My WHAT is sputtering?

 

Happy Friday all!

Today's blog deals with women's issues, especially menopause, iron and anemia, and doctor's appointments. I write blogs like this to comfort, educate, and amuse my fellow women.  If we talk about this stuff, it won't be as foreign.  If we laugh at it, it won't be as scary.

For those of you who are NOT adult women, be warned:  there is some icky female medical stuff ahead.  I don't want any of you stopping me at church or the library or someplace you might see me and say, "Well now I can't get that image out of my head!

This week has been all about the doctor's office.  Three trips to the same building in three days.  I definitely live a special kind of life.  #donthatemebecauseimawesome.

The first appointment was for my bi-annual "pop your feet in the stirrups and scooch" good time with my GYN.  Now that I'm done having babies and I'm past the half century mark in age, they really do not care about what's going on down there all that much. It's all about the upstairs girls now.  But, every so often they need to take a peak and make sure, especially now that I'm in that super fun perimenopause portion of my life, that nothing weird or alien is happening.  

As it turns out, I was well past the whole "bi-annual" peppy pap schedule.  Sure, they've been mining for all sorts of other nonsense in my womb without a view over the last five years, much of which was because my iron levels are so ridiculously low, they thought I might have a bloodsucking creature of some kind hiding in my baby space.  So my GYN, who is precisely half my age and one third my weight, sat down and, while conversing about other things as if my lady bits weren't hanging right there in front of her face, she poked and scraped and got her testing material. Then she said something that made me laugh too hard for a woman in that delicate position.

She said, "Now, when you see the test results before I do, and you will, if there's anything that seems abnormal, don't freak out."

Don't freak out.  She said that. To me. About medical test results.

Did I mention I'm currently rewatching "House?" 

Not my GYN. MY Gyn is scary by accident.

Well I mentioned it to her.  And she said, "Yeah, they see a lot of zebras on that show, don't they?"

Referring, of course, to the thing my husband says to me all the time, "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras."

Except, we live in a very zebra filled world over here at the Bradley place. So...

Anyway apparently some new law has decided that we the people need to see our test results BEFORE the doctors who tested us.  Like seeing our grade on a math quiz before the math teacher gives us the grade. It  makes no sense. Why would anyone want that?  I want a nice, neat letter, like I used to get:  Dear Sarah...everything's normal.  Thanks. See you in two years."

But no, now I sit here and check my online health profile and wait. And wait.  I haven't seen those test results.  And since I now know I'm getting them first, I have to wonder what's going on.  So, guess what?  I'm FREAKING OUT!

The second appointment was no biggie. Labs over at the cancer center. And before my readers freak out, let me explain. My anemia/iron problems are a blood issue. Apparently ALL blood doctors are cancer doctors.  Hence and ergo, when I go get my blood drawn to check my iron, it's all at the cancer center side of the clinic.  (Which, BTW, is WAY better run than the normal people's clinic downstairs in the same building. That's the circus show there all they do all day is decorate for holidays and yell people's private medical info across the room.)  I don't mind going for blood draws at the cancer center. The folks are nice, efficient, I rarely have to wait and the needle stick doesn't hurt at all.

Finally, the third appointment.  Seeing my blood doctor to go over my test results of the blood draw.  

Not my blood doctor, but I wish he could be!

My blood doctor sort of seems like what would happen if Howard from "Big Bang Theory" and Skippy's BFF's brother melded DNA.  He's like this super chirpy nerdy guy with really, really thick hair. I adore him because he takes the time to talk to me like a person. I suppose cancer doctors have to do that.  Sure, his scales weigh me heavier than any other on the planet and his blood pressure machine measures mine roughly ten points higher than any other place, but other than that, I really don't mind going to his office. Dr. "Blood" and I have spent the last two years searching for the source of my low iron/ low energy issues.  Those discussions have led us down some serious rabbit holes, but none so fun as the one yesterday.

