No Regrets

I always thought I was more or less normal.  That is, until I turned 38.  By normal I mean I never stalked a celebrity, never plucked my eyelashes out and never set a cat on fire.  However when I turned 38 I developed an overwhelming desire to tell everyone that they were doing it wrong.  I told my husband he was doing IT wrong, if you know what I mean.  I told my children they were doing everything wrong.  And it didn’t stop there. I was compelled to tell my teachers, my children’s teachers, my friends, my minister, cashiers, waiters, store clerks, eh, I think you begin to see my point. 

About the same time I also developed a crazy need to cry over various things.  I was equally indiscriminate over what I cried about.  I could be reduced to tears over a broken piece of china or a broken nail; a Hallmark commercial or the evening news, an old love letter or an expired coupon.  Anger, sadness, and joy could all be experienced in the span of five minutes . Hence, swinging.  I was swinging and my family was swinging with me on this emotional carnival ride.   I thought a trip to the doctor might be in order so I scheduled an appointment that happened to coinside with my annual female check up.  When my Doogie Howser look -a- like asked me if I had been having any problems, I mentioned I had been having a few mood swings.  (I could feel the universe collectively roll it’s eyes.)  “Let’s run some tests just to make sure” he said in his oh so sure of himself voice. 

24 hours later, he called.  “Guess what?, Youre’ in perimenopause!” he announced as if he has discovered the arctic circle.  “That can’t be, I said, “I’m too young”.  “Well tests don’t lie and your Fsh is below the level “We” consider normal. You’ll have to start on hormones right away” he said.  Apparently the girls  that had been working so efficiently all these years pumping out estrogen and eggs were well… frankly dog gone tired.  Just like an oil well spitting and sputtering it’s last reserves my ovaries were doing the same.  So, I began the hormones.

Within two weeks, I felt like I was pregnant.  I was nauseous, bloated,  and my nipples hurt and that’s just the good part.  I called the nurse and she encouraged me to “hang with it” because it will get better.  I hung with it for another two weeks and then threw the pills away.  Swinging up, Swinging down.   I went back to the doc.  He adjusted my hormones again and again.  “Sometimes it just takes awhile to find the right mix for each woman”he said.  I shoulda gotten a discount or a special parking slot or at least a coffee mug from one or more of the drug companies.  While my family grew used to my various moods and my husband took to wearing an extra sweater because of the air conditioner running non stop, we continued to tinker with the hormones.

Years went by and the famous study came out that it was DANGEROUS for women to take hormones and may cause heart attacks or strokes so millions of women went off hormones. I had switched to bio-identical hormones hoping to be safer, but still felt the hammer of cancer and eminent death hanging over my head.   Therefore, I too went off hormones cold turkey.  My body reacted like a junkie that had been cut off from her supply.  I instantly began having hot flashes and became the queen of nit picking again.  I hated that the news caster on Channel 24 had gotten hair extensions over night.  Who did she think she was fooling any way? I couldn’t sleep, It was hot all the time, and oh by the way, you’re doing it wrong!

Hmmm….I made another trip to see my nurse practitioner and revisited my decision about going off hormones.  Turns out the famous “Study” was done on women 70 and older that were predisposed to heart disease and stroke. Hellooooooo! That’s like saying hey, if you’re blind, you probably shouldn’t juggle knives!  I mean come on!  A lot of women are out there suffering when they don’t need to be because of a faulty study.  Who does these studies?

 Men. Why do I mention that?  Because when I went back to my Nurse PA., I told her that I was having some “trouble” making love.  Not that unusual without the hormones. During the exam, she said, “Okay, I’m now past the vestibule and into the vault. ” What?  Since when did the female anatomy become terms for the church and bank?  She said, “well, that’s what we’re taught in med school”. 

All I know is I am swinging up again, all most everyone is doing it right and I giggle each time I need to go to  the bank or enter the room outside our church.