I’ve got the menopause.
It is perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. And perhaps we aren’t supposed to talk about it on a platform like this or anywhere but the Red Tent, but I figure I don’t have kids so I can’t mommyblog.
I can however, menoblog.
I’ve got the menopause.
I assure you, it’s the truth.
I had bloodwork done in January after some very obvious signs that I had, in fact, contracted the menopause. It was pretty clear that something was amiss. Mostly estrogen.
The hot flashes. Sweet mother of pearl, can we talk about how much those suck? So I finally waved the white flag and went to my primary care doc and we decided to try some hormone patches.
The first week I was on those was Cousinpalooza.
I was a freakin wreck. So emotional. And turns out, it can interfere with certain alcoholic beverages. WHICH I CALL BULLSHIT ON BECAUSE CAN YOU NOT SEE THE SWEAT DROPS DROPPING FROM MY DAMN LIP???
I got really close to inappropriate levels of drunk and disorderly that week. Thank God we are family. They still love me. The newbies maybe cautious of ever hanging again, but I’ll win them over soon enough.
I wore the patches for one month solid and while the hot flashes were lessened, I felt depressed. I felt like I was going to kick start back onto the train of monthly eating and emo..OH WAIT I DID.
I know that my experience last week was one filled with emotion. But my eyes are STILL feeling like they’re coated in sandpaper from all the tears. I’m better than Sally Field at crying on command. (ok let’s be real, I was good at that prior to contracting the menopause) I just want to throw my arms up and scream.
IS THIS AS GOOD AS IT GETS???
I am not doing all of the mourning of my womanhood, I am a little freaked out that I’m 45 and this is where I am. Honestly, I’m freaked out that I’m 45. That is still weird to me but whatever. Here’s the thing:
I want to be healthy.
I want to feel normal…you know what I mean? I demand more choices than to be strapped into the PMS roller coaster, eating easy mac as if my father’s love were at the bottom of the container OR sweating like a woman praising the Lord at a Georgia tent revival. In August.
so. much. sweat. ya’ll. It is so cold in our house at night that my poor husband is wearing layers to bed.
I pulled my patch off last night and as of today, the day that I am supposed to reapply, I have not re-filled my prescription. I feel like it should’ve treated me better than it did, so I’m walking away until I can figure out what I’m going to do to get through this chapter.
So maybe you know some things? Maybe this is what menoblogging will do for me?
I’m kind of ok being one step closer to Grace & Frankie and ten steps farther away from Carrie Bradshaw & Co.
But fucking hell the sweat. I’m so G.D. stinky I can’t hug anyone without an apology.
Anyways, that’s what’s going on in the Land of Ridiculous. Feel free to throw me some advice. I’m open to all suggestions.
From the super medicated to the goonie goo goo. I’m all in. Sweaty. But in.