This blog was originally published on Fiftyisthenew.com
You don’t know how happy you are that I didn’t post the blog I originally wrote titled “I Hate F#*@!-ing Menopause.” I remembered just in time that I’m supposed to embrace this era of transformation, of aging with grace, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah. To be 100 percent honest, I don’t love growing old but I’ve made my peace with it. I’m even doing it au naturel—never tried Botox, stopped dyeing my hair, chucked my distaste for exercise. But, menopause? Yes, that’s me in the corner over there, waving the large white flag.
My original blog was full of anger and super dirty swear words. Aren’t you glad I reconsidered? Although, to tell you the truth, I had a great time ripping Madam Menopause to shreds. I thought I was really funny, but people who love me said to keep it to myself or forever suffer pangs of regret since the Internet is the elephant that never forgets. Or, they made careful suggestions about how to tweak it. So I shelved the report on my wide-eyed midnights spent wondering whom to yell at; and of my epiphanous threat to Mr. Flash: the intention to create a brand new antiperspirant for the ENTIRE body. HA! HA! HA! No more sweating EVER AGAIN!
I spared you the excruciating blow-by-blow of how, over the last two and a half months, my credit card balance grew a desperate $2,000 as I attempted to reach hormone balance the natural way. Of how my GP explained that the reason behind my persistent chest cold and cough lay at the feet of Mr. Stress, thanks to the nighttime, daytime, all-the-time, evil ministrations of the ever-diligent Mr. Flash. (I wonder if Stress is the same culprit behind the brand new head cold I woke up with just two days after getting rid of the last one?) I resisted the urge to bore you with the details of my distressing and infinite visits to Ms. Nutritionist, Mr. Acupuncture, Miss Blood Test and Master Genetics Test while throwing back the Multiple Mrs. Supplements at breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime. And I held back the anxious return of my depressed and sleep-deprived ass right back into the smirking arms of Ms. Bio-identical Hormone Replacement Therapy, cancer risks be damned.
I didn’t tell you about how one morning, after getting out of bed in my usual good mood, my husband lovingly suggested that he could take that wooden mallet he keeps by the side of the bed and give me a good whack on the head just to help me out on the sleeplessness front. (I have to say he made me laugh, and that was no small feat.)
I saved you from my bitch, bitch, bitching about Ms. Menopause Party Planner’s spurious bits of advice: discard all tops that can’t be easily and discreetly ripped off the burning-hot then cold and clammy body; and check this one out: no more than one alcoholic beverage per week! Talk about hitting below the belt.
You’ll be happy to learn that, in just one lucky week, I expect to stop barking at the moon and warning people that the only way they’ll get my bottle of vodka is to pry it from my cold dead hand. That’s how long it will take for Ms. Bio-identical to kick in. In the meantime, I take comfort in my mature and selfless decision to post this amazingly positive blog instead of the vile one I intended to submit!