So I like to be up front about things and take the stigma and shame out of dealing with them, and thus my topic is menopause.
I have no idea if I am going through it or not because doctors are utterly fucking useless at discussing it, and the only actual definition I find for it is…not having your period for a year. Then you’ve had, as my mother said euphemistically, your “change of life.” There are hot flashes, and they suck.
I don’t have hot flashes. Yet. We’ll see.
I personally wouldn’t know know because my menses have not paused in FORTY GODDAMN YEARS. Yes, you heard that right, friends, I got my period when I was 11. ELEVEN.
I am now staring down the barrel of 50 YEARS OLD AND I STILL HAVE MY GOD-DAMN PERIOD.
I HAVE TECHNICALLY BEEN FERTILE FOR FORTY YEARS NO WONDER THE ROMANS COULD NEVER GET RID OF THE GERMANS IF THIS IS WAY GERMAN WOMEN ARE SET UP FFS. (This is actually Andy’s joke, but I am stealing it because if that is all you have to say vis-a-vis your wife bleeding out until she is 400 years old, you deserve to have your clever historical bon mots taken from you.)
If, after 40 years, I haven’t used my uterus yet, you’d think that somebody, somewhere would get a clue that I don’t need to do this all the time anymore.
Yep, yessirrrreee been doing this for 40 years. Forty years. Kinda getting old by now. And all. Forty years.
Oh yeah, it’s changed and everything. For the worse. It now knocks me all the way out. All the way out. For a week ahead of time, the combination of my chronic illness and my cycle make me so tired I can barely walk from my office to the bathroom. That’s like 15 yards. I had to take THREE breaks walking from the Nazi building (VKC*) to the Tutor Center Friday. THREE. Come on.
During the first day of, I can’t concentrate. On anything. I have partial thoughts about everything. It’s ironic because when I have a period, there are no periods because I can’t think in complete sentences. See what I did there? A little punctuation and grammar humor for you. Full service blog, this one.
Here’s me on Day. 1: “I need to go get….the thing out of the thing…where…Halloween decorations and a tire iron.” And: ” I am going to write this sentence about…the thing…where is the…thing.”
I’m not used to feeling stupid.
This lasts for three days. I am stupid for three solid days. Smartest Boy Urbanists, plan your attacks for those days. Apparently you will have three days of opportunity until the end of time. Run with it.
We won’t talk about how my period has changed from a normal thing into Moses turning the Nile into a river of blood because as every doctor will tell you, this is because of my weight because everything that has ever happened to me in my entire life is about my weight because doctors like everybody else are lazy fucks and when presented with a fat woman there are two things every doctor knows: 1) she’s a complete failure at everything and lives in utter disgust with herself every moment of every day because how could she not? and 2) everything is the fault of her weight and since her weight is her fault, Everything is Her Fault and comes from her weight. Tell her to lose weight and fill the paperwork to charge the insurance company for your valuable time, check.
I apparently am never ever going to go through menopause because I’m not skipping periods. Did I mention that? I HAVEN’T SKIPPED A SINGLLE PERIOD IN FORTY YEARS. NOT A SINGLE ONE.
You know how some women are all “oh, golly wolly, if I get stressed out I will skip my period.”
If I get stressed out, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t NOT been stressed out since I was 4 and my parents decided they couldn’t stand me, I bleed more.
Ya wanna know the other great thing that’ll come from me writing this no-holds-barred, up-front, frank, open, stigma-fighting post? I’ll have one stupid Bro show up to tell me he hopes I’m using a Diva cup or some other thing because Just Think of the Environmental Waste from my periods and then I’ll have about 10 incel types show up and claim this is why women should remain in the home because yada yada yada yada like somehow caregiving and homemaking aren’t 24/7 work assignments especially with useless yoinks like incels around.
*Dear USC: you best change this name or I am just going to call it a Nazi building.
Words written: I have high hopes for another day.
Book I’m Reading: Leaving Atlanta by Tayari Jones
Listening to: Classical curves
Beverage: Coffee, black