I told him I'd been to my GYN and we again discussed my monthly punctuation.  I was actually managing the iron I got from an infusion back in June pretty well, and Dr. Blood was confused because he expected that me being me, my iron levels would be in the basement.  Then we talked about my recent punctuations (and the previous lack thereof). We discussed flow and cramps and frequency and everything and we laughed because we both have a pretty irreverent sense of humor and my guess is he doesn't get a lot of laughs in his line of work.

We talked about my diet and how I'm trying to eat iron rich foods since we already know I don't absorb iron supplements at all.  As it turns out, I don't absorb iron from my food either.  So, hey, why am I even bothering with veggies?

Anyway, so Dr. Blood and I were chatting about my punctuation and then he says this:

"I think you're managing your iron better because your ovaries are sputtering."

Howard just told me my ovaries are sputtering.

 And, after three trips in three days to the same building and having my temperature taken 3 days in a row and being asked if I'd traveled out of the country 3x, this is my takeaway:

1)  Don't read my GYN test results no matter what because clearly they're trying to freak me out.

2) My iron levels aren't normal, but they're not on the floor either, which is remarkable for me.

3) I don't have to eat veggies because there's no point.

4)  I'm old enough to have sputtering ovaries.

So there you have it! Enjoy your weekend and try not to picture sputtering ovaries. Especially don't picture mine!  LOL

Dad's chin and Mom's exhaustion: Sarah's thesis on genetics

 

This post deals with female issues, specifically punctuation of all kinds.  Small children, men, and various woodland creatures may find what follows disturbing, horrifying, or hilarious, but for all the wrong reasons.  (Which is just as bad.)  

So a little background on me, for those of you who don't know: I am the child of one of the original home nutritionists.  Oh, I know.  Look at me. My whole aura just screams, "RAISED BY A HEALTH FOOD ADVOCATE."

Seriously, though. My mom, a 1970's housewife living in a small suburb of Flint, Michigan, with no internet, no cable TV, and no money, was howling about food additives  my entire childhood.  See, my brother was really sick as a baby, so spent a lot of time in doctor's offices. A LOT of TIME.  And, during these many visits, she'd pick up a little magazine called "Prevention." (Heard of it?  Of course you have.  They sell it at the supermarkets now. It's housed right above the racks of candy bars.)  She'd read this article and that and by the time I was in first grade she was an expert on things like BHA, BHT, Sodium Nitrate, Mono sodium glutamine,  Blue Lake 7, Red dye 40. I could go on, but you get my drift. (BTW, no seven year old should know how to pronounce Mono sodium glutamine, much less what it is and where to find it.  Why?  Because that seven year old is going to get brutally teased when she shares this information with her classmates.  Or she might be...you know...maybe. Not that I know from ACTUAL experience.)

All this means that while my classmates were happily eating Oscar Meyer bologna on Wonder Bread, I was eating home made meatloaf on whole wheat bread.  And not the soft, lovely whole wheat they have now, no. This was the crumbly, thick, sawdusty and gravel concoction.  While my friends were trading Ding Dongs for Twinkies, I was eating...well nothing. My mom wasn't what you'd call a baker, and also she hated sugar.  (There was one famous rant one night where she tore open all the cabinets in our house yelling, "THERE'S SUGAR IN EVERYTHING!  EVEN OUR SALT HAS SUGAR IN IT!")

Mom didn't stop with food additives, oh no.  She kept reading.  She got to be an expert on everything from electrical wiring to politics to World War II to female health.  She is one of those people who educates herself about whatever it is she wants to know. She doesn't just answer her question...no no. She all but earns a degree in what she's researching.

Also, my mother is, and has been most of her life, exhausted and a little cranky.

I mean, who wouldn't be?  All that label reading!  All that preaching! All that studying and worrying and working and watching and measuring and GACK!

Now, for those who know me, you know I am so very, very NOT like that.   

I mean, yes, I try to eat healthy, who doesn't, but I've been known to look less at labels and more at taste.  I gave up diet soda, not because I read that artificial sweeteners will give me brain lesions, but  because I had to admit...I don't like the taste. When I want to know something I look it up, get the answer, and move on. Or I watch a documentary about whatever, and absorb what I can before I fall asleep. I rarely read magazines, certainly not health centered ones.  I'm not an expert on anything, except possibly Rick Springfield's musical catalog, the film work of Russell Crowe, and speaking "movie quotes" fluently. Other than that, I don't get too terribly riled up about much.

