Well folks, my gyno is Johnny on the spot! He’s as fast as greased lightening. Fast and furious. No, I’m not talking about his bedside manner. You remember the story. They All Look The Same! I am referring to his “getting back to patients” capabilities.
Two days ago, in his office, I was explaining the sudden urges I’ve been having to strip down naked and sit in the freezer. The out of no where, why is my body on fire sensations. The copious amounts of glisten drops.
Yesterday, as I was leaving the theater after watching Book Club, highly recommended by the way, I checked my messages. Low and behold, there was one from Johnny on the spot regarding my lab work.
Indulge me while I preface the news I received.
“Oh Mrs. Peters, 44 is too young to be menopausal. There is only a 7% chance that someone your age could be in menopause.”
Recall the fact that I only have one dust puffing ovary left out of all the female stuff I am supposed to have. I’ve been thinking my little engine that barely could has been crapping out for a while now. 7% chance, ha!
I drove home after the movie, before I checked my messages. Good thing, I might have sat in the parking lot and cried. Still might have been there today!
As I clicked the link to my FHS Serum test, I truly had no idea what was coming. I didn’t even need to look at the number. Like I would’ve known what said number meant anyway. That is what Google is for, right? I wouldn’t be needing Google. There was a message from Greased Lightening. “You are INDEED menopausal.” Hello, seven percenters! Wait, what? INDEED my ‘lil dust puffer wasn’t doing her job anymore.
I sat in my living room and cried. I’m perplexed at the origins of my tears, however. Hormones I guess? I mean, I am menopausal right?
I called my mustached man child and broke the news. In true Stuart form he replied, “Booger, I knew there had to be a reason you were so bitchy.” To which I replied while snot bubbles were a-poppin’ and tears were streamin’ down my face, “you think I’m bitchy?” “No, Booger” he muttered in a breathy response.
These seasons of life have been hitting me wave after wave for a while now. My daughters marriage, the death of a dear friend, forced retirement, wham bam thank ya mam style. Now menopause.
Other than the searing of my skin sensations and the jump in the freezer naked urges, I haven’t felt any different. Until yesterday.
Why? Why did this news hit me like a ton of bricks? Why did my heart crack a little upon reading the words, INDEED menopausal? As I sit here this morning, I can’t answer that question. I have a lot of ideas but no definitive answer.
Is the origin of my heart crack, a fear of getting older? Perhaps, it’s because I know I am past my childbearing years. No, no I feel certain those feelings aren’t the culprit. And what could my ‘lil dust puffer do for me as far as childbearing anyway? Maybe the wrecker of my heart is the fear of the unknown.
As young women we are told tales of hormonal horrors by our best of intentions mentors. Tales of hormonal rages. As they spun their yarns, we watched timidly as they dabbed glisten drops from their foreheads. We gazed upon their rotating fans of relief strategically placed here and there. We turned our heads as they cried at a TV commercial or a sentiment of yesteryear shared. What about those ever talked about mustaches that appear out of nowhere? How about the reports of weight gain despite every effort known to man?
Stuart even told me a story about a firefighters wife who went coocoo during menopause. She started gambling and lost all of the savings she and her husband worked for, for many years.
Wait a minute! I shout with a resounding YES! That has to be it! The heart crack origin is the fear of the unknown. Crying at commercials, songs, memories, that’s nothing new for me. And I’ve already got my fans on high speed. Can’t you hear it humming?
But weight gain, good lord! I’ve battled this demon all of my life always ending up on the loosing end. I’ve been working so hard for the past 25 days! Whole30 is melting away a roll here and a roll there. And I don’t want a mustache!! I can just see it now. Stuart giving me mustache grooming tips while standing shoulder to shoulder looking in the bathroom mirror. Well, more like shoulder to elbow.
Fear of the unknown. All I have are tales from my younger years.
Help! Women, I desperately want to hear your menopause adventures. Husbands, I am dying to hear your spin on the dreaded “m” word. No holds barred, I can handle it. I’m serious. Calling sons and daughters of menopausal mommas, what advice do you have to offer? You are on the front lines of this hormonal blitzkrieg.
I’m usually the one with the voice. It’s your turn. I’m sitting under my fan anticipating your responses!