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Posts Tagged ‘peri-menopause’

These last few weeks have been no exception to a sea of changes that seemed to coincide with the start of my blog, January 01, 2011.

You may recall that my youngest graduated from the 8th Grade less than 2 weeks ago. You may recall that I am peri-menopausal, if not outright menopausal (don’t hold your breath, you have to go a WHOLE YEAR without a period before you are considered good enough to be fully old, crone-like, ancient menopausal). You may remember that we had 2 cats get killed within 6 months of each other. You may also remember that Hubby and I celebrated 21 years of marriage recently.

Completing 8th Grade in a Waldorf school is a BIG DEAL, I have stated before. I mean to write a nice, long, lovely post about this, but in some way I am uninspired.

To be honest, as yours truly is want to be, 20 years, and now 21 years of marriage, has been a monumental time of change for me and Hubby. We have always striven to make our relationship better and stronger, to dig deep in when things haven’t worked, but some remnants of old stuff have been getting in the way so Hubby and I find ourselves delving again, deeply and fundamentally. Why do I tell this here? For one, it’s a cultural taboo to talk about these things, at least until you’ve earned about 40 or 50 years in. Then, everyone is all ears about how do you make a marriage work and how did you do it and what is your best advice to young newlyweds.

Sometimes I think my poetry has dried up, but it’s not true, I write quite a bit. Sometimes I think I’m a bad mom. Sometimes I think that the garlic scape growing out of the compost bin is the loveliest thing in my life. Not only because garlic scapes are beautiful curled green things, but because there’s some accident there—I did not plant garlic in my compost bin.

I want to post poems here, I want to save them, I want to gnash my teeth. I want to scream at the poetry that gets published in respectable journals, I want to shout fuck you to name-dropping authors who are full of themselves and whose essays barely touch the surface of human experience.

I wanted to tell you about the ladybug that hitched a ride on the top tube of my new bike yesterday, my virgin ride on it, how I felt blessed, but how I was just trying to find an excuse that the world makes sense.

I did want to share about my cracked rib, but I didn’t want to divulge how it happened. I told a few people as the subject came up, but I hemmed and hawed with most people who asked.

I am not shy, so let’s say it involved a massage table, which has a very hard surface after all, and let’s say it involved sex and let’s say I’m being honest.

My right side has been feeling pained, deep intense pain like when you get the wind knocked out of you.

the solar plexus

When I was a little girl, in preschool or maybe kindergarten, at the little private school I attended for kids with high IQs in a suburb of Detroit, I remember getting the wind knocked out of me and going to see the nurse. Her name was Mim, we called her that at least, and I remember a white nurse’s hat and pink stripes, maybe even white shoes; somehow I associate her with the color pink. I loved her. I remember a stick of ammonia, smelling salts. I remember lying down in the nurse’s room more than once. How much I loved her and now, when I think of that time, how small I see myself, tiny and sad of heart.

I will write again. I will post poems, but maybe not my latest poems. I will save them for the waters or maybe for paper.

Sometimes poems reveal things and sometimes poems hide things and sometimes the time for either has not yet come.

This is me, one of the first photos I ever took of myself in a mirror (I found another one from earlier, when I still lived in the dorms at Kent State). This photo is from October, 1983, in a house I rented with 4 other people, Lake Street, Kent, Ohio. We found out my father had cancer in August 1983. One of many beginnings of growing up too soon and also one of many times when I wasn’t ready to let go of that tiny girl inside.

Remember to pay attention. You might miss something otherwise.

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What have we got here? We’ve got me, laid out by anemia, due to too rapid and consistent peri-menopausal blood loss.

Peri-menopause, is it a taboo subject? Is it just something men and teenagers don’t want to hear about? What about all of those male OB/GYNs? What makes them so special? Why do they want to know about it, lecture me about it, be experts in the subject of the unpredictable ebbs and torrents of my blood, the blood that comes out of my darkest place?

Is talking about menstrual blood, women’s blood, worse than talking about other blood? Is it tiresome? It’s not the same as blood from injury, soldier’s blood or surgical blood, violent blood, blood from war. Do we talk about any of it or simply leave out female blood?

I remember none of puberty, none of “developing;” just from one school year to the next I went from being teased for being flat-chested to being teased for being large-chested. Even by my girlfriends, so you know it wasn’t sexist or bullying or anything. But things are different now, right? American culture having evolved as it has, we no longer pay much attention to breasts like in the good ol’ days.

