Skinny Jeans

Two weeks ago I was flipping through channels on the TV.  I was trying to adjust the color on the television Ken bought in December.  The flat screen was a surprise to me.  I didn't think we needed a new television, or a home stereo system for that matter, but I enjoy movies and television series on DVD and want what's on the screen to look normal.  I needed to figure out how to get colors, sharpness, contrast, and tint as close to true as possible.

I don't watch daytime television anymore, but I decided the best way to adjust the picture was to watch as large a cross section of programming as possible.  I flipped among talk shows, game shows, newscasts, soap operas, and commercials at different times throughout the day and fiddled with the settings.

I thought I had things pretty well set when I happened upon "Dr. Oz."  He looked orange, and thanks to him I was able to make the final necessary fine-tuning adjustments.  This particular show opened with women from the audience making a show of throwing away their fat pants.

Fat pants?  I don't have fat pants. 

I have a different strategy.  I keep a pair of skinny jeans ~ jeans that I've had for several years and wear periodically to make sure they still fit.  When they finally wear out to the point that I can't wear them in public any more I wear them as "paint" pants around the house.  Then another old pair of jeans becomes my skinny jeans.  This clothes recycling strategy seems to be working.

Today I wore my skinny jeans to run errands.  They are frayed at the hem and the waistband, but no one could tell because I was wearing boots and a bulky sweater.

My skinny jeans still fit.  Phew.  That was a relief, although I do need to start paying more attention.

This time of year is the most challenging.  I walk on the treadmill but I'm not as active as I am the rest of the year.  During the winter months baked goods from a warm oven taste the most delicious with a fresh cup of coffee, and the right glass of wine can make a simple dinner special.  My goal is to not have to give up the things I most like to eat and drink.

I acknowledge that my body has changed shape in the seven years since menopause.  Some of that was inevitable due to physiological changes.  It means I don't have the control over my shape that I once did, but it doesn't mean I can't manage my weight. 

My skinny jeans will keep me honest, and I have some painting to do.  Let's hope my paint pants still fit....    

Once A Year

Flu shot.  Check.

Mammogram.  Check.

Every.  Year.

* * * * * * * * * *
Until three years ago I'd never had a flu shot.  Then Ken landed in the ICU with pneumonia in July 2009.  Now we each get a flu shot every year, he so he doesn't get the flu and me so I don't get it and bring it home.  I don't remember the last time I had the flu...it has been decades.  I have no intention of getting the flu, but my daughter the doctor says I need to get the vaccine to be sure.  This year I intend to head back into the classroom, so I need to be doubly sure.

Today at 2:55 I was administered this year's flu vaccine.  It takes minutes and my insurance covers it, so that's not a problem.  It's just that I trust my body to fight off viruses, so I feel resistance when people tell me my own immune system may not be able to protect me.  It's no longer up to me to trust my system; today I had a flu shot.

* * * * * * * * * *
I put off getting my first mammogram as long as I could, and by the time I succumbed I was several years past 40.  Then I was convinced to have a baseline mammogram, probably by some article I read or some guest on "Oprah."  It has become a yearly ritual because that's the standard.

Every year I ask the technician when I can stop having a yearly mammogram.  Every year I am told that there is no end in sight. 

I am now seven years post menopause.  I am obsessed with facial moisturizer so my face doesn't dry up and blow away.  I use progesterone cream daily to counteract my lack of estrogen, which I use sparingly but gratefully so I can enjoy marital relations with my husband because we still like each other and sex is a good thing that keeps us connected.

None of that buys me any advantage in regards to a yearly mammogram.  Women don't get a pass, regardless of their age or health history.  We need a mammogram every year for the purposes of early detection.  Period.

Today at 3:45 I had my yearly mammogram.  The technician said she got four good pictures.  I will have the report in a week.  There is every reason to believe that the news will be good, as it has been every other year.  As much as I don't think I will ever get breast cancer I will continue to get a mammogram every year because the alternative to early detection is inconceivable.  I have a husband, three grown children, a career to restart, and a lot of living still to do.

So many things feel out of my control lately, and it seems silly to take comfort in a shot and an x-ray.  But there it is...at least for another year.          

Two Appointments

I had two medical appointments today. I don't usually schedule appointments in places that are 75 miles apart for the same day, but in each case it was the first date available. The time slots were four hours apart so it was okay.

This morning was a repeat visit to Women To Women [W2W], the health center co-founded many years ago by Dr. Christiane Northrup. She is no longer there, but there are professionals who specialize in all things to do with lady parts. I had a pap smear during a yearly physical in July that was normal, but my primary care physician was concerned about white patches on my cervix. Eight years ago I was a patient at W2W when I had some problems that turned out to be related to menopause, with a good resolution, so it made sense to return there for a look-see. Since it had been longer than seven years I was considered a new patient, and all the paperwork was a pain, but they were able to get me in in October.

Then I was seen by Kate, a nurse practitioner who confirmed that I had white patches on my cervix [white blood cells decided to hang out and medical professionals like to know WHY]. She prescribed a different estrogen cream, one that was supposed to be more compatible with my body's chemistry than the Premarin I had been using. After six weeks I was scheduled for another look-see with Marcelle Pick, RNC, MSN, OB/GYN, NP.

I used the free samples of Vagifem that Kate gave me. Then I did some research with my daughter that showed that estrogen cream is basically estrogen cream. Plus my insurance won't cover Vagifem. Plus I had a full tube of Premarin, so Premarin it was for six weeks.

I was nervous this morning. I didn't mean to be, and I tried not to be, but I was. Then I had to try to make sense of my self-prescribed switch from the Vagifem samples to the Premarin cream so the nurse could make a note in my chart. There was some tsk-tsking but there wasn't anything I could do about that after the fact.

