It’s Time to face the Metamucil™

Lately I’ve been experiencing health stuff again. A few years ago I went through vertigo type symptoms, lightheaded, dizzy and wonky (which you can read about here if you like) but all of that stuff seemed to just go away on its own after about two years.

That didn’t make me sad but it did make me wonder just what the hell was wrong to begin with.

So I started questioning my habits and making changes. I walk about 3 miles just about every day now. All but eliminated refined sugar, bread carbs, dairy and alcohol from my diet. It does feel pretty good and I actually managed to drop a couple pounds, too.

But no good deed goes unpunished, right?

Back when I first went into the doctor I had a dull ache in my side. The left side at about mid-abdomen. But back during my see-every-doctor-under-the-sun phase they scanned me and there wasn’t anything there. I chalked it up to sitting all day for work. Muscular or stress related; where I hold my stress. I continued seeing a massage therapist to try to relax and it helps but that ache never seemed to go away.

So you can probably understand that since I’m up and moving around now, taking control of my health, it freaks me out to no end that the pain in my side is sticking around. Maybe even getting a bit more pronounced.

Of course it’s right about when I’m finally getting my shit back together that life decides to really bring the hammer down. Fucking Murphy and your stupid Law.

Which has made me start to question what really defines getting “old” anyway?

Does old mean frail, weak, some hunched over wrinkly faced Q-Tip who can barely walk? Or is it a state of mind? Because in my head I should be 27 forever. Spry and goofy. A total nutcase who laughs at and with life. The girl who wants to pull off on the side of the road and have sex in the backseat just because we can. The girl who stays up until 1AM dancing. The girl who doesn’t feel 42.

But lately that side of my personality has been getting tougher to hold onto.

I have grey hair, ailments and complain about the weather. My doctor is sending a referral for a colonoscopy as I type this post. Perimenopause has absolutely started kicking my jiggly ass (seriously, I experience about 25 of these 35 symptoms of perimenopause on a daily, weekly, monthly basis.)

And who goes through perimenopause except old dried up hags, right?

Uh, well, I’m not a dried up old hag so I guess, me.

So does that mean I’m officially “old” or does it just mean I somehow have to find a way to overcome it all when I have a day of hot flashes, preceded by only 3 hours of sleep the night before, followed by a migraine, dizziness, clumsiness, uncontrollable sobbing all day long and incomprehensibly flipping out on my husband for absolutely nothing?

Oh, and let’s not forget the itchy skin, bad breath, fatigue and fact I really need to take 3 showers a day so my pits don’t smell like a men’s locker room.

Yeah, that’s so sexy I can’t even understand why most women lose their sex drive at this time in their life. Really. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get with all that?

When men hit this age they just get a twenty-five year old blonde and a sports car. All better! Lucky fuckers. I wish they had to go through this even for one single day because it would become clear, mid-life crisis divorce has nothing to do with a lack of love. Those men are just afraid for their lives.

And rightfully so. Bitches losing their femaleness be crazy.

Ugh.

But see the issue isn’t all the stuff that’s happening to me. Not really. I mean I don’t like it but it’s bound to happen to some degree, I’m a girl after all. None of us escape it. The real issue is the fact that none of us experience the same thing at the same time so it’s kind of hard to pinpoint if everything going on is related to menopausal hoo-ha or not.

What makes me feel totally freaked out is the colonoscopy/CAT scan of my abdomen finding nothing wrong at all. Because then I pretty much know it’s a symptom of my dying ovaries.

Which means I might have to live with this shit for another ten plus years.

Buckle up, Matt. I’m gonna be so hot you won’t be able to keep your wrinkle-free hands off me.