WARNING: This post contains candid conversation about lady bits and their (failing) functions. I will definitely use the word menopause. And may will mention "menstrual periods." But I will also do my best to make you laugh while wincing.
So I have not yet gotten around to telling you about my cataracts (yes, I said cataracts), but this newest middle age woe cannot wait on the post list (because we know how well that's been going lately) (and by that I mean not well at all).
For several years, per my doctor's orders, I managed dysmenorrhea (that's Biology teacher/teen counselor speak for "really awful periods") with birth control pills. Also per her prescription, I skipped placebo weeks and went back to back with pill packs so that I only had to have 4 not-so-bad periods a year. It was nothing short of a wonder drug.
But a little over a year ago, I struggled with a decision to stop taking the pill. I was closer to 50 than 40 and wondered if maybe I could go au naturel. I knew my mom went through menopause early; maybe I would, too. Sweating episodes (see Hot Mess Redefined) certainly suggested that other hormonal sh*t was already underway.
So I stopped taking the pill. As expected I had a period right after. But barely.
Months went by. No sign of Hideous Awful Periods (HAPs).
More months went by. No HAPs. Not even any normal ones.
Could it be?
Should I talk about it? But I'm not even 50!
So I decided to keep it to myself...mostly. (Meaning I told Jill and Deanna, Tamara and Amy, and Mandy.)
Then last weekend, I got to thinking it had been a whole year, which according to most sources makes it official. So I looked it up in my journal. Yep! Exactly a year! Done. Finito! Menopause! Bu-bye, HAPs!
When I met Mandy out for lunch later that afternoon we toasted to the end of menses (Bio teacher word for "periods".) Woo hoo! Right?!
Yeah, we'll, this isn't a happy ending.
Because the very next day my uterus decided to gasp for air and come to life again.
AAAAAUGHHH! What is that?! And why is it on my panty liner????
Please let this be a joke, Mother Nature, one last hoorah. And I promise never to toast to the demise of my endometrium again.