My Golden Age

My mother told me that she loved her 50s. I think the neck surgery has tempered my opinion. But this year, I'm 52. I'm officially menopausal. I've reached the end of the torturous road that was my period. It's nice. Now I just have to be careful when I sneeze too hard.

For my younger readers, I feel like I should convey, with my brutal use of adjectives and adverbs, my journey to this point. It all started when I was 10. Way back then, my mom made me wear a pad the size of my banana seat. It was so humiliating.

As I got older, my period got outrageously heavy (think hallway scene from The Shining). And I almost always started at school, where I was woefully unprepared. Every month I'd have to walk about a mile home, I would have blood down to the knees of my jeans. Spring in Texas was always so hot, and I was always so terrified I'd start when I was with my boyfriend or wearing shorts. But Mother Nature is a b*tch and she owns it. My mom tried to be sympathetic, but she really couldn't relate.

For the record, I inherited my mom's septate uterus. My son is literally a miracle. He gets his stubbornness and sense of humor from me. Even now, at 26, his laugh makes me happy. I do stand-up for him. I know if I make him laugh, really laugh, I'm good. I love my little boy. My beautiful, furry-faced, tall, sweet boy.

After Josh was born, my period kind of got "normal." Every 30 days, I became a horrible person. I went on birth control to help with the PMS and keep me on a schedule. I loved it until I turned 35. I smoked and blood clots would have been a real risk.

My first hot flash happened at age 40. I want to do this description justice so you might want to strap in now.

My hot flashes always start at the nape of my neck. Heat creeps up the back of my head first. My hair gets wet. Not damp. Wet. At the crown of my head, the heat splits in two. White-hot, invisible flames race to my ears and render them bright pink. Next comes the lava, poured down my back by Satan himself!!! Napalm replaces blood. Sometimes, I'm surprised it doesn't smell like barbecued Amy. I'm sympathetic to lobsters now. We've both been steamed alive!

At about 45, my periods reverted to those torturous teen years. Thank goodness for Tampax Pearl Ultras. At the heaviest, I would start leaking in about an hour and a half. My lower spine felt gritty when I moved right before I'd start.

Eventually, the symptoms began to fade and I started to skip periods. Nothing like taking a pregnancy test at 48 because you're "late." I won a dollar. Not ever really being regular, I had calculated my odds of having another baby and it came out a negative percentage. A couple of guys argued the point, but then I hit them with science. That really confused them.

So, anyway, now I'm 52. From 50 til now has been hard. I'm trying to get healthier. Turns out, if you treat your body like crap, it'll fall apart. I'm in therapy. I'm taking my meds like I'm supposed to. But I hurt.

I think I injured my hamstring, but I haven't gone to the doctor yet. This pandemic has made me do a lot of thinking. I've worked through a lot. Still have a ways to go. My closet is pretty deep and I have stacked so much baggage in there. I have a lot on my plate.

I've stared into the abyss. And the abyss stared back, I'm not afraid of it anymore. I'm not afraid of Her. She's a pretty rad chick.

Me.

I'm pretty rad.