That Call - The Curveball Consultation Review…

Right, buckle up, because this one took a turn I did not see coming.

After the review to review the review that hadn’t been reviewed (yes, that still tickles me), I finally had the actual call. The review of the HRT I hadn’t even started yet. The one that was booked with no explanation, no pre-warning, and a heap of head-scratching questions on my end.

Well. This one lasted 30 minutes. That’s NHS record-breaking stuff. Gold medal, easily.

The doctor, a he, came on the line and immediately asked me to walk through my history - PMDD, perimenopause, emotional patterns, hormonal chaos, trauma-informed experiences, you name it. I rolled it all out. I gave him the full Sarah Malone's Greatest Hits Tour.

Then came the curveball.

He asked if I’d be open to doing a quick neurodivergent screening. Just a few questions. Nothing scary.

Now, you know me - curiosity is my kink - so I said absolutely. (I already know we are a neuro-spicy house, but don't see the point in being diagnosed as I wouldn't go down medication - so really, what's the point...)

He began: “Are you good with numbers?”

“Have you worked in academic fields?”

“What does your daily routine look like?”

“How do you process emotion?”

“Can you describe your relationship with your cycle, stress, and sensory needs?”

Guess what, I passed that informal test with flying colours.

A+ in beautifully chaotic neuro-spicy behaviour.

After a bit of reflection, he said something that genuinely stopped me in my tracks:

“You’re incredibly self-aware. You know your cycle better than most specialised clinicians I’ve worked with. And based on what you’ve shared, you very much sit on the spectrum of ADHD and/or Autism.”

Now - this wasn’t a diagnosis. And I’m not out here collecting labels like Pokémon cards.

But something about that landed.

Not with shock, but with… understanding. Like a puzzle piece, I wasn’t actively searching for just clicked into place.

And then - the real twist.

He told me he wouldn’t prescribe HRT.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Not because he thought I didn’t need it.

But because… it was too complex.

He explained - honestly, compassionately, and clearly - that with PMDD, neurodivergence, and perimenopause all mingling together like hormonal flatmates on a bad night out, he didn’t feel confident managing my case solo.

He didn’t want to risk exacerbating my symptoms or sending me spiralling after everything I’ve done to manage it naturally.

Instead, he wanted to refer me to a specialist.

And that? I respected. Deeply.

But then came the catch.

Wait times: 3 to 6 months.

Unless I go private.

Which - hilariously - would mean paying to see the EXACT same specialist.

Yes. NHS or private - same doc, different cost. One is free with a 6-month wait, the other is £280 just for the consult. And then, who knows? There’s no fixed price list.

I have been advised to email them my story in advance to see if they even think I'm worth taking on.

I mean… faceplant.

So I did what any overwhelmed, under-caffeinated hormonal woman would do:

I cried.

Because for a moment, it felt like the road had opened up. Like I was finally getting somewhere. I saw the motorway, straight ahead. Signs were clear. Sat nav said, “You’ve arrived.”

And then… DETOUR.

Right back onto some bumpy, single-track road with sheep in the way and no signal.

I sat with it all for a week. I had to. Because right after that call, I spiralled into the next PMDD flare - aka Werewolf Week - and nothing good ever comes from big decisions during that phase.

Now here I am.

Contemplating the private route.

Preparing to write that email - the one that will lay bare my hormonal history, my hopes, my hesitations.

Hoping it lands in the right inbox.

Hoping someone reads it with care.

Hoping I don’t have to keep waiting forever to feel… balanced.

But if you’ve made it this far in the blog - here’s the real truth:

I’m tired, aye.

I’m frustrated, aye.

But I’m also proud.

Because the old me would’ve blamed herself. Would’ve shut down. Would’ve thought, “Maybe I don’t deserve this support.”

But not anymore.

This road might be windy.

It might be slow.

But I will get there.

And I’ll document every bloody turn so you know you’re not alone when you’re on it too.

And if you made it this far, catch the video I did literally right after the call ended - the raw, unapologetic, chaotic me, attempting to make sense of everything I had just been part of on that call...