Honestly, though, Happy International Women’s Day. Nothing says "celebrating womanhood" quite like waking up with a stomach-ache you absolutely did not order. At this point, my body feels like it’s running its own scientific experiment, and I’m just the unpaid assistant trying to keep up. Last week I decided to get serious about figuring out what foods are disagreeing with me, so I did what any organised, slightly fed-up woman would do… I created a spreadsheet. Yes, a proper spreadsheet with columns, notes, reactions, suspects and evidence. At this point, I’m basically the Sherlock Holmes of digestive issues. The good news is that eliminating oats completely cleared up my eczema, which, after years of itching, felt like winning the lottery. The bad news is my stomach clearly didn’t get the memo that we were making progress.

I had been very disciplined all week. No eggs, no random experiments, just sensible eating. Then Saturday arrived, and I treated myself to an egg mayo sandwich on brown bread. Nothing dramatic, just a normal, innocent-looking sandwich. Reader… it was a mistake. Within hours, my stomach was in immense pain, and the regret was immediate. The kind of regret where you lie there thinking why did I do that to myself. Apparently, my body has now decided egg mayo is public enemy number one (don't believe the hype)!! The frustrating part is that I am actually trying to eat healthy. I’m analysing ingredients, tracking reactions and trying to work out what my body will tolerate, and yet sometimes my stomach just says “no thank you.”

Then Sunday evening arrived, and I had something much more important than spreadsheets… a night out with my girlfriends. And honestly, it was gorgeous. We went to Olivios in Hampstead, and after spending the entire week figuring out what my stomach would tolerate, I stuck to the safe options: hummus and pitta bread, chicken shish, rice and a glass of rosé with a splash of Sprite. Simple, sensible and delicious. I did have a stomach-ache when I got home, but I knew it wasn’t the meal; my poor stomach was still recovering from the egg mayo sandwich incident the day before. Somewhere in between all of this, I also finished watching Shrill, which I absolutely loved. There were several moments when I sat there thinking, "This is literally my life." The awkward situations, the honesty, the humour in the chaos… it felt a little bit too relatable.

All of this while the admin in my life is currently coming out of my ears. Food spreadsheets, doctor emails, medical appointments and business admin. Honestly, I feel like I spend half my life contacting doctors. If it’s not for me, it’s for my daughter. One letter leads to another referral, another phone call, another appointment. Some days it genuinely feels like managing health has become a full-time job. On the plus side I recently did the NHS home bowel cancer test kit which I have to say was very straightforward. You send it off, try not to overthink it while waiting for the results, and thankfully, mine came back clear within a few days, which was definitely a moment of relief.

And the medical admin doesn’t stop there. On Wednesday, I had been invited to attend an online meeting organised by the GP surgery about how to use the online Klink system. Apparently, I was one of 10,000 people invited. Ten thousand. Naturally, I imagined something resembling a virtual Glastonbury. I logged in expecting chaos. Turns out there were 61 people. Which is still quite a lot of people when the topic is how to contact your GP online. I sat there for a moment watching little Microsoft Teams squares pop up, someone adjusting their camera, someone asking if they were on mute and someone else trying to find the chat box. Then I had a moment of clarity. Did this meeting really need my input? Did the Klink system require my personal expertise? No. It absolutely did not. So I made what I consider to be a very sensible and mature decision… I left. Because honestly, I could not be bothered to listen to 61 people’s opinions about a GP booking system. Sometimes self-care is quietly exiting a Teams meeting.

And while all of this is going on I’m scrolling through social media being bombarded with adverts promising to cure menopause bloat. Apparently, it’s cortisol, or hormones, or gut imbalance, or inflammation, depending on which advert you believe that day. One advert says apple cider vinegar cures cravings, another promises to reset your hormones. Honestly, how many times do you have to see the same advert before you start thinking maybe they’re right? The problem is, I’ve tried some of this stuff before. I once bought apple cider vinegar tablets online, took one, and within minutes had a strange, shooting feeling in my head. That was enough for me, the rest went straight in the bin. Then there were charcoal tablets I bought during one of my “maybe this will fix my stomach” phases, which never even made it out of the cupboard, and then there was berberine, which turned out to be another complete disaster.

What I have noticed, though, is something interesting. While my stomach has been causing drama, my arms and legs are actually getting thinner by the day, which is slightly confusing because, according to the internet, menopause means everything expands overnight and never goes back again. And then there’s the weight-loss injection debate happening inside my own head. I keep seeing Vanessa Feltz advertising Voy and I have to say she looks absolutely amazing. It is very tempting when they advertise Mounjaro for £50 for the first month, but honestly, I’m scared. It feels like once it’s in your body, there’s no going back, and that’s the bit that worries me. On top of that, my intolerances are currently through the roof, and there have been so many news reports about people having serious side effects, even stories about people losing their eyesight. Whether those stories are rare or exaggerated, they are enough to make you pause. So for now, I will keep going the slow way. However long it takes I will get there in the end.

And in the middle of all this chaos, I’ve also been preparing Mother’s Day cookie dough for my biscuit boxes. Obviously, I had to taste the cookie dough for quality control purposes. I can confirm it was perfect. Somebody has to make these sacrifices. But sitting there with my friends on Sunday night, laughing, eating proper food and having a glass of wine reminded me of something important. Life cannot become just a spreadsheet of foods to avoid. You still have to live it. Honestly though… if I survive menopause adverts, avoid egg mayo sandwiches, keep up with NHS admin, resist miracle supplements and continue taste-testing cookie dough, I’ll call that progress.