Are You Still There, God?

Are you there, God? It’s me, Jen. And tonight I will take my last birth control pill, ever. This thing that I’ve been doing since I was a teenager is no longer going to be a part of my daily routine. I’m nervous, God. That little pill has been a part of my life for so long and has served some really important functions over the years. At first, it helped to manage my extremely painful and irregular menstrual cycles. Later, it kept me from getting pregnant. And now, as a middle aged woman, it is probably about the only source of estrogen I have left. So the thought of quitting cold turkey is, to say the least, unsettling. Even the relatively low dose that I take is honestly not enough, and I feel like I’m riding an emotional rollercoaster most days. I have so many questions, and there are no clear answers. What if I start to feel even crazier than I do now? I’m already gritting my teeth to control my mood swings as it is. Please don’t let menopause be too horrible. Thank you.

The book “Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret” by Judy Blume has been challenged, demonized, and banned from school libraries many times since its publication in 1970, because it dared to reveal the hush-hush, girly things that had been safely swept under the rug until that point. But it was a lifesaver for so many of us that read it, because it shifted the often covert conversation around female puberty out into the open, and disputed the shame and disgust associated with menstruation. In real life, your first period was a topic that (if you were lucky) was discussed in hushed tones with your mother. You were now the proud owner of a package of maxi pads because, biologically at least, you were no longer a child. Lemme tell you, this was an odd concept to wrap my mind around the day after turning 13. Maybe you had been looking forward to getting it, like Margaret. Or maybe you were ambivalent, but either way, it was a hot topic of conversation amongst your friends. Usually with an undertone of competition, as if you were in a race to see who could start bleeding first. For better or worse, a milestone had been achieved. 

However, puberty was at times lonely and confusing. My hormones were ramping up, and I had no idea what was going on. Well, now that I’m in perimenopause, those same hormones are rapidly dwindling, and again, it is a lonely and confusing time, and I have no idea what’s going on. But, here’s the thing, unlike other biological transformations such as puberty and pregnancy, where your body is similarly fraught with change and feels out of control, there is no tangible prize at the end, such as a sense of maturity or, you know, a new life. There is no head tilt and wistful utterance of “You’re a woman now…” or an excited exclamation that “You’re glowing!” There’s just…silence. Aside from the allure of ditching PMS and cramps, I'm not currently bursting with excitement about this new phase of life. As a younger woman, my understanding of menopause was that it was simply a moment in time. In fact, the medical definition is something like: menopause is the day after you haven’t had a period for a year. Until recently, no one talked about the 7 plus years leading up to that moment, and the toll that it takes on your body and mind.

I gotta admit, it makes me feel somewhat uneasy just thinking about posting this. I have written and shared some really personal stuff over the years, but girl stuff? Periods? Shhh…don’t talk about that! I grew up in a time when people still referred to the menstrual cycle as “the curse” for fucks sake. Embarrassed silence around women’s health issues was the norm. Did you ever see the movie Carrie? According to popular culture, having your period could lead to a bunch of bitches in a locker room hurling tampons and insults at you. Or, at the very least, a walk of shame with a sweatshirt tied around your waist. No thanks! And yet, here I am. And you know why I am feeling the ick and doing it anyway? Because now that my Gen X girls are going through it, there’s been a collective “Oh hell naw!” on the subject of menopause. We’re talking about it. In public. And talking about how pissed we are that, outside of the occasional grumble about hot flashes, and night sweats, nobody talked about it before. We are funny, we are vulnerable, and we are being honest AF. I’m looking right at you, Melani Sanders. I am a proud member of your We Do Not Care Club. It is hilarious, and raw, and most importantly, it lets me know I am not alone, just like Margaret did back when I was a kid. So thank you for that. And we’ve also got Dr. Mary Haver out there breaking down the science for us, and sharing invaluable insight and information, with just a touch of snark because: Gen X. If you haven’t heard of these ladies, run and find them on your socials, seriously.

Speaking of Dr. Mary, her website The Pause Life is the first resource I’ve come across to literally list all of the common and less commonly reported signs and symptoms of the menopausal transition. When I listened to her rattle some of them off on a podcast, I literally got tears in my eyes when she mentioned “brittle nails.” I mean, you would think that would be the least of my worries, but seriously, my nails SUCK these days. Can’t grow ‘em out, and they break so easily, so I just keep them short and try not to rip them off with my teeth when they break. Trust me, finding out you’re not alone is a good thing. I don’t know about you, but the ladies in my peer group have taken to blaming just about any and all of the weird symptoms that we experience on menopause. And we’re not far off! Just for funsies, let's take a look at some of the crazy things that can happen to your body during this exciting time: 

Menstrual changes

Hot flashes

Night sweats

Weight gain

Depression

Anxiety

Mood swings

Difficulty falling/staying asleep

Fatigue

Pain with intercourse

Decreased libido

Sore boobies

Digestive issues

Bloating

Migranes

Brain fog

Memory problems

Dizziness

Tingling in extremities

Osteoporosis

Heart palpitations

Dry itchy skin

Brittle nails

Hair loss

Dry itchy eyes

Taste changes

Urinary disfunction

Allergies

Body odor

The items that are in bold are things that I have personally experienced so far. Good times. So why stop taking the pill, you ask? Because I am 51, and I’m ready to move on with my life, and as long as I’m taking it, I don’t know where I’m at, physiologically speaking. The jury is still out as to whether I will stop having a period altogether or begin to show some new, exotic symptoms once the pills are no longer in play. According to my OBGYN, I need to take a break for a couple of months so that she can find out just how many hormones I can still actually make on my own, or not. We need to establish a baseline to figure out what’s what. From there, I can come up with a plan. Maybe I will just wait it out, make some lifestyle changes, and find my happy place. Or I might try Hormone Replacement Therapy. Before you get your panties in a bunch, please be aware that the fear and misconceptions of HRT were largely generated by a single, flawed study done over twenty years ago that has since come under criticism. Nothing is without risk, but it will be okay, I promise. 

Who knew that the estrogen I had taken for granted all these years was so important not just for your reproductive system, but it also supports your cardiovascular, skeletal, metabolic, and central nervous systems. It doesn’t just keep you fertile. It keeps you healthy. So yeah, it’s kind of a big deal…Sometimes I feel as though my own body has turned on me because I most likely can’t reproduce anymore. It sucks, and I hate to say it, but it just makes me feel old. I wish my mom were still around to pepper with questions about her experience. All I remember is her telling me once that she thought she had already gone through “the change” because she didn’t get her period for over a year (so much for that definition, huh?). Then one day, it came back. That shit is unpredictable, yo. I remember after the first few years of “womanhood,” I started fantasizing about menopause like it was this panacea that would just one day go poof! and disappear into a little cloud of smoke like a dove in a magic show. Apparently, it's not going to be that easy, but nothing ever is. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, right? Maybe it won’t be a big splashy ending, but more like when you’ve been fighting a cold for weeks, and one day you suddenly realize: hey, I don’t feel like shit any more!

I would like to think that if a menopausal Margaret let us into her head again, that she would be going through some of the same things as me. That she would be questioning, confused, and hand-wringing, but also hopeful and optimistic about what was to come. She might secretly be jealous of her friends who had already gone through the transition and made it to the other side, but it would also give her something to look forward to. She might still be quietly confiding her innermost fears to God, but would definitely participate in the We Do Not Care Club. But this time, instead of talking about boys they're crushing on and chanting “We must, we must, we must increase our bust” at meetings, she and her friends would be sitting around a charcuterie board with a glass of wine, trading tongue in cheek stories about the almost constant need to pee, and forgetting why you walked into a room.