My nervousness must have showed because Marcelle [first-name basis at this place] worked hard to put me at ease before the exam. She explained that she might not even have to do a biopsy if everything looked okay. I said I had been through all of this many years ago and she said that they have a better way of doing things now.

Then she took a look and told me I have a beautiful cervix. No problems. Seriously? Yes, all clear. I smiled, thanked her, and treated myself to a muffin on the way out of town. Note to self: the prescribed half a gram of estrogen cream once a week promotes cervical health.

I had time to take a breath and stop at home before my afternoon appointment.

One down and one to go....

The second appointment was with my primary care physician/osteopath to check on my shoulder. She last worked on it in July. My shoulders have been sore and I've felt like I'm out of alignment, so the timing of today's visit was good.

She started with my legs and lower back, and then my abdomen. She was there a long time.

"What's with your gut?" she asked. "Have you had that bug that's going around?"

No, I've been physically healthy. But for weeks I've felt like I'm in a bind. Once again my body has ratted me out. We talked and she worked on my head and shoulders a bit. But the issues stem from my core.

I am literally gut wrenched.

She asked a couple questions. Is there anything I can do about it? No.

There are things out of my control. Something close to home has changed but someone has drawn their line in the sand and I have no say about it. There is nothing I can do about something that deeply affects me.

I'm in a bind. I can't see a solution.

And I need to push it down until after the holidays. I am so looking forward to all of my family being home for Christmas and New Year's. That is all I want to focus on right now.

My stomach will just have to go with the flow until January. The rest of me has a lot to do.

Walk It

This morning I walked two miles on the treadmill in 28 minutes 57 seconds, my best time to date.

I am not hungry. Hot flashes, night sweats, and insomnia have returned after a two-month hiatus. I feel exhausted.

Later in the day I drove to the post office in a nearby town. Then I walked some more, outside in the sunny 60-degree weather.

When all else fails, by golly, I can walk.

Oprah, Caroline, and Michelle

I live my life in relative anonymity. In the past two years I have been attempting to find a place in my post-children, post-menopause world. I have made mistakes and false starts, and I have had days where it was all I could do to get out of bed. I have had the luxury of facing these changes and challenges in the privacy of my own home. People only know what I choose to share, if and when I decide to share the details.

Not so for Oprah Winfrey, Caroline Kennedy, and Michelle Obama.

I give Oprah credit for telling it like it is. She started this year with an article in her magazine and an interview on her show about her weight gain. Oprah is 50+ and menopausal, like millions of women who watch her show. Unlike most women, Oprah has a team of health professionals to call on; she has invited them into her studio to work with her on behalf of other women in the same situation. Oprah may be disappointed with herself, but she is not giving up.

I give Caroline Kennedy credit for throwing her hat in the ring for consideration as senator of New York. She is a lawyer, author, fund-raiser, wife, and mother. She has spent the last two decades out of the limelight, working and taking care of her family. She decided to test the political waters, which turned out to be cold and full of sharks. There was no way for her to know what the result would be, but she took the risk anyway.

I give Michelle Obama credit for her sense of style and the confidence with which she has taken on the role of First Lady. Until two years ago she was a working professional, wife, and mother. Then she put her husband's aspirations for the presidency ahead of everything else. Michelle went on the road to campaign for her husband, while her mother moved in to help with the children. I don't know what Michelle anticipated her life with Barack would be, when they married sixteen years ago. I doubt she planned a move to the White House when she was 45 years old; she lives there now and looks like she can handle anything that comes her way.

Oprah, Caroline, and Michelle are women in the prime of their life. I admire their grace and courage as they make changes and take risks while the world looks on. They are extraordinary role models for women of all ages. If they can face mid-life in the public eye, surely I can manage the changes I face in my own life.

Two Miles

Since we bought the treadmill in mid-November, my goal has been to walk two miles in 30 minutes. I almost made it this morning, two miles in 30:34. The flat 30:00 was the norm when I walked at the gym 3-4 years ago so I know I can do it. It takes a steady speed of at least 4 miles an hour. Once I'm comfortable with that I will increase the incline, which makes the walk more of a workout.

This afternoon I will add crunches and a short workout with 3-pound weights to my routine.

This is the year to establish the habits that I will need for the rest of my life. Before menopause I could manage my body shape through diet. That is no longer the case, and I refuse to get comfortable with feeling frumpy. I want to feel strong. That's going to take some work at this point in my life.

Like so many other changes in recent years, I have a spent a good amount of time lamenting how my body used to look and feel. That didn't get me anywhere, so I've decided to get serious about what I really want. I have admitted that exercise needs to become part of my daily routine. It's not my first choice, but it's become obvious that it's the only way to get the results I want.

I know there are health benefits from regular exercise. Surprisingly, that did not act as much of an incentive. Jeans feeling a bit tighter did the trick. I know holiday treats contributed to the problem, but I don't want to have to stop eating cookies and other treats. I love homemade cookies! and pies! and muffins! Cutting out all those goodies would be the worst form of denial, which I hope to avoid.

Hmmm...a sugar cookie would taste good, but I think I'll dig out the weights first.

Afternoon Tea

I had errands to do today and got home about 3:00. Between unloading groceries and making room on pantry shelves, I put the kettle on. My new routine includes a pot of tea in the afternoon. In fact, I look forward to tea time.

This is something different for me, steadfast coffee drinker that I am. For almost two years I have been attempting to cut back my coffee consumption, on the stern advice of my acupuncturist. She says coffee heats things up, and my metabolism is already hot enough. As a rule, I have been able to cut down on the amount of coffee I drink. Then cold weather or a befuddling day comes along, and my first reaction is to crank up the coffee pot.