I went in to the ER last night (Tuesday), perhaps as an overreaction to the light-headedness, slight vertigo, and nerves-on-edge for 3 days-in-a-row I had been experiencing due to the aforementioned anemia and due to the urging of the MD on call the night before (Monday) to go in that night. I had some odd notion that I could get BLOOD in the ER. I wanted blood like a vampire in a gothic novel wants blood, but not the feeling sexy kind of vampire. How can a condition so purely part of my sex be so unsexy? I know the answer. I know that owning this is part of graduating out of my reproducing sexuality into the rest-of-my-life sexuality, kundalini.

I think it’s completely wrong that this is the kind of thing that is associated with female blood:

I’ve never passed out in my life. I’ve never gotten blood in my life. Neither of these things happened yesterday either.

I can tell you that when the old (65ish, male) OB/GYN had me in the stirrups and told me to relax those muscles (direct quote), I later had a fantasy (and still do) of taking my strong right leg, tensing it as hard as I could and kicking him in the face with it. Sort of twisting his head away from his spine. A suberb peri-menopausal whiplash. It could be a new reason to land in the ER, in fact.

If he hadn’t been the doctor on call and if I hadn’t already been in the care of his practice since Sunday, I would have declined his “services.” However, if I add up the number of pelvic exams I’ve had in my life, one more is a drop in the bucket. Not that I’m resemble a bucket, au contraire, but you get my meaning.

The best OB/GYN I ever had/knew (do what you will with the unfortunate double entendre), was a good friend back in Ohio. I needed an OB/GYN for all sorts of things I experienced before my pregnancies (like not being able to get pregnant for a while and miscarrying twice). I saw both my OB/GYN and my lay midwife throughout both of my pregnancies.

Until 2 years ago, I had never had an OB/GYN in Massachusetts. I simply went to my fabulous (best MD I’ve ever been in the care of) Primary Care Physician for everything OR to my acupuncturist for things less medical. Now, I have an OB/GYN practice at my disposal, but I don’t have a very comfortable relationship with anyone there. I do love the Nurse Practitioner I’ve seen once, but I don’t like the OB/GYN I saw under duress last night. Sigh.

Once in a while Wednesday–what’s it all about?

What if all it took to please me was alliteration? I would LOVE that, my life to be that simple.

Here are some words for you until we meet again:

harrowing    sepulchre    pulchritude

How can pulchritude refer to beauty when the sound of it reminds me so much of paltry, pustule, and that doctor from last night?

Send loving, healing, iron-filled thoughts and images my way, please. Yours, twinkly

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Happy first Thursday of 2012, my pets!!!

Do you know that I love triple exclamation points??? more than triple question marks, which I don’t really care for at all!!!

Do you know I love that the word clam is in exclamation?

Do you know that I love this: http://i.imgur.com/CCNSs.gif

I am not sure, however, if I still love Thankful Thursday.

I need gratitude in my life undoubtedly, but I am not sure of the future of Thankful Thursday. I realize this is not some earth-shattering revelation, but it pertains to my blog. The info belongs here and to you, my readers.

In the last few weeks, I notice I’ve hit some sort of snag, if not an outright wall, in my writing, both in the fun and frivolous and in the more confessional, the type of writing I do for this blog. I’ve also been adrift with my poetry (insert frowny-face emoticon here).

I can’t seem to find anything funny to share. I can’t seem to find anything important, either. I don’t want to alienate you, my readers; I don’t want to try your patience; I don’t want to bore you; I don’t want to pour out my whining heart simply because I have an audience.

SPOILER ALERT: stop right here if you don’t love all things menstrual

I’ve been having something of a rough 3 months. Peri-menopause is not always kind, though I love finding new sources of power within.  I just went through an extended bout of bleeding in which, over the course of 64 days, I bled for 47. The days were not all in a row, but what I have been left with is the second most severe period of anemia in my life. The concurrent repercussions of peri-menopause in my personal relationships are also of a flooding nature–tidal and deep, but not always as rhythmic as the tides. It’s hard. It’s confusing. Going deep and in spirals, rudderless and full at the helm–all of these things. If you have a peri-menopausal woman in your life, be kind, take heed, bow down. Throw rose petals and break flower pots. Do whatever it takes. We are forces of nature. FORCES OF NATURE. Get it?

The 2 major bouts I’ve had with anemia have also SUCKED!!! Rather than making any rash decisions while I’m still building up my iron and my health, I will simply play it by ear with the blog. For now, the equation seems clear: lack of iron=lack of creative forces.

I have LOVE LOVE LOVED the last year of blogging. I don’t want to think that it’s over, but I also don’t want to lose you, my readers. If I take a hiatus, I am afraid you’d never know when to come back.

I do have some ideas and plans. I can mix it up a bit, make things simple. Post a photo. Pose a question, strike a pose. I’m thinking on it.

I’ll leave it at that for now.

Thankful for you

Toujours, twinkly

Aw, shucks!!! I can’t really leave you like this, can I my pets? I think this might cheer you up:

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