So Mom and I came into menopause with very different attitudes. She knew exactly what she was and was not going to let her doctor prescribe for her. She had read everything about everything a month before her first hot flash.  She got through it without most of us even realizing it was happening.

I, on the other hand, am winging it.  My GYN doc's nurse called me last month to move my bi-annual "let's pop those feet in the stirrups and see what's going on in there" appointment because the doc had been exposed to COVID and was in quarantine. Fine with me. I'm not worried about it. I'm the one who doesn't sweat stuff like regular appointments.  (Just ask my dentist.  Apparently,  my last cleaning was in 2018.  I tried to plead "COVID" but we've been going to the same dentist for about 15 years now and his receptionist knows me too well.)

Anyway, back to the phone call with the nurse. While she and I were rescheduling the appointment, she asked if I had any questions.  I said, "Yeah. I've had this headache for about a month. Is that part of menopause?"

(BTW, the short answer, minus the laughter, is no.  Also, the nurse told me to go see my doctor.  But, in true Sarah form, I didn't. The headache went away on its own.)

Which is why a couple of the symptoms of menopause have caught me off guard. My mother would absolutely have expected the following:

1) Rage during and after hot flashes.

I expect this from my PMS, which is actually PMDD: premenstrual dysphoric disorder.( After Peaches was born I sailed into a post partum depression that went untreated and morphed into PMDD.)  Prior to getting on the Prozac train, my PMDD would make me cheer for the women on "Snapped" as if murder was a sport and the women were my team.  

Now, my post hot flash rage is Prozac resistant.  Someone probably should write a book warning women about this.  Or maybe you all could just pray for Hubby.

2) "Sporadic punctuation" doesn't always mean fewer punctuations or lighter ones. 

Nope. Sometimes it means three punctuations in a month, all super fun, all with extra exciting cramp action. Found that out ON VACATION, thank you very much.  (Try finding proper female punctuation protection in a resort town that's actually 90% closed because 1) it's still COVIDf and 2) it's the off season.)

3)  I smell like...feet.

Like feet.  Gross, cheesy feet.  All the time, no matter how often I shower or wash my hair or power, spray and perfume myself.  I smell like feet.

Had I bothered to ask her, Mom probably would have explained the symptoms to me, and exactly what I could take to alleviate them.  But that would involve turning off the TV and calling her and then listening to all the aches and pains of all the old people she's looking after (Because that's what she's doing to stay young, she's taking care of elderly ailing relatives.)

It's not that I want to be uninformed.  Of course not.  But I've watched my mother study and worry and stress herself into her 70's.  I just don't have that kind of energy.  I can't even say my mom is a crackpot...anymore.  Turns out, everything she was hollering about in the 70's is real:  high fructose corn syrup is the devil.  Red Dye 40 is going to kill our children.  Every time another food study comes out that proves my mother right, I swear she does a happy little dance.  Which is nice because given how informed she is about literally everything, she's not happy all that often.

So my point is this:  My mom, super driven to study, read, and know.  Me, laid back and not driven to gather information as a general rule.

End result:  We're both exhausted and crabby and stressed out.  

My theory:  Stress and exhaustion is inherited, like brown eyes, or my dad's double chin.  So I got his chin, and my mom's exhaustion.  AND THAT IS WHY I TAKE NAPS IN THE AFTERNOON.

It's just like riding that annoying, painful bike you thought you'd thrown away.

The following blog deals with a very personal matter in a very personal way.  (Yes, Todd, it's about feminine punctuation.)

If you don't want to know way too much about me...or if female problems make you feel icky, do not read further.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED...

I'm serious.  We're about to get graphic and female up in here.  If you're going to read this and then chase me down after church and tell me this week's blog grossed you out, then stop reading right now!