Oh, I have enjoyed black tea and herbal teas for years. Occasionally. Last year I tried to make green tea a regular component of my diet. I like it okay, especially if I combine green tea with lemon or grapefruit tea. But I don't want green tea every day, and it never came close to being a replacement for an afternoon infusion of coffee.

Then last winter my daughter found the most amazing black tea at The Christmas Tree Shop. Bromley Estate Tea. Oh, my. I knew at the first taste that she had come upon a tea that I could love. When I went to her house we would share a pot of tea, or I would make myself a single cup. Mmmmmmm. I like mine with a teaspoon of sugar. Steaming. Comfort in a cup.

My daughter gave me a few teabags to take home with me. I used them sparingly. She reassured me she would pick up another box of Bromley Tea the next time she went shopping.

Then she couldn't find it. She looked. I looked. I looked again. No luck. It was a good thing I still had a few teabags stashed away. Months passed. I was down to my last two bags.

Mid-November my daughter made one of her quick trips to the grocery store, the kind where you need a little bit of everything but don't want to buy too much of anything. The kind of trip where you wind up going through the entire store. Lo and behold, there in the coffee and tea aisle, beside all the standard teas that we've been drinking for years, she found boxes of Bromley Estate Tea. She bought a box and promptly forgot to tell me. Then she remembered to tell me but forgot to bring it over, until this past week-end.

The timing was perfect. I was down to my last teabag. I had been saving it for a special occasion.

Now I don't need a special occasion. Every afternoon this week I have enjoyed a pot of Bromley Tea for no reason other than it tastes delicious and warms in a way that is just right.

I think I better buy another box while the grocery store has it in stock. This is one habit that is actually good for me.

Clarity Through the Tears

Cold snap. The temperature was 25 degrees at 8:00 this morning.

Clarity snap. For the last three days I've been working out some things that have been trying to come to the surface for weeks.

Things started to shift on August 26, a day that holds significance because it was my friend Marie's birthday. This year it was also the night of Hillary Clinton's speech at the Democratic Convention, an inspiring speech that made me all the sorrier to see an end to her campaign. I climbed into bed that night and all the emotions of the day came pouring out. I sobbed. Ken woke up and wanted to help, but there was nothing for him to do. I needed to cry it out. Loss. Missed opportunities. Grief over what will never be.

Since that night I have been extremely emotional, crying at the drop of a hat. All of a sudden the tears will start, while I'm driving or watching a movie or listening to music. I've been working with my massage therapist around whatever it is that I have been trying to work through.

I've also been working with my acupuncturist. I had an appointment yesterday and told her at the beginning that, after another short breather, the night sweats and anxiety had returned full force in the last week. We talked about what else has been going on with my family and my job search. Once I was on the table she positioned a number of needles in my ears, legs, and hands. Then I had a period of quiet time, which is sometimes filled with mental chatter. Yesterday, though, I silently asked for "the peace that passes all understanding." The phrase came to me this week as a last resort. For weeks when I prepare for sleep I have said "I am at peace," but my mind and body have not taken the bait. I haven't been at peace. So I started asking for the peace I can't understand with my mind, the ultimate peace that comes from the essence of who I am. And that simple request has helped me get to sleep.

When I made the request yesterday the tears started to roll down my cheeks. There was nothing I could do because I had to lay quietly. What was going on? Where was all this emotion coming from? I relaxed. I listened. At the essence of the request for peace that passes all understanding is the acceptance of who I am at my core. I realized that by making that request I acknowledge the real me, not the me I think I have to be. And at that moment I no longer saw myself divided as an outer me and an inner me. I was one.

When the acupuncture treatment was over, I felt calmer, though still emotional. Before she left the room, the therapist asked me if I felt better. I said yes. I did.

I moved through the rest of day feeling like something was working itself out. At the end of the day, while I was taking a shower, another piece fell into place. I have felt for a long time that there is a place inside me that I can't reach. I envision that place as a black box, like the box on a plane that tracks what really happens in the cockpit, the box that holds the secrets. Last night I realized that what I haven't been able to reach is me, the essence of who I am.

The last four years have been a search for that essence. Menopause has not been a time for me to hit my stride or come into my own because I am still sorting out what I am not. I am not the roles I play. I am not all the things I am able to do or all the things I know. I am not who other people say I am or who they need me to be. I am not who I thought I would be.

While I kept trying to reconcile all those things, I needed those things to fall away. While I was trying to replace one role with another, I needed to accept that all roles are false and no role can take the place of who I am.

This morning I revisited chapter 7 in A New Earth for the umpteenth time. Every time I read any chapter in this book I learn something new. It often takes several readings for me to digest a concept. I know what the words means; it takes time for the meaning to sink in.

These words on page 190 became crystal clear today: "Whatever you think the world is withholding from you, you are withholding from the world. You are withholding it because deep down you think you are small and that you have nothing to give." I have been withholding "me" from the world.

The journey continues....

Menopauseland

My daughter found a magazine ad that starts:

Greetings from Menopauseland!
What a wild ride so far! Smooth, beautifully paved stretches of road followed by some nasty bumps and potholes, and back to smooth all over again....

That ad came to mind yesterday when I realized I was again on a stretch of road with nasty bumps and potholes. I appreciate the smooth stretches, although they never last long enough. It takes me a week or so to realize I'm back in pothole territory - sleeplessness and night sweats for more than a few nights in a row indicate the terrain has changed.

