Women of a Certain Age

And The Things We Are Supposed to Do (I Call Bullshit)

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash

I recently went to my OB/GYN, as many women tend to do toward the end of the calendar year, realizing that it’s time to use up all of their health care deductible, blah blah. Yeah, that’s me. (And apparently lots of you, too, considering how difficult it was to schedule the appointment.)

Wrapping up loose ends and all that.

I’m far past my childbearing years, even though I didn’t have all of the children I wanted to, and that seems to be a good thing, considering my husband turned out to be a real prize (sarcasm) and college is so dang affordable (also sarcasm). I have three amazing offspring (not sarcasm) and the youngest will be 21 in a few days (actual fact).

But here’s the thing: at the visit to my GYN (dropping the OB now, because: my age), we discussed my impending menopause and all that goes with it, or all that is supposed to come with it. I had already discussed with her that I spent many years blissfully not menstruating because I am a ravenous athlete and therefore took the pill continuously for, like, ten years. That was bliss.

Then, I got breast cancer and that put an end to taking hormones, so that super sucked. I now have to live with the actual reality that is women and their cycle. Ugh. This led to getting slapped with all of the…