later, at a private menopause clinic, a GP finally listened and gave me HRT as a gel and tablet and vaginal oestrogen on prescription. I cried with relief all the way home.

I’ve just started my HRT and although I don’t know yet if it will be the answer I seek – HRT is not a one-size-fits-all – at least I’m on the journey.

Perimenopause feels like losing paper-thin layers of yourself. It silently creeps into you and is subtle at first, but gradually you start to forget what “normal” you feels like.

I’m grateful to be my age and every year I feel lucky to be ageing. I have no intention to try and stop, delay or mask it. I feel proud of the laughter lines I have and laugh at how I thought my boobs weren’t perky in my twenties – if only I had known! But my body is awesome and I know it.

I’ve never stopped my menstrual cycle with hormonal contraception, so I’m curious about – and even looking forward to – the chapter of my life without bleeding.

But I refuse to accept that hormonal imbalances – as my body transitions into another chapter – should simply be something I live with. They affect so much of my overall wellbeing, my mental health, my relationships and sexual desire.

Of course, all medications have some kind of risk – too many iron tablets (or even hibiscus tea) might cause problems. But for years, women have been ingesting, inserting or sticking hormones in or onto their bodies to avoid unwanted pregnancies. It is socially accepted – rightly so. So why not HRT? Why is this medication only available to those who fit what seems like an outdated age bracket or who can afford private clinics? (Two months of HRT and vaginal pessary is on average £134.)

I can’t help but think that if perimenopause happened to men, these barriers would vanish. There would be less social stigma about it and celebrities would be applauded for bringing it to our attention.

And if a 43-year-old perimenopausal man felt soreness, dryness and his libido dropped, he’d be able to walk into a chemist and pick up his HRT gel – along with his Viagra – and get back to living his life within minutes.