I had a reprieve on smooth road before and during my trip south. A break in the routine always helps, and travelling to a different place for a week is the best remedy. Then I got home and needed a few days to get back into the routine here. Consciously, I felt good about the trip; subconsciously, I now know I have been working some things out. I was home for a short time when the sleeplessness, night sweats, and hot flashes started again. I kept hoping it was just a blip, but it's been almost two weeks.

Being on this stretch of road came to light yesterday during my appointment for massage therapy. We always start my monthly appointment by talking about what's been going on for me and how my body is doing. Yesterday I shared stories about my trip, time with family, and my interview.

The woman I see for massage therapy is amazing. She has extensive training in a variety of areas and a sense about the connection between people's bodies and their lives. She has known me for almost ten years and is always right on about what is going on with my body.

We talked yesterday about my journey to where I lived as a child and how I am trying to help my mom with her transition. We talked about how the changes we make in ourselves affect the people around us and the energy it takes to be a channel for change. She wondered out loud if my body is ridding itself of "old stuff" with the heat it's emitting. I agreed. I reminded myself that this is a process that will take a long time, even though I have been here many times before and think I am ready to move on.

We talked about fear, how humans still feel fear even though it's often not needed for survival, and how we can overcome the fear by acknowledging it's there and going forward anyway. I thought about how unsure of myself I was during the interview, and then I gave myself credit for doing it anyway. I will never know what's possible if I don't give myself a chance to find out.

I talked about a place in me that I can't get to, that feels like it holds things I need to know. Years ago a counselor likened therapy to peeling an onion, one layer at a time. I get flashes of self-knowledge, and I pay attention because each is a piece of the puzzle. Massage therapy helps me body process the changes I'm going through and makes me aware of the connections between how my body feels and what I know. The combination helps me "be" who I am.

Massage yesterday focused on my abdomen, hips, and legs. The abdominal area "holds" family, security, beginnings. My right hip was a bit off, which was making my neck hurt. The muscles in my legs have been tight the last few months, and they loosen up more easily with each treatment; my legs ground me and help me move forward. I felt better afterward - I always do.

Yesterday afternoon I was the most relaxed I've been in two weeks. I spent time at my daughter's house while my car was at the garage for a new oil pan. I walked two miles and kept moving throughout the afternoon. I was able to get two projects finished.

While my body was busy I was able to think more clearly about Wednesday's interview. Later I revisited the job description that had me so excited about the position. The questions I was asked focused on just one aspect of the job, while the ad lists meeting with established groups of stakeholders around the state and working with schools to develop a protocol for identifying students who would benefit from available services. I took a deep breath. Last night I emailed the woman I met with to thank her for the opportunity to interview for the job and acknowledged that it will be an exciting 18 months for the person who gets the job. When I told my son, he said it sounds as if I'd like to have the job. I think he's right.

Intimacy Before and After Menopause

My husband, Ken, and I have been together for more than 33 years. Our first date sealed the deal on our friendship. For weeks before that memorable evening we met nightly over coffee at Dunkin' Donuts, where we talked for hours. We liked each other and enjoyed being in each other's company. Ken and I knew we were in the relationship for the long haul before we donned our best duds and went out to dinner.

Our relationship was emotionally intimate before it was physically intimate. We shared what we were thinking, questioned each other's ideas, discussed our differences, made compromises, and dared to dream. It was important to me that I could talk to the man I loved.

Physical intimacy came as naturally as emotional intimacy had. We were a good fit. When we made time to talk, our relationship flourished. We married, moved, bought a house, and started a family. We needed both emotional and physical intimacy for our marriage to stay strong.

When we reached an impasse in our marriage, communication suffered and so did physical intimacy. There were times when we had different goals and couldn't agree; it was hard to talk without fighting and we grew apart. Sometimes it was physical longing that brought us back together, so we could again hear what the other had to say. Sometimes it was a recognition of all we had to lose, if we didn't make things right, that started us talking and led us back into each other's arms. Emotional and physical intimacy went hand in hand for us.

After three decades together, and as our children became adults, Ken and I looked forward to spending more time as a couple. We had come full circle and could again focus on each other. What I didn't anticipate was how menopause and postmenopause would affect the intimate relationship I had with my husband. We had always found a way to work through problems together. For the first time, I had to find answers on my own.

Initially, it wasn't apparent to me how much things had changed. I was tired, my body was changing, and I didn't react in the same way when my husband and I were physically intimate. Ken was patient, and I was frustrated. We talked about it, as much as I was able because I didn't understand what was happening. I was well into menopause, so I thought the worst was over. Ken and I continued to communicate, which is what I've always counted on to keep us close. This time, when I needed it most, it didn't help to talk about what was going on. When talking didn't help, I stopped making the effort to explain my experience, and our communication suffered.

In the past, we used emotional and physical intimacy to build our relationship. When we were low in one, we compensated with the other. We tag-teamed the emotional and the physical to overcome hurdles. This time we didn't have enough of one to make up for the lack of the other, and I didn't know how to replenish our supply.

Was this the true "change?" Was this why couples moved to separate beds? Was this where loving looks replaced passion? Was this the end to my hope to reclaim the life my husband and I shared before we had children?

I decided "this" would be none of those things. I overcame my modesty and shared what I was going through with my massage therapist, who worked to loosen muscles in my back and abdomen, and my acupuncturist, whose treatments and herbs addressed my symptoms. I continued to use natural progesterone regularly, and lubricant became a mainstay. Over a period of months the situation improved. Then I hit the proverbial wall where things no longer continued to get better. And that is when I reached into the back of the linen closet and pulled out the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me last year. Intercourse is no longer painful, and physical sensation has improved in the last few weeks. I will continue to work on all fronts to get back to 100%.