Let me be clear:  I'm not going to keep you wondering. I'm going to reveal it all!  STOP READING NOW IF  FEMALE ISSUES MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

The language, also, is going to get pretty bad.

Who's left?  Just us girls?  Us older, age appropriate to listen to a graphic rant about female stuff girls?

Good.

Ready?

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL JUST HAPPENED?  I JUST GOT MY PERIOD.

I haven't had one since JUNE.  JUNE.  That's July, August, September and October, no female punctuation.  No cramping. No bloating. No leaks all over the sheets. No leaks all over  my clothes.  No worrying if I had protection in my purse, suitcase, whatever. NO WORRIES ABOUT ANY OF THAT NONSENSE AT ALL for four blissful months.

Unlike not getting your monthly punctuation when you're younger, or maybe waiting on that first punctuation after the baby is born, getting one after missing it due to menopause is just a gigantic slap in the face.  I was done. I was free. I was able to leave my house without wondering if I had stocked my purse properly.

All I had were hot flashes. And yes, they were horrible this summer, but guess what?  We're getting into winter. I was looking forward to those hot flashes. You know, save on the heating bill. But, a couple weeks ago, I noticed I wasn't getting those flashes as often.

Stupid me, I thought I'd just gone through the fastest menopause EVER.

BUT NOOOOOOOOOO.

I got up this morning, all crampy and grumpy and sick to my stomach and head achy and then boom, bam POW.  

Period.

So now, I'm taking a moment out of my novel writing month to share this with all of you because I'm so FREAKING MAD.  I have to do things I thought I was done doing.  I have to use things I thought I was done using.  I HAVE TO HAVE RESET THE MENOPAUSE CLOCK AND GO BACK TO START AGAIN.

Now, of course I haven't forgotten how to treat a period.  I haven't forgotten how to use the punctuation protection. I haven't forgotten to wear all dark colors.  (Like I had even gotten away from that yet. That'll teach me to ponder getting a pair of gray jeans.)

Getting a period after so many months is like riding a bike. An annoying bike that causes pain. A bike I honestly thought I'd gotten rid of for good.  But, apparently, unlike stuff you take to St.  Vincent de Paul, this bike is coming back to you until it's good and ready to be gone.

So reset the menopause clock.  I'm back in the land of the menstruating for at least one more cycle. And I'm not terribly happy about it.

Could "Change of Life" mean standing in line is now entertaining?

It is a well known fact that I hate waiting in line.  It is also a well known fact that I always seem to wait in line behind someone who is making a gigantic deal out of nothing and holding up the line with complete nonsense, which then triggers my rage button.

I'm pretty sure this menopause thing...which I'll call chang-o from now on (for Change of Life) has changed my attitude about standing in line behind dumb dumbs. Listen to two stories from the last few days and see what you think:

Story #1.

I got in line at my local Meijer grocery store  (I tend to go there because it's way less crowded than Woodman's and generally has enough live cashiers to deal with the people in the store.)  There was no one ahead of me, but the cashier was scanning items.  I though maybe she was training or checking prices or something. She finished scanning the items ahead of mine. Mine were loaded on the belt.  I was, in terms of grocery check out, at the point of no return.

That's when she looked at me and said, "It's going to be a while."

Oh crap.

While I appreciated her honesty, no one likes to hear that, especially when they have frozen zucchini noodles on the belt.  (That's another blog.)

But still, I was curious.  What situation had I walked into?

"He's getting cash and she's getting a cake," the cashier said as if reading my thoughts.

Now I was really curious. Who would plan their lives so poorly that they have to get cash and one more item after they've put their stuff on the belt?  And who would possibly expect the world to stop long enough for them to get those things?

I got my answer a moment later when the oldest man in the world walked up to the cashier.

He had a wad of cash in his hand. The cashier told him the total.  "That's without the cake," she added.

"Is that with the cake?"  He asked.

"No. She hasn't brought the cake yet."

"So where's the cake?"

The cashier blinks, her brain realizing she has to adjust to now speak to an older man who is very deaf.  "SHE HASN'T BROUGHT IT HERE YET!"

