S*#! Menopausal Women Say

I am going to kill him.

If I could just get some sleep, I’d have the energy to kill him.

What is this poofiness around my waist?

I’m going crazy.

Is it warm in here?

It’s so f-ing hot in here.

I am not crazy!

When did I grow these gigantic breasts?

Why are you looking at me?   

          

Where is my icepack?

What bullsh--!

I'm going completely drug-free through this hallowed passage. Wine, anyone?

What fresh hell is this?

When did I become invisible?

If I see one more article on vaginal dryness, someone’s gonna die.

Lovely. The vaginal gel company sent me a free sample? How did they know where I live?

Don’t Spanx come in heavy duty?

I just threw all my Spanx in the fire pit.

I dreamt that I held my boss under water until he drowned. No, it wasn't a nightmare.

I worked out every day this week, ate Paleo, and I gained two pounds.

Sometimes, I break china, just so I don’t kill anybody.

Why shouldn’t I wear shorts and a tank top to go ice skating on the pond?

I’m not crying. Have you got a tissue?

Sale on stretchy pants? I’m there.

Turn the f-ing heat down!

Turn the f-ing A/C up!

Don’t you dare touch the f-ing thermostat.

Moody? You think I’m moody?  

        

For lunch? I’ll have an HRT on Zoloft, hold the Zanax.

I need a new moisturizer.

I need a new drug.

I’m going to stop taking all my drugs.

Gotta go to the drugstore. My drugs are ready.

I don’t think the drugs are working!

If men got menopause, there’d be a drug for this.

Motherfu---! My sweater was on inside-out all day and no one said anything!

Stop scraping your spoon on that bowl!

Why are you breathing so loud?

I’m gonna save so much money on tampons and pregnancy tests.

If I don’t get some sleep, someone may have to die.

If men got night sweats, there’d be a cure for this.

Who invented magnifying mirrors? I'll strangle them with my bare hands.

The person who invented air conditioning? Should be made the saint of menopause.

Menstrual Math at Menopause

Officially in menopause as of October 2012, and now wondering why we don’t throw parties to mark this occasion, I’ve been doing some menstrual math.

The book, Riding Astride: The Frontier in Women’s History, by Patricia Riley Dunlap, inspired me to ponder some numbers associated with menstruation. Dunlap goes into detail explaining how women’s biology-- experiencing childbirth every two years, breastfeeding, child rearing, and menstruation-- often confined them to the home virtually until they died, most often by their forties.

Amazed that women ever had a spare minute to make the intriguing and important history that they have, and not having thought about women’s history in quite this way, I questioned the numbers related to the menstruation in my own life.

For me, my 12^th birthday was the never-to-be-forgotten day of my first period. Whoopee! Little did I know about the years ahead.

The years.

Age twelve from age fifty-five is dear Lord, 43 years! Of menstruation.

Let’s let that sink in. Forty-three. Years.

I menstruated for more years than most women used to live.

My average period was seven days. That’s 3,612 days of Aunt Thelma. Let’s say I used 6 sanitary products per day on average. Now we’re at 21,672 products. Since periods and cramps went hand-in-hand for me, let’s say I used 4 aspirin or later Acetaminophen or similar per day.

Suddenly I understand why there’s a CVS or Walgreen’s on every corner with me knocking the doors down to purchase 14,448 cramp-killer pills plus all those pads and tampons. That’s not counting the icepacks for headaches, the cola to settle my stomach, the pimple cream, the salty snacks, the sweet snacks.

No, I won’t do the calculations in dollar amounts. I'm just guessing the cash would pay for an extended luxury vacation in the Mediterranean or the South Pacific. With lots of fruity drinks and a massage therapist on staff. But I digress.

                                                                                         

What do all these numbers mean?

Derned if I know.

But hey, Menstruation—I don’t miss you. Not even a little.