Weight Gain and Hair Loss and Joint Pain, OH FUCK!

Did I mention vaginal dryness and grey pubic hairs?

Listen.

Do you hear that?

That crackle?

Yeah, that’s the sound of my insides lighting itself on fire in the dead of winter.

I am kindling.

Sure, I may live in Tucson, AZ where the temps reached almost 80 degrees yesterday, but under zero circumstances does that mean my insides have to play matchy-fucking-matchy with the weather.

Unsure of what I’m talking, about? Lean in, Margaret.

It’s a goddamn hot flash and I’m fucking OVER IT.

I had my first hot flash at age 40, as I was recovering from a partial hysterectomy. It was 72 degrees in my house and I had finally managed to sit upright, comfortably, on the side of my bed. All of a sudden I felt what I was sure was the fire-laden hand of Satan himself reach up from the hollowed out space my uterus used to call home, grab hold of the back of my neck and SQUEEZE. It was like someone had put hot cheetos in my vagina as a kink gone terribly, terribly wrong, and that I hadn’t consented to. EVERYTHING was on fire, I was sweating like I’d just run a damn marathon, and for the first time in over twenty years, I questioned the absolute need for my existence on this planet.

WTF?

What that first hot flash was like. Chester Cheetah all in my drawers!

How come I didn’t know about this? I mean, yes, I had heard of hot flashes. I’d overheard the older ladies at my various jobs talking *about* hot flashes but in the context of “Ugh - these damn hot flashes. I can’t wait until they’re over”, not in the context of “Holy shitballs, Wonder Woman! I feel like I’ve been swallowed by the ring of fire, and for the record, THIS is the real ring of fire!” I never heard my aunts or grandmothers talk about this abysmal hormonal revolt, and my mother - well, just like describing natural childbirth, she hippy-dippy’d her way right out of that conversation, claiming it “wasn’t that bad”. Bullshit. It is absolutely that bad.

And fair. Okay. Maybe for you, Linda from Evanston, it isn’t that bad. You can just scroll down to the bottom and subscribe to this Substack. You don’t need to finish reading this entry because clearly, it doesn’t apply. Lucky lucky. For the rest of you commiserating and raising frozen neck towels in solidarity, read on sisters.

Like A Virgin…AGAIN.

That, my friends, is actual footage of what else has started to happen in my nether regions.

A damn desert.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’d heard about vaginal dryness. More so from commercials for products like Vagisil, and from a few older friends I have, but all I knew was that your vagina just gets a little…drier. Now, full disclosure and probably way too much information, I’ve never had a problem with lubrication. I’ve always been an ocean. Waves on waves on waves. A brotha could drown.

How-e-verrrrrr, I recently discovered that my vagina had morphed from a once overflowing lake into what seemed like a parched, arid savannah with condors flying overhead, alerting each other to the carrion left behind. Lips that once looked full and lush now looked like…well…see below.

Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. My vagina doesn’t wear a crown, but she has definitely lost some of her fullness! Fine lines and wrinkles are forming! I’m finding grey hairs when I didn’t even realize your pubic hairs could go grey! ¹ And sex takes more work now. Not the desire for sex. Never that, honey. I’m ready at any given time of the day. My guy just has to say he’s on his way and I’m clearing the calendar. But we have to work harder to bring me to orgasm. We have to work harder for me to be ready because it honestly feels like even with all the foreplay, the water doesn’t meet the shore without a whole lot of coaxing and prodding.

Again - why did nobody tell me about this? Why have we not been talking about this - OUT LOUD?

I would have liked to know that my hips were going to age forty years overnight. Or that my hair was going to fall out in clumps and I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I didn’t freeze my child to near death in the arctic tundra we now call home. Where were the women greeting me with a hearty “Hey sis, just thought you might wanna know that in twenty years you’re gonna sneeze and piss your pants every day. But don’t worry - it’s just menopause!” on my way to the annual well woman’s exams of my youth? ²

I’ll Fit Back Into It…Eventually

Y’all. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say about the weight gain. It is what it is. It’s inflating my boobs a little more and lifting my ass, so there’s that. Yay.

I’m sure I’ll have so much more to say about this death-come-early jaunt through menopause later, but for now, I’m just feeling angsty and rage-y about it, and I know for a fact that some of you are too. If you’re reading this and you’re not at this lovely stage they call “the transition” yet, YOU’RE WELCOME. NOW YOU KNOW WHAT’S COMING DOWN THE ROAD AND IT ABSOLUTELY IS A FUCKING ALLIGATOR.

The. End.

1. Yes, I know. Duh, Adiba. It’s hair. Of course it can go grey. *I* just never thought about it actually happening!

2. I now get them every other year because NO UTERUS and one partner.

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