But the man isn't listening. he's got his back turned to her.  He's getting his coin purse out of his back pocket. Now, the cashier and I believe he's getting exact change, since he had to go get cash.

Nope.

He pulled out a credit card and handed it to her. He stuffed his cash back into the coin purse.

the cashier ran the card and handed it back to him. At this moment the wife rolls up. And by "Rolls up" I mean she's in one of those scooter things stores provide.  In her front basket she's got a "cake."  It's actually a fluff dessert, the type that's layered whip topping/pie filling/whip topping. There might be cake in there...but I doubt it. Very pretty, very tempting.  Believe me, I've wanted to eat one for years.

Now, The Oldest Man is four steps away from the bagging area.  Roller Girl hands the cake to the cashier, who scans it and says, "That's six dollars even."

Oldest Man shuffles back, and takes the cake.

Roller Girl has not been paying attention to this transaction.  She's been adjusting her blouse or something.  When she finally looked up, she asked, "Did he get the cake?"

"Yes," Says cashier, "He has the cake."

Whereupon Roller Girl starts to wheel away from the cashier.  It takes a moment for the cashier to realize that Roller Girl thinks Oldest Man paid for the cake and she's about to leave without paying.

"No, no!"  yells cashier.  "He HAS the cake. You still have to PAY for the cake."

Roller Girl stops her ride, sighs heavily, and then backs up....beep....beep...beep.  SHE pulls out six dollars in cash.  Cashier takes it and then Roller Girl rolls away.

Cashier just shook her head and thanked me for waiting. I thanked her for the great theater.

That's when I realized standing in line was not automatically pushing my rage button.

Which brings me to story #2.

After church on Sunday we stopped at Kohls.  The good one, in Muskego. The two stores in Waukesha are terrible.  Besides, we've been going to church in Muskego...so it really works out.  (For me.)

On this trip, all I had to do was return an Amazon item that Peaches bought and didn't like.  Hubby dropped me at the door because we didn't intend to shop and he didn't care to stand in line with me.

 There was one person in line ahead of me.  SCORE!  I figured this transaction should take me three minutes, tops.

The person ahead of me went to Kathy, one of two women working the returns counter.  Meanwhile, I got Ashely.  As I set my item on the counter the phone rang. Ashley stared at it as if it were a foreign sound to her. (She was younger...it might have been.)  After it ran four or five times (something that does push my rage buttons immediately...answer the phone!)  she picked it up.  She mumbled a bit for a moment then put the phone to her chest and said, "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy...."

Kathy finally looked up and Ashely asked, "Is there a bigger store than this around here?"

The woman behind me said, "There's nothing in Muskego other than this store."

Kathy said, "No there aren't any big box stores in Muskego other than us."

All three of us looked at each other, sharing the one thought, "What a weird question to call about."

Ashley returned to the phone and mumbled some more.  Then she put the phone to her chest again.  "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy...."

Kathy finally looked up again.  Ashley said, "This woman wants to know if there's a bigger Kohls around here.  I'm not from around here, I don't know.  Maybe like Wau keh sha?"

Yeah, Ashley not's from around here.  She didn't pronounce Wau KEE sha correctly.  So why is she answering the phone?

That's when the growing line of women behind me started shouting out locations of other kohls. The first thing we all did was say, "Don't go to Waukesha, those stores are terrible!"

Ashley listened to the cacophony of store locations and then stared at me like a deer in the headlights.

"124th and North Ave in Brookfield," I said with great authority.  That's the biggest store I know.  Also, that's a store that's already got their holiday decorations up even as we speak.  They're like the anchor store for the area.

Ashely, however, not being from around here, mumbles, "Ummmm, so 124th and north Brookfield ave?"

Because that's what I said.

Apparently the woman ( oh yeah, it's a woman, no doubt) on the phone wasn't happy with that answer because she kept Ashley on the phone for another two minutes before Ashely put the phone to her chest and said, "Kathy....Kathy....Kathy.....which Kohls has a bigger shoe selection than we do?"

