Oestrogen

It's taken me most of the week to recover from that drive back from Bury St Edmunds. It's just too stressful trying to drive half way across the country at my age. I got quite severely papped when I changed lanes just outside Cambridge and my nerves have been shattered since. And then, after all that, you come back to Stoke and end up having an argument with the receptionist at the surgery. I told her, "I've been coming here for 31 years," and she just shrugged and carried on with her filing. But they don't card, do they, if you've been deprived of oestrogen and keep burning up with hot flushes in the middle of the night. They just don't give a damn. And the doctors are no better. They just say, "Give up smoking and I'll give you the oestrogen." Give up smoking? They're supposed to be helping me, not telling me to give up smoking. They don't know what it's like. I can't give up just like that, not at my age. Not with the dog wanting letting out every five minutes. I'm up and down like a yoyo. You can't expect me to stop smoking in this chaos, can you?