Sitting at my kitchen table this morning, counting out all the supplements I like to take on a daily basis, I was overcome with a wave of exhaustion.
It’s not that I’m sick. (I should hope not, the number of Âvitamins and minerals I take). It’s more that there are just so many things I need to take to stay well.
There’s vitamin D, because obviously I am not risking the sun – I slather myself from head to toe in factor 50, even in Âdarkest Âwinter. Iron, because I don’t want to eat too much red meat.
Omega 3, for heart, brain and eye health. Turmeric — I’ve heard it’s good for the old joints. Vitamin B, because… well, I’m not quite sure, but why the hell not at this stage, eh? Then there’s a probiotic, because these days it’s not about how good your face looks, but how varied your gut microbiome is.
My husband likes to joke that he can hear me coming because I rattle with all the pills I take. But I know I’m not alone in my Âobsessive quest for good health. ÂWhenever I meet up with friends, we’re forever discussing the ‘biohacks’ that have changed our lives (read: made us feel briefly in control of our health).
We compare the smart rings that measure the quality of our sleep, the blood sugar monitors that tell us what to eat, the Âcollagen that we put in our stress-Âbusting adaptogenic chai superÂlattes that have replaced our Âmorning coffee (the caffeine is really bad for anxiety, OK?)
It’s all a very long way from the spoonful of cod liver oil my grandmother would shove down my throat in the Eighties.
Was I surprised, then, to learn this week that 61 per cent of us are suffering from ‘wellbeing burnout’, whereby the quest to stay healthy is actually making people feel less well? No I wasn’t.
And I think I know why so many of us are driven half mad in the name of wellness. It’s because for centuries, women have been medically dismissed. While you’d hope attitudes towards female health might have improved since the days of Âlocking women up in ÂVictorian Âasylums for displaying physical symptoms unique to the fairer sex, sadly, that just isn’t the case.
There is not only a gender pay gap, but a gender pain gap. A 2018 study found that women were more likely than men to have their experiences dismissed as exaggerated or even Âimaginary, existing only in their heads.
61 per cent of us are suffering from ‘wellbeing burnout’, whereby the quest to stay healthy is actually making people feel less well
The study revealed that terms such as ‘Âsensitive’, ‘malingering’, and, yes, ‘Âhysterical’ (the word Â’hysteria’ actually derives from the Greek word for womb) were more Âfrequently attached to pain reports from women.
I was only ten when I first had a health concern Âdismissed. A stomach ache had rendered me unwell enough to ask my teacher for help, but it was only after Âseveral hours of being told I was ‘putting it on’, that my mother was called. ‘If you’re faking this to get a day off school…’ she said, as she drove me to the doctor.
A few hours later, I was being wheeled into surgery, my infected, ruptured appendix extracted in an operation that left me off school for two weeks, and in Âpaediatric intensive care for one.
To be fair to my mum, she Âapologises about it to this day, and it’s not as if anybody ever took her health seriously either – she’d still rather spend three weeks in bed, Âincapacitated by flu, than ‘trouble’ the doctor.
The next time it happened, I was 32, pregnant, and bleeding heavily. I went to A&E, where I spent six or seven hours waiting to be told I was probably having a miscarriage, but that they wouldn’t be able to tell me for sure for a few days, when there was availability to be scanned.
Their advice, delivered with an apologetic shrug? ‘Head home via Tesco Express, get some Âsanitary pads, and go to bed for the next few days.’ I did as I was told, waiting four days in misery. Thankfully I wasn’t having a miscarriage.Â
This distressing Âepisode of bleeding was Âdismissed as ‘just one of those things’, and I was too relieved to question what might have caused it, feeling I had already taken up enough of the Âmaternity unit’s resources.
It was almost ten years before I would, in the words of my mother, ‘trouble’ my GP again for a non-routine physical health issue. I’d been having Âpalpitations that left me feeling as if my heart was trying to escape my chest, but it was only when I collapsed that I felt emboldened to see a doctor.
He listened to my concerns, and my pulse, before handing me a pamphlet about healthy Âeating. He suggested I try losing weight – my ‘problems’ were probably caused by stress, or a lack of Âexercise. (No matter that I was running three or four times a week, and doing two sessions of strength training). I left feeling worse, convinced I was making a fuss and wasting precious NHS time in the process.
It was another two years before I’d get an explanation for the Âpalpitations, after fainting one morning while Âmaking breakfast. I was rushed to hospital and Âdiagnosed with an arrhythmia I now manage with medication.
I suppose I’m lucky, because this week, a group of heart experts in the UK demanded action from the NHS to improve cardiac care for women.
‘Many treatments are mainly Âinvestigated in men and then applied to women,’ wrote the 33 experts affiliated with the British Cardiovascular Society. ‘Unfortunately, women are underdiagnosed, undertreated and under-represented in all areas.’
I’ll keep taking all the Âsupplements. But I know what would really make me feel better: knowing that every time a woman speaks to her doctor, she’s Âactually being Âlistened to.