It was hubby who pointed out, when I related the store to him later, that the caller was probably standing in this store's shoe department at that moment.

Further proof that this was a woman.

"You have the best shoe selection of any of the kohls' I've been in," I tell Ashley because, let's face it, the customer Kathy is trying to help is getting pretty annoyed.

Ashley relays this message and after another two minutes, she hangs up. She thanks me for waiting and then reaches for the Amazon returns scanner. Which apparently is not working....

"Kathy....Kathy...Kathy...."

It took a solid fifteen minutes to return the item. Normally this would have sent me into a hot flash inducing  rant.  But nope, I related the story to Hubby with mirth.

So I ask you...does this mean that the Chang-O has not only changed my feminine punctuation, but also my rage issues?  Will waiting in line be fun now?  I mean....I used to want to punch people and howl.

Now, I don't.

At leas not the last two times.  Let's see what happens the next time I'm at the pharmacy....

Oh Hubby, sweet, silly, non-menopausal hubby.

Hello everyone!

So Hubby and I popped in a Harry Potter movie over the weekend. Doesn't really matter which one...we weren't actually watching it, we just needed some background noise while packing up the kitchen with Peaches, who moved into her own place.  (Some kids move out and the worst stuff to move is the bedroom. That is not the case when the kid moving out is a culinary/pastry student.)

Anyway...

While packing up, of course, I had several hot flashes.  I'm not a subtle person, I think we all know that.  So every time I have a hot flash, I announce it by saying, "There goes another shred of my youth, floating away."

After listening to this for several days, Hubby has decided to add his own take on menopause and hot flashes, and he uses Harry Potter as his example.

"Hot flashes," says he, "Are like the dementor's kiss."

For those of you not in the know, you're going to have to go and read the Harry Potter Books or see the movies. Or both, which would be the best way to go about it.  I don't have the time to explain a dementor's kiss and its ramifications within the 7 book, 8 film construct of the Potter universe.

Ooooh, did I just get all author-ly on your fannies?

Anyway, Hubby went on to explain how he envisions hot flashes. "It's like a dementor's kiss, every hot flash sucks out a little more joy from you."

So when I'm done with this I'm going to be joyless?  As in, "I had some joy going through menopause, but that's gone now?"

YOU MEAN THIS IS AS JOYFUL AS I'M EVER GOING TO BE THE REST OF MY LIFE?

"No, instead of joy, it's youth. Hot flashes suck out the youth."

Which made me think of this movie clip:

Anyway, thinking about Hubby's picture of what I'm going through, while it's a bit naïve, I really can't fault him for it too much.  (Except that it's also funny, which is why it's in the blog.)  I mean, if you know Harry Potter (and seriously...it's a cultural touchstone. How can you know nothing about Harry Potter?  Go right now, get the books, sit down and read them. They were written for young teens.  Third graders burn through them in a matter of a couple hours.  You're an adult...READ THE BOOKS.  Or, conversely, take about 20 hours of your life and watch all 8 movies. But, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart...you really need to acquaint yourself with Harry Potter!)

Wait, where was I?

Hot flashes.

So below is a clip of a dementor's kiss.

Pretty gruesome, right?  Except...well...I mean...here's how hubby, poor, sweet, silly, non-menopausal hubby, is wrong:

A dementor's kiss is COLD.

RIGHT NOW I WOULD LOVE A DEMENTOR'S KISS!  I don't care how much joy or youth or whatever it sucks out of me....I NEED SOMETHING COLD!

Maybe it's more like the MACHINE from the Princess Bride...you know, the one in the Pit of Despair?

Is any of this normal? Asking for a friend...sort of.

Hello all!

First of all...gentlemen...this post deals completely and frankly (would you have one of my posts be anything but frank?) with menopause. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


I thought menopause would be one of those things you sort of ease into. Like a gradual increase in some symptoms and a gradual decrease in others.

Nope.

I began menopause on June 27, 2019.  I know this because that's the end day of my last female punctuation and the first day I really noticed the hot flashes.

