If I could get my hands on that heifer Eve, I’d wring her neck. Because she couldn’t listen and just be happy in paradise, she doomed her sisters to lifelong misery. All through our life we have been cursed with headaches, fatigue, bloating, swelling feet, and messy monthlies. Oh, and yes, I’ll say it……extreme bitchyness! Eve did the crime.....we do the time.
Some of us are blessed with not having a great deal of trouble during “that time” of the month. But, even so, any behavior that might be construed as irrational by our male counterparts, is passed off as “her time of the month.”
Because of the havoc this little female problem causes, aggressive women are deemed pushy. Forceful women are considered bitches. And sentimental, emotional women are to be avoided at all cost. They might be too frail to handle life in general.
Of course, one advantage this brings to womanhood is that men tend to give us a wide berth for a couple of weeks a month. Like musk ox they sense it coming and start to get nervous. As soon as the heating pad and Midol appear, they have disappeared, occasionally braving the lioness’ den to ask “Sugar, do you need anything?” Of course, they really don’t want to be involved. If you want proof of this, just try sending them to the store for those feminine supplies. They are simply making sure that at the end of the apocalypse, they can salve their conscience with the fact that they offered to help. During this time, they maintain the attitude of stealth fighters, always making sure they are flying safely under the PMS radar.
As horrific as this is on the front end of life, the problems associated with aging make it seem like a piece of cake. Suddenly, you enter a new phase in life. What used to happen every month, now happens occasionally. So occasionally that you cannot plan it. Just when you think you are completely finished with all the mess, there is that little surprise. Nothing big, just annoying. And it goes on and on. Do you buy supplies? Do you wait and be surprised. Or do you let your granddaughter use your stash as diapers for her baby doll or plugs for the plastic paddling pool?
At the time in life when you should be level headed and even tempered, you are instead on an emotional roll-a-coaster. Deliriously giddy one moment and scraping the bottom of the despair barrel the next.
Eagerly you seek the sweet release of sleep. Oh no! Not so! You wake in the night feeling like someone has given you the “hot foot”. Your head feels like you have tried to do yourself in using a lit oven and you are dripping in sweat. You turn to your dear partner in life and say “Honey, aren’t you hot?” He grunts something that can only be construed as a negative response, grabs the covers you have released and falls back into that innocent sleep. You lie there in the dark, uncovered, willing yourself to cool down and cork back off to sleep. The next thing you know, you are shivering and grabbing at all the cover you can find, including that of the lump next to you. This particularly unpleasant event happens not once, not twice, but several times a night. Between this and the frequent trips to the bathroom that also is part of growing old, you start to wonder what the point of going to bed is. And of course, God forbid that you cough, laugh, or sneeze without adequate preparation!
The night sweats are something only you and your darling husband can share. However, the hot flashes are there for all to experience. Everyone else at work is comfortable while you are fanning yourself and seriously considering stripping off all your clothing; A possibility that 10 years ago wouldn’t have seemed so vile both to you and your co-workers. You are hot in the middle of winter, trying to explain why the air conditioner is running in January. And the summer becomes a never ending saga of clammy skin, red face and dripping hair. You have alienated your dogs by inserting yourself in their wading pool. Ice is your friend, fans a necessity and air conditioning a life support system that must not fail. During this time, the electric company is your dearest friend instead of your arch enemy.
Discouraged but hopeful, you seek the help of your friendly physician. After running a little blood test, you are told that your symptoms are indicative of Menopause. Ah, at last you understand. And now, there will be a pill, a shot, something to make your life worth living again.
Oh, you deluded woman! Now they have decided that hormones CAN cause cancer and are not really recommended. Well isn’t this just great. The generation who was enlightened enough to understand that women need not suffer during childbirth have decided that your golden years should be spent in the equivalent of hell on earth. There are many herbal remedies that you can try. I would suggest that you travel to the Holy Land and bathe in the Jordan river. Maybe that will do the trick because believe me, herbs don’t!
Sometimes during the night, my doctor’s face appears before me. Suddenly that kind, benevolent and smiling face turns into a terrifying maniacal laughing creature from a child’s storybook. As hard as I try to convince myself that he has my best interest at heart I cast a curse on him. The worst I can imagine.
“I HOPE YOUR WIFE GOES THROUGH EARLY MENOPAUSE AND RUINS YOUR LIFE.” Something tells me that this new breed of doctor will have an entirely different perspective when that day comes.