I thought long and hard before I decided to post about my experience. It has taken me six hours to write the words that express what I want to say. I wish I had known what to be aware of. Neither Ken or I did anything wrong, but our relationship changed because we could not rely on what had always worked in the past. I needed to use a variety of strategies to solve the problem. I didn't need to lose the emotional and physical intimacy I have shared with my husband for the last 33 years.

Estrogen Cream Plus Natural Progesterone

*Note: My latest post at 50-something moms blog is titled From Childhood to Adulthood: How Do We Measure the Transition?

I had an acupuncture treatment today. I go once a month. She asks how I'm feeling and what my body is doing; she inspects my tongue, which I can't explain; and she takes multiple pulses, all through my wrists, and I can't explain that either. Based on what I say and my physical indicators, she determines what treatment is necessary. I told her today that I've felt more emotional than usual this week and haven't been hungry in the last week or so. Today's treatment was a series of needles on my right ear; needles in my lower legs; and one needle in my abdomen, the top of each hand, and my forehead. Then I relaxed to soft music for about twenty minutes. Without exception, I feel better after a treatment.

Today I shared that I have started using the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me over a year ago. She wrinkled her brow and asked, "And you're still using the natural progesterone cream, right?" The natural progesterone balances the unwanted effects of estrogen. I assured her I was still using the natural progesterone cream daily. I went on to explain that I used the estrogen cream every day for a week, and since then I have used it once a week. So far that has been enough.

Last week, for the first time in over two years, I did not need to use lubricant during intercourse and sex felt the way I remembered it. This is a good thing. A healthy sexual relationship is an important aspect of the intimacy my husband and I share. In my next post I will write about intimacy after menopause.

*An important note about the use of the creams I have mentioned here and in a previous post: Although natural progesterone is available at health food stores, it should be used according to the advice of your health care provider. A prescription is needed for any kind of estrogen cream, and your health care provider can talk about the options available.

Yes to Estrogen Cream

*Note: My latest post at 50-something moms blog is [a companion piece to my last post here] titled Life After Menopause.

This post is a little personal, but I think the information is important. What I'm hearing from women is that there's not much being written about what really happens during menopause. I'd like to change that, so here we go....

Monday night I started using estrogen cream again. I had a prescription filled over a year ago for Premarin and only used it once. I had previously tried a different brand and had a reaction, probably a sensitivity to some ingredient. The doctor then prescribed Premarin, I used it once, and things felt a little strange so I put it aside. Lately I've run out of ideas to try to make sex more comfortable, so I figured I would give the Premarin estrogen cream another go.

Yes! After three nights I noticed a difference and sex didn't hurt. This is a good thing.

In the beginning, again, things felt a little strange. If you've read this far, I guess I can share that 1 gram of the cream is applied to the area in question. There was an almost immediate change in feeling...that's hard to explain...but more sensitive? full? I decided to continue with the daily dosage for at least a week to see if it made a difference. I was at the point that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. By the second day I was used to the feeling and stayed with the plan to see it through.

I'm glad I gave the Premarin cream another chance. After this week, I will use it a couple times a week to see if I can maintain with that. My body is smart so it may figure out what it needs to do and take it from there, which has been known to happen for other women. I have a good feeling about this....

Perimeno, Meno, or Postmeno - It's All a Pause

Well, happy anniversary to me. August 6, four years ago, was the last day of the last period I would ever have. It's one of those things you realize afterwards - you don't know it's your last period until it has gone by, and you don't know you're in menopause until it's a year later. Perimenopause is the time of transition before your last period. Menopause is the year after your last period. Postmenopause is what the experts call the rest of your life, although according to some websites they are trying to come up with a better label for what is, for many women, the longest span of a woman's lifetime.

Call it what you will, by any name it is a pause in what had become the monthly womanly routine. I have had other women envy me when I tell them I am in menopause. I think they feel that way because they're not here yet, and they do not realize the changes that are ahead for them.

Once I had a pregnancy, and my hormones straightened out, I didn't mind having a period every month. It came, it went, life went on. My body felt like I wanted it to feel and did what I wanted it to do. I lost weight when I wanted to, and I could control the shape of my body with exercise. I could sleep when I wanted to, and when I wanted to fool around with my husband I was always able to accommodate the desire to do so.

Perimenopause was a time of transition: emotional, stressful, and tiring, with hot flashes and night sweats. It was also a time when I had bursts of energy, started working in the yard, and took on projects I had been thinking about for years. Ironically, sex was the best it ever had been. It's hard to say when perimenopause started because periods didn't change until the last year and a half, when they were no longer regular and were heavier than anything I had ever experienced. Whew! I wound up in the stirrups for a biopsy because things were so out of whack. It was nothing serious, just my body gearing up for menopause.

Menopause slid by because I didn't yet realize I was done. Aside from not having periods, my body acted pretty much like it had been through perimenopause. Sex was still good. I was able to keep my figure with little effort. I did feel better emotionally, which was a plus. My youngest child was in high school and able to be independent, so I took a job I wanted that meant I wasn't home every evening.

Then two years out the wheels started to come off the bus, so to speak. The changes happened slowly and I didn't realize that I was permanently in the "change of life" until my skin was flaky, my hair was dry, sex hurt, and I felt anxious 24/7. This has not been a fun time.

I learned that I had the potential for belly fat, which was a revelation to me. The only time I'd ever had a belly was when I was pregnant. Enter crunches and awareness of eating.

I discovered tiny lines and long, black facial hair. Enter a variety of Olay miracle creams and electrolysis.

I found myself avoiding sex because my body didn't feel familiar to me and didn't respond the way it used to. Enter lubricant, acupuncture, herbs, progesterone cream, and estrogen cream if I can find one I'm not allergic to. This whole area is still a work in progress. I'm not giving up, but it's a hard thing to talk about.