HOT FLASHES!  Here's something women seem to neglect to mention when they talk to other women.  (Sort of like some of the more interesting stuff that comes with pregnancy and delivery...why don't we share more?)

I thought I knew what hot flashes would be like...but I did not.

It's sort of like being tied to a rope and having someone lower you over an open fire.  Oh, wait, you know that part in "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" where Kate Capshaw is in that cage and lowered into a pit of fire?  THAT.

I have a hot flash roughly every seven minutes sometimes. And when I'm not flashing, I'm still in a state of dripping, stinking sweatiness. I keep turning down the AC and I need to buy more fans because apparently the number I have blowing directly on me at all times isn't enough.

But it's not just that I'm steaming lobster dipped in butter hot all the time.  It's also the...well I guess the medical texts call them "mood swings."  I like to better think of them as "momentary urges of rage of and murderous thoughts."

To be completely honest, for those of you who don't know me well, I've been an emotional person my whole life. I dance a delicate little line between normally exuberant and clinically in need of medication.  In fact, back in my late 20's....(ahh...the good old days, when I was sure I'd lose the baby weight and be a size 10 forever.) I was put on a low dose of Prozac because the five days before my female punctuation every month were so...dangerous for those around me.

I'm not saying my last doctor's appointment was rough...but my doctor doubled my Prozac level.

I've also noticed my language has gotten saltier. I mean, sure, my favorite pastime for decades has been to string together colorful cuss words for the amusement of those around me. But typically I would do it in private, like in a college dorm room, or in my kitchen when only my kids are around to appreciate it.  But lately, it does not seem to matter one %$@#$%%&* tiny bit. I simply don't seem to give a %&*^&)(# who hears me.

And poor hubby. He tries. He suggests things to ease my anger, ease my heat issues. He doesn't blink when I turn on another fan and turn the AC down to it's lowest setting and still kick off the covers.  Nope, he just puts on another layer and tries to stay quiet.  Because generally when me makes suggestions it only serves to further annoy me.

But is this normal?  I mean with PMS, there was a beginning and an end time. This doesn't seem to have an end. Every hot flash brings me more rage.  I'm not in any physical pain, but I have lost what little patience I have with things like standing in line at the pharmacy or sitting on hold on the phone.

Not that I eve had a lot of patience for either of those things.

I know I've ranted about how I was ready for menopause, and one of the reasons was that my laundry would be less because of less punctuation overflow.  I did NOT, however, take into consideration the amount of laundry I would need to do because of my tremendous B.O.!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the whole idea that I would ever wear white pants is ridiculous anyway.  I'm still me...I still spill...also, it seems a side effect of menopause is NOT the shrinking of the fluffiness.

I notice that I have more hot flashes when I'm stressed.  So here's a question: If I really, really stress myself out for like the next week...can I get to the end of menopause faster?  Cuz' that would be great....

Come on Menopause!

Heads up readers, today's blog deals with menopause and general female punctuation.  You've been warned!


Good day!

Since I was 13 I've been a very regular girl with regards to punctuation.  I'm now on the cusp of 47, which means I've been a consumer of punctuation products for the better part of 34 years.

And, fun fact, I haven't really needed the punctuation function since I was 29 and had Peaches.  Soooo, that means I've been forced to participate in punctuation for no reason other than general annoyance for almost 18 years.

I shudder to think about the amount of money I've spent on feminine punctuation products.  And all because my biological clock is apparently never going to stop running.

As time goes by, I've noticed a few changes in the monthly grammar lesson:  my symptoms are getting worse, the whole thing is lasting longer, and frankly, with every passing month it's getting to be more and more annoying, painful, and expensive.

Come on menopause!

Oh this happens all the time!
Know when this doesn't happen?
After menopause!

I know, most women say the longer you have your regular grammar lesson, the better your life is.  I say balderdash!  I haven't needed a grammar lesson for it's most basic purpose in nearly two decades.  And I'm starting to think the whole purpose of hormones in our milk, which clearly makes our girls start their punctuation lessons earlier and earlier in their lives is actually a conspiracy on the part of BIG FEMININE PRODUCTS to make sure we women continue to need their wares in our underwears. (So there's another plank in the platform I'll be nailing to my presidential campaign!  Sarah in 16!)

