I am a healthy, happy, normal (?) 49 year old woman and Ms. Menopause is kicking my butt. I have been trying very hard to ignore and/or deny this fact, but I'm pretty sure that in the me vs. "the change" smackdown I've been smacked down. Way down. Up to this point in my life I've done everything naturally. I've had normal periods, natural pregnancies, and drug free deliveries. (This is in no way a badge of honor. Believe me, if I had understood the wonder of the epidural there would have been no hesitation on my part to ask/beg for one.) So here I am, going through another normal and natural part of my life and I think it might just be time to ask for help.
exhibit A: I am a bitch. No, really, the use of the word here is pretty accurate. Crabby, irritable, short tempered, the works. Today I would LOVE to be shut up in a nice quiet room with an unlimited supply of chocolate/salt/coca-cola/books/yarn/movies/NO PHONE. Ok, I'm not like that every day, but it seems these days come more often than not. And let me tell you, this is side of me that I have not been previously acquainted. I'm nice. Ask anyone I know and the first word that comes up is "nice". I prefer the term "caring", but hey, whatever. I'm pretty sure that nice behavior is not categorized by thinking that every other living person on the planet is an idiot and I need to be as far away from them as possible.
exhibit b: I frequently want to cry. Again, not like me at all. I work at a job where every single day I tell knitters not to be discouraged. Take it a step at a time and try and enjoy the process. I am so freaking discouraged that I want to cry. (See what I mean?) AS an example, I am struggling to learn to warp my loom and none of the directions make any sense. (we will cover this in exhibit c) Amazing Husband reads them and we ponder and I vacillate between wanting to open the nearest window and throw the damn thing out, or just cry. Neither option is getting the job done. Last night we pay a quick visit to youngest child who lives in a fine little house in a not so fine part of town. She is alone and having trouble getting the lawn mower to work and the garage door to open and only one room has air conditioning. She is happy and capable and doing just fine and will figure all things out. I just wanted to cry. Mind you, my first place makes her house look like the Taj Mahal, but the signals from rational thought to how-sad-lets-cry, are all messed up. Not unlike myself.
exhibit c: My brain has turned to mush. Simple things seem to take forever. I forget things. I suppose this could be early onset Alzheimer's, but I'm putting my money on the big M.
exhibit d: HOT flash. Enough said.
I have enough rational thought left to pick up the phone and make an appointment at the Women's Health Center. The extremely nice woman on the phone chuckles a bit at my list of symptoms and cheerily tells me that all of this is PERFECTLY normal and I am now entering a new and wonderful stage of my life. I'm down with the "new", but wonderful? Maybe that part is a little farther up the road. I will discuss with doctor and decide the best path to take. That path had better involve some sort of relief or I'm gonna choke the woman and then cry about it.
My mother tells a story of when she was a girl living in Minneapolis. She had a good friend whose mother, clearly suffering through menopause, used to sit naked each night on the trash cans in the alley. We have no alley, and the plastic trash cans would never hold me ample backside, naked or otherwise. Maybe I'll be ok, after all.
