Menopause mayhem

Sue Gregson,

I blame my mother. She didn’t have the decency to warn me about some of the changes my body would go through as I grow older.

Let’s start with the elephant in the bathroom, because that’s where I’m spending a helluva lot more time, especially at night. It seems like I’m getting up to pee every two hours. Sure, sometimes my sheets dry out from my night sweats while I’m gone, but I’d rather skip the nocturnal dashes. Let’s forego the peeing when I laugh or sneeze, too. Just when I counted on saving money on feminine products, I had to add diapers to the grocery list and not the darling ones in the baby aisle.

Then there’s the mood swings. PMS pales in comparison. I graduated from bitchy to The Bitch. Also, I was hoping my menopause memory lapses would help me forget the moodiness, but I’m more likely to forget my kids’ names or the word for carrot.

The average age of menopause in America is 51, but symptoms can last into a woman’s 70s. Frankly, it’s like an effing prison sentence with no time off for good behavior. You most definitely will spend a lot of time in solitary and shank more than one person.

Menopause hasn’t been the only scourge during my journey to the golden years. I have IBS now: Industrial Boob Slings. Every time I tuck my nips into my pajama waistband I sincerely regret not getting that boob job in my 30s.

And speaking of boobs, can we talk about the excruciating pain when you roll over on them after they flop into your armpits every time you lay on your back? If I manage to maneuver my way out of that predicament, my dog or cat will find flesh with their claws as they tippy-tap near me. Every. Single. Time.

My friend told me to buy some lingerie to feel young and sexy again but that’s a whole other can of thongs. I’m convinced lingerie was invented by 6-year-old boys who gave each other wedgies at school and grew up to ask, “How can we torture women? I know, let’s convince them that wearing dental floss up their ass cracks is sexy.” Once you hit a certain age though, your partner can floss his/her/their dentures while down there.

So on my 35th wedding anniversary I took my friend’s advice and bought some new lingerie, but instead of surprising my hub I had to ask him to help me into it because my arthritic fingers couldn’t lace up the back. He obliged, then went back into the living room to watch the Phillies. I said you have 2 innings, then I’m changing into an ump outfit and throwing you out of the game. I’m pretty sure it was the menopause talking.

Sue Gregson

Sue Gregson is a business writer and kids’ book author who used to work for the Delaware and Maryland state governments in the education, legislative, affordable housing, and community development arenas. She’s volunteered for federal, state, and local political campaigns for nearly 50 years. Sue is not growing old gracefully.

Latest posts by Sue Gregson (Posts)

getting older