Which brings me to the point about how isolating this time of life is. When a girl starts her period, it's all "you're a woman now" and trips to the drug store. When a woman gets pregnant, it's all "congratulations" and preparation for the baby. When a woman enters menopause, it's hard to find someone in the same place: some women aren't there yet, some women are taking hormones, some women sailed right through, and some women don't want to talk about it. So you read the books, watch The Oprah Show, and check out websites.

And I wait, hoping that "this too shall pass." It has been a long four years. I wasn't ready for menopause at 48, and I'm not ready to throw in the towel at 52. I know this change and all the other changes in my life go hand in hand. Maybe when the rest of my life finds its center, my body will follow suit and I will begin to feel like "me" again.

In Four Days

I will find out on Tuesday if I have my dream job. I thought a lot about whether or not I wanted to tell anyone exactly when I would find out. Then I emailed a few friends, and surprisingly I felt better when I saw the words on the screen. It made it real. It also helped me get out of my head and shooed away some of the unproductive thinking. However, I'm taking a risk in telling people because it's out there in the open now.

"Putting it out there" is a fairly new strategy for me. I have figured for most of my life that the best way to get through is to stay out of the way and not draw attention to myself. If I'm not bothering anyone, no one will bother me. If I have a valid point to make, I will clearly lay out my thinking with evidence to back it up. If necessary, I quietly go through the proper channels to work for change. Sometimes this strategy works and sometimes it doesn't, but it causes the least amount of upheaval and hurt feelings.

Plus, if someone knows what I'm thinking they might disagree with me. My rational self can deal with conflict and knows how to barter a deal. My personal self does not like confrontation and will do all it can to work things out another way. When things get personal, I get worried and anxious: Will I say the wrong thing? Will they still like me? Will they tell other people what they think of me?

I can stand up for any issue I believe in and make the arguments necessary to make my point. I firmly believe in dialogue and collaboration and compromise - around issues. I am willing to go to the mat for something I believe in.

And it's not that I can't stand up for myself when I have to, because I have done that and I've taken some hits in the process. When it gets to the point where I have nothing to lose, I will take the risk and make myself known.

As I get older I am finding more instances where I have nothing to lose. If not now, when? What image of myself am I holding onto that is so important that I don't want to share my real self or risk finding out what others think of me? What am I saving for later?

This could be part of that "finding your voice" in menopause that I've heard so much about. Is it that we don't have the energy to keep up the facade? Is it that putting it out there helps move things along so we can get on with the business of living? Is it that we know that this, too, shall pass? Or is it all of these things and everything else we've learned along the way?

If we're lucky, we realize where we've been and can see where we want to go. If we are really lucky, we still have time for the journey to continue.

Now for the Outside

Photos: Side of the house with deck. Front yard, complete with fire circle. View from the deck of the backyard with clothesline.

Looks like this will be another summer of painting. Now that the living spaces and laundry room are finished, it's time to turn my attention to the outside. Oh, boy.

The railing around the deck and porch needs to be painted. Before today I thought the railing was just primed. Poking around this morning I found white outdoor paint in the utility room. Ugh. That's why the paint is peeling - the wood wasn't primed first.

Ohhhhh, this is SO not my idea of a good time. Not that I don't want the wood to be protected and the house to look good. It's not that. It is that for the past sixteen months I have been thrown back into a role that I was working hard to get out of: caretaker of the house. Before we sold our other house, I had finally gotten things finished! Walls and woodwork were painted, floors and carpets were in good shape, and the outside was at the point it could be easily maintained. For the first time I had a yard, with grass, and flower beds, with flowers.

Since we moved, it has been one project after another, and there is still so much to do. Did you see the yard?! There is no yard, just clay, rocks, and weeds. Slopes need to be leveled and fill needs to be delivered and topsoil needs to be spread.... When I say I want to talk to people who know about landscaping, I mean that I want to ask where to begin to think about landscaping with no expectation of action for at least another year...and maybe longer.

The irony is that until about six years ago I had little to do with the yard. The kids played outside, and we kept the grass mowed. Then the kids got older, and I wanted a yard I could enjoy. For the first time in my life I wanted to play in the dirt and plant flowers. Ken and I added topsoil, fertilized, and planted flowers. We rebuilt the front walk and patio. We edged all the flower beds with bricks or stones. I moved plants from one place to another if they didn't do well, and I watched them thrive with the attention.

Then I read that women in/near menopause often enjoy working with their hands in the soil. At the time I didn't know that I was that close to menopause [officially four years this August]. I felt relaxed when I worked in the yard, often for hours at a time. It wasn't something I had to do ~ it was something I wanted to do. And it made me feel good.

My disappointment with all the painting left to do here has to do with where I still need to put my attention. It's not what I want, but it is what I need to do. Maybe someday I will once again be able to loosen the mantle of caretaker of the house.

One Step Forward

My car has been acting funny so I took her into the shop today. Turns out she needed new plugs and an alternator, so it was an all-day ordeal. While I waited, my daughter let me hang out at her house, aka my old house, where I can always find something to keep me occupied. Over the years I painted or papered every room, most more than once. The house no longer feels like home, but it still feels familiar.

Today I thought about what else in my life feels familiar and how unwilling I have been to let go of the old to make room for the new. Throughout the day I gently asked myself what I am afraid of. I didn't belabor the point or wait for an answer. I kept myself busy with physical tasks and tried to keep the thinking to a minimum.