But, Sarah, you might say, what about the downside to menopause?  What about facial hair?

Already have everything but the hot flashes...

Yeah...that's already a battle I'm losing, and have been since I was 14.  What else ya got?

But Sarah, you might ask, what about hot flashes and sweats and mood swings?

First of all, mood swings isn't an argument because mood swings are the biggest symptom of punctuations ever.  So who would notice a menopausal mood swing?  What, it's MORE crabbiness?  Please.

As for flashes and sweats, well, isn't breaking into a sweat the goal for all exercise programs?  My doctors keep telling me any exercise counts as long as I break into a sweat.  So score one for menopause, sweating and sitting!  And hot flashes?  Hey, if we could time those for winter, that would be a bonus.  I pretty much ALWAYS cold in the winter up here so if I could suddenly develop some sort of internal oven, that would be great, especially if it's in the winter.  And if it hits in the summer, hey, it's just Fluffy Girl sweating slightly more than she already does.

But Sarah, you are probably asking, much to my annoyance, what about bone density?

What about reader density?  (Okay, see, mood swings...and theoretically I'm done with my punctuation lesson for the month...so yeah, not worried about mood swings, already got 'em.)  

Actually, yes, bone density...that's an issue.  But I live in Wisconsin, a state that not only worships dairy and all calcium bearing foods, we produce it, lots of it.  And frankly, I doubt I'm going to have a bone density problem any time soon.  If you knew the amount of cheese and ice cream I've eaten since birth...

Now let's talk about the upside of menopause!

Let's talk about the laundry.  With menopause and the subsequent cessation of your punctuation lessons, your laundry woes are pretty much over.  WHAT?  The men in the audience ask.  Yeah, all those little "SURPRISE" moments and those time when you stand up and your body becomes some sort of Mount Vesuvius. Ladies, you know what I mean...that horrified race to the bathroom when you get up in the morning and you realized your super absorbent whatever shifted while you were sleeping and you're now in danger of destroying several layers of sheets, mattress pads, mattresses, pajamas, box springs, carpet...I could go on.

So hey, less laundry means less housework (win) less water usage (win) less detergent usage (WIN!).


Okay, and obviously, there's a HUGE cost savings when it comes to the super absorbent whatevers.  No wings, no quiet wrappers, no cottony lining, no taped strings, NOTHING!  Think of it...no monthly trip to the aisle of shame where  you do the back and forth dance trying to find the punctuation product that will serve you best.  Forget the money you're going to save, let's talk about the TIME!  (WINNER!)

And if that's not enough, how about those random, horrible punctuation stories we all have...like mine. (Click here to read.)

There won't be anymore of THAT!  

Not convinced...why do you think people wear their shirts/jackets tied around their waists?  It's not because it's a handy way to keep an extra layer around, in case it gets chilly.  That's why we have men.  So we can wear their jackets.  

And the look is NOT flattering.  I mean, what woman says, "Okay, I have a super cute outfit picked out.  Pants, top, shoes.  Now, what would pull this all together is if I tied my bulky sweater around my waist, making me look like a square."

Not cooling off after workout.
Covering because her super absorbent
doesn't ALWAYS work.

NO!  The reason women began wearing shirts tied around their waists, and I know this from experience of course, is because our super absorbent whatevers fail ALL THE TIME and then our punctuation fluids leak all over our clothes and who wants to look at THAT? 

So, less water and detergent usage.  Less
housework.  Less money spent on 
products that are touted as making 
punctuation lessons FUN.  And, less reasons to make terrible style choices and have embarrassing moments in our lives.

Yeah, oh yeah, you all miss that, don't you?

Oh, and one other thing, for all of you who went through it and are now telling me I really shouldn't wish this on myself.

You know what none of you ladies ever say?  EVER?


YOU NEVER SAY, "OH I REALLY MISS HAVING MY MONTHLY PUNCTUATION!"

COME ON MENOPAUSE!  I AM READY!