It’s just a stage of life that every woman goes through: menopause. In my younger days, I had thought how wonderful menopause would be: no periods, no cramps, no PMS – a life of no fuss and no mess. Doesn’t it sound great? Well, it seems as if I forgot to read the “small print” in the instruction manual that came along with this body.
Oh, wait. There isn’t an instruction manual, is there?
I’m thirty-six years old and am now experiencing menopause for the second time in my life. The first time I went through menopause, it was a chemically forced menopause at the age of thirty-two. It lasted for nine long months. This time around, it’s permanent.
I have a disease called endometriosis. Endometriosis is when the lining of the uterus grows in places outside the uterus. If you remember your sixth-grade sex ed class, you’ll know that when a woman has her period, the lining of the uterus sloughs off and exits the body. But when it exits the uterus (and not the body), it causes scar tissue, infertility and pain. The medical community has yet to find the causes – and has yet to find a cure that works for everyone. One of the most common treatments is some sort of hormonal therapy to keep the ovaries from ovulating. The only way to "fix it" is surgical.
I promise not to go much deeper into the topic of endometriosis here and now, but the August issue of All Things Girl will have detailed information about endometriosis as well as other reproductive diseases women suffer from. I do want to tell you about how I’m dealing with the end result of my treatments.
In October 2003, I had a complete hysterectomy, which means that all of my reproductive organs were removed (in a partial hysterectomy, an ovary or more is left behind). I guess the “why” isn’t that important at the moment, but the resulting treatment is: HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy).
Right after surgery, it was wonderfully easy. I had a little patch I changed out twice a week. It kept me from getting hot flashes, it kept my moods on an even keel, and made me more fun to live with than I had been in a long time. I noticed changes in April. My family noticed it before then, but were afraid to tell me.
I believe my family wishes they were on vacation without me – or maybe that I would go on vacation all by myself.
For some reason, my body simply stopped absorbing the estrogen from the patch, so we began experimenting with estrogen pills. I’m on my third dosage change right now, and don’t think it’s working yet. We started at .5 mg per day. Currently, it’s 3mg. I’m wishing we could just change the dosage to 10mg per day (or more) if it would mean relief. But the belief behind it is "least amount possible".
The kind folks at my doctor’s office have told me to be patient. I think my patience went out the door a very long time ago. I’m hot all the time. And damn it, I get stinky fast.
Yes, it’s summer here in Texas, but my house has central air and I keep it nice and low. I keep singing that Nelly song in my head: “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.” And I think my family has long tired of me asking “Is it hot in here? Or is it me?” I can tell you I’m tired of them always answering that it IS me. Couldn’t they just humor me occasionally and tell me that they’re hot, too? Or do would their sweaters give it away the fact that they’re lying? And how can they possible be comfortable in sweaters when I'm hot butt-naked?
I want to feel feminine – pretty, delicate, sweet… I can promise you that no one would describe me as sweet these days, since I bite their heads off with sharp words. And who can feel pretty when you’re sweating like a pig?
Oh, and about that delicate part? Don’t even go there. No one wants to mess with this hormonal-less girl whose lack of estrogen means all of the fat in her body has migrated to her waist. Oh, yeah. What waist?
Sigh. I’m sure it will be better soon. If not, you’ll find a naked Deb babbling to strangers ‘cause no one in my house is talking to me anymore. They’ve tired of hearing me complain and no longer wish to wear jackets nor using heavy blankets in July.
Frankly, I think they’re the ones who need to be patient ;)