Then I walked two and a half miles to retrieve my car. I was grateful my legs could carry me that far. I thought about a time when I wasn't able to count on my body to do what I needed it to do and how that led me to start massage therapy. I saw the same therapist for four years, until she moved out of state. I learned that my mind and body are connected, and treatment of one affects the other. During one particularly emotional session she said to me, "There are no victims here." Those words came to me today as I walked.

I am not a victim of circumstances or of anyone else's decisions. I am responsible for my life and have made choices that made sense at each point along the way. I can only be where I am right now. My fear is that I will disrupt the balance of my life if I follow through with what I want to do. I have been spinning in place, putting off moving forward because I do not know what will happen. There is no way I can know what will happen. My planning abilities are no help now.

My body is sending messages loud and clear. The hot flashes, night sweats, anxiety attacks, and racing thoughts are signals that I am ignoring what I know in an attempt to maintain the status quo. I feel much better on the days that I go with my gut and ignore the negative voice in my head. To paraphrase Eckhart Tolle, I can't think myself out of a problem or into a purpose. Those things have to come from within.

As long as I keep shutting myself down I will continue to feel lost and the physical symptoms will rule. If I want to get on the other side of this I need to get out of my own way, one step at a time.

The Born Analogy

A friend gave me this cup for my 40th birthday.
It mirrors how I'm feeling ~




Last night I couldn't shake the words "giving birth to herself," the words Christiane Northrup, M.D. uses to describe menopause. I have been reading other women's blogs where they write about childbirth, so the topic has been on my mind. I have racked my brain for any similarity between the birth process and how I'm feeling, and I got nothin'.

This morning I pulled out Dr. Northrup's book The Wisdom of Menopause, which I read five years ago, to see what I've forgotten. On page 7 she writes, "Compared to when they were in their twenties, thirties, and forties, they [women] felt their lives had improved in many ways, including family life, interests, friendships, and their relationship with their spouse or partner." So that's it - that's what is supposed to be happening right now. Well, I've been in menopause almost four years, and I'm still waiting.

I have one friend who hates whining and one who doesn't like complaining, so I am trying real hard not to do either. But I am at a loss right now for what to do next. This isn't a new or exciting time for me. I have been putting one foot in front of the other, keeping my mind open, and saying yes when an opportunity arises. Right now I feel sad and alone.

I tried to follow a dream in 2005 when I went back to school for a degree in social work, a degree I had started 30 years earlier. It seemed like a good time in my life to change careers. I learned that I didn't want to do clinicial social work but that I loved organizational and community practice. The program was a disappointment, but I met some good people and followed through because it felt like the right thing to do....

In the middle of my second year of school, Ken and I moved. If I had been alone, or if Ken hadn't been so unhappy in the old house, I never would have moved. At each point along the way I thought something would happen that would keep us where we were, but the universe had other plans and propelled us forward. I wish I knew why....

I knew with the completion of my degree and the move that changes were inevitable. I had the support of the massage therapist I consider my friend and have seen for ten years; I started seeing an acupuncturist for help with symptoms of menopause, and I began to feel better. These two women have seen the changes in me and have supported my body, mind, and spirit through the work I've done. I couldn't have come this far without their help.

In the past year I have confronted the changes in my life and found ways to adapt. I have learned to bite my tongue so I don't ask questions of or offer advice to my children, at least not as often as I used to. I've applied for jobs to work with homelessness, hospice, health care, hunger, research, policy, and ethics. And each time it didn't happen I thought that there was probably a good reason so I found other things to do. There are two possibilities floating around now, and I need to summon the energy to follow up. It's easier to not know than to hear again that it's not going to work out.

Ken is trying to be supportive. I know he loves me. He tells me I am his best friend. The difference is that he has a job he likes and people to talk to all day long. Ken works hard and provides well for this family. His job has been a priority for 22 years. Over the years his work has involved travel, and there were many evenings he was not home. I would ask if he could be present for an event or occasion, and his reply would be, "I will be there if I'm home." The children and I learned to manage. I knew I had to be available 24/7. It was always okay with the kids because, "Dad has a job and he has to work." In the beginning I told Ken everything that happened while he was gone. Once I was back in school, and later working, there was less time to catch up and more time needed to deal with all that was going on. I once explained to a woman that Ken often worked out of town for days at a time, and she asked me if each week-end was like a honeymoon. I tried to control the look on my face, but her response of "Oh, I guess not" said it all.

Ken never worried about the kids or the house. He knew I would take care of whatever needed to be done. I became self-sufficient. If I couldn't fix something, I found someone who could. It felt good to be able to rely on myself. It didn't feel good that I couldn't rely on my husband to be there if I needed him. We have often talked about that. I have been honest about the changes that created for me in our relationship, and Ken was willing to accept the trade-off. We still love each other and have figured out how to make life together work for more than 30 years. We have more time to talk these days but less to talk about....

I have friends, most of whom are in different parts of the country. And I know people are busy. I haven't given up looking for a team, whatever form that may take. In the meantime I feel isolated. I feel a connection with women whose blogs I have started reading, but they "live in the computer." I am grateful when people respond to this blog with an email, phone call, or comment.

I know there are other women out there going through what I am. It's not something we talk about because the books tell us how to do this right, so we should be able to follow the steps. The women I see on television "find themselves" with a few days at a spa or a head-to-toe make-over. I'm happy for them. What about the rest of us? I want to keep my gray hair and my husband. My favorite clothes are hand-me-downs from my daughter and pieces I've bought on clearance. So what does that say about me? And if giving birth to myself meant that I had someone to take care of me round-the-clock, that would be great ~ I have often said I'd like to have a car mechanic, IT specialist, gourmet cook, and personal shopper at my beck and call. Would they also be my friend and help me discover my purpose? No? I didn't think so.

