Thursday, September 1, 2016

Dear Artificial Medically-Induced Menopause,

It's been in the high 90s F in Charleston for a couple of weeks now. So why in the name of all Crone Goddesses did you wait until it was 74 F this morning to give my my first hot flashes? 

That is not playing fucking fair. I suspect that menopause may in fact fight a pretty damn dirty fight. I didn't expect anything different really: Menses have been assholes, too. 

That said, I'm estimating that my moods have been divided into about 95% chipper, perky Heidi and 5% Hell Week Monster Bitch. That is CRAZY good for me, especially considering that my new gynecologist told me to expect a few weeks of awful horror as I adjusted to the hormones.

Pictured: My expectations.
Also, concept art for the Demogorgon.
(NOT a Demigorgon. That motherfucker isn't demi-anything.)
Also, also, my new PC wallpaper.
Furthermore, if you don't know what this is,
You Have Homework. See me after class,
but don't click this credit link. 
So I'm thrilled with my reproductive hormone situation. I'm less happy that the Lupron isn't a reliable method of birth control, as I have Very Strong Feelings about having been married this long and still using condoms. I can't tolerate ANY birth control hormones and haven't touched anything but emergency contraception pills since well before the baby was conceived...

By my attempt to predict ovulation and abstain and then confusing my cycle calendar, but at any rate, we were only like 9 months ahead of schedule. So it's sort of a wash anyway—We were going to start trying then and instead we had Molly then. I just had an instant baby if you look at it that way.

Since I dove right in to sex discussion, I'll just roll with it. So, the dryness issue has not come up yet, and my libido is holding stay at being-thirty-five-through-forty-is-a-freaking-revelation levels.

The spotting after the cervical biopsy has stopped so my yoni and I are totally friends again. I should have results within a week or thereabouts. I'm not at all concerned, which surprises me, having lost my mom to cancer and generally freaking out if anyone has the slightest scare. I suppose the facts that the likelihood of this being anything worrisome are very low and the fact that I want surgery anyway are making me feel chill.

Obviously the fewer organs she needs to take the better, but my need for a uterus expired the day Bird was born. And my need for ovaries reached negative numbers YEARS ago. 

I am very, very thrilled with Dr. C, and relieved with finally having gotten through every method of treating PMDD and being closer to confirming that my ovaries are toxic to me.

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