So the journey continues. And I have laundry to do....

One Confident Woman

There is an interview with Jamie Lee Curtis in the May/June Issue of AARP Magazine. She is one woman who knows who she is and what she wants. And I love her hair! Maybe when more well-known women celebrate their graying hair, those of us who keep our gray will not be such a rarity. Jamie Lee will turn 50 in November.

I admire her confidence. In the face of all that is Hollywood she is making her own life, doing what is best for her and her family. Jamie Lee is active, eats healthy, and goes to bed early. She has simplified her wardrobe. She looks and sounds happpy.

I would like to talk to Jamie Lee about how she got to this place in her life. I wonder if she ever second guesses her decisions or finds herself stalled as she wonders what to do next. How does she find clothes that fit and feel good? What do she and her husband talk about? The interview hits the high spots ~ I want to know how to live that life day to day and not repeatedly question my decisions.

I am at a turning point in my life. My clothes don't fit right, and I don't like my shoes. I'm not unhappy about my weight, but my body is shifting and changing without my permission. I can no longer eat anything I want in any quantity I choose and still feel good or sleep through the night. I love coffee ~ straight, black, hot-from-the-pot coffee. For the first time in my life I have to think about how much coffee I drink at night. I never, ever thought the words, "I better have just one cup" would come out of my mouth.

I want a good healthy dose of Jamie Lee Curtis confidence. If there is a pill or procedure, sign me up. But I don't think it works that way. I think confidence comes with self knowledge and hard work. I think it comes with staying present and letting go. I think it takes tears and time, trial and error. I think when you get there you know it, and I'm not there yet.

My mantra this week is compliments of Coach Jimmy Dugan in A League of Their Own. When Dottie complained, "It just got too hard," Jimmy replied, "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard makes it great."

Change was Coming

I am a planner. Ken and I set our wedding date over a year before we were married, which was unnecessary in 1976. Each of my pregnancies was planned. And I prepared for months each time I went back to school. The lack of preparation for our move to the country was unusual for me, so from the beginning I felt unsettled.

The good news was that we did not need to paint the exterior of the house. The interior was 95% finished, though we needed to paint each room and all the woodwork. Ken and I spent nine days from sun-up to midnight smoothing, prepping, and painting walls. Then I begged off my classes and internship for another week to finish enough to move in.

We spent a week-end moving furniture and boxes, but we left a lot at the old house because our daughter was staying there. She had gotten her first choice for residency, which was in the same city. She moved in as we were moving out, though neither task was finished for months. Then she decided to buy the house, and I was delighted. I always felt that house had taken care of our family and felt that it would take care of her.

Unpacking took months. We had little storage so things we put in use or passed on. We wanted to make the house presentable because we had an occasion to celebrate ~ our daughter's graduation from medical school was June 2. It was such an accomplishment and we were so proud! A small reception to celebrate was the first time we had guests in our new home.

Then life settled into a routine of sorts: I went to work and came home to unpack boxes, organize closets and cupboards, seal floors, paint ceilings, paint "miles" of woodwork, and finish any number of small projects as they came up. I missed my old house and my yard ~ we had finally finished redecorating and landscaping. I missed the neighbors and neighborhood. I felt out of place, physically and emotionally. A lifetime of memories belonged to another place. I kept thinking that if I just had time I could get a handle on life in a new place.

When our youngest left for college, Ken and I talked about what it would be like to be "just us" again. I looked forward to the freedom. For some reason I thought I would become all the things I had never been: more outgoing, less of a perfectionist, more easygoing, less serious, more confident. I could be and do anything I wanted. Instead, once we moved, I fixated on all the things I wasn't and all the things I couldn't do. Night sweats returned. After each restless night I awoke anxious and worried. I was not happy. One Friday on my drive home from work I promised myself that if anything big happened I would make changes in my life.

The next morning my mother called. She had had a stroke and was in the hospital. I wanted to be with her, so I flew to West Virginia. My only focus for a week was being with her and my stepfather. I slept well and felt at ease for the first time in months. My mom improved with the right medication, and we enjoyed the time we had together. Once she was home, she started physical therapy. (Today she is back to work and doing well.)

I flew home on July 1. Two weeks later I gave 30-days notice at work. My supervisors were gracious when I explained that the job wasn't what I thought it would be. I wasn't myself and needed time to regroup.

There is a saying: Be careful what you ask for because you may get it. By mid-August I had all the time I needed to paint, organize, clean, and make our new house a home. I didn't feel better. My body continued to betray me with night sweats, anxiety attacks, and lost weight. Massage therapy had been a mainstay in my life for more than a decade and was a godsend during this time. I had started acupuncture in January for a cold I couldn't kick and continued with treatments for my other symptoms.

I have always been a reader. Now I felt desparate for answers. My daughter had loaned me Conversations with God and I picked it up when I was at my lowest point. I didn't read far before it became obvious that I was not helping myself with my desire to become someone else, someone different from who I had always been. The key to feeling better was to accept myself, to love myself. A friend recommended The Power of Now, which was the perfect book about living in the present moment and accepting whatever happens. Then I read Eat, Pray, Love, a book about one woman's journey through major life changes. Her story encouraged me to move forward in the exploration of who I am and what I want.

The process of acceptance has been slow. I literally checked in with Ken that he would love me through all the changes to come, and he says he will. I started writing in a journal again and found the same theme from three years earlier: how do I make space for myself in my own life?

I do not have the answer yet but I have started asking the question.

Moving to the new house changed my life. I find myself in unfamiliar territory and have to find a way to make it work. My house with light and open space is a metaphor for shining light on all aspects of my life and bringing all that I am into the open. This online journal is part of that process.