I thought about what the title for this should be. At first I wanted to talk about being a menopausal mess. Or mood swings, night sweats, or emotional outbursts. But that’s not the point of writing this. The purpose of writing this is that life can be good during menopause. Let me say that again: life can be good. I’m not talking about some sugar-coated “be proud of being a crone” kind of good. I’m talking about high energy, weight controlled, and yes, having a real libido kind of good. And there’s no moustache involved. You can still enjoy being a girl.
I’m not one of those lucky people who sailed through menopause. I’m one of those women who was 5’6” and had gained 70 pounds. I had fibroids that stretched my uterus to the size of a football. My mood swings made Lizzy Borden look like Shirley Temple. A romantic interlude with my husband was a note on my Outlook calendar—and always tentative at that. And hot flashes? They were a never-ending assault on my wardrobe. How do you explain sleeveless shirts and short skirts in sub-zero weather? And sometimes I just wanted to die—and I don’t mean that figuratively.
I had had a difficult hysterectomy with post-op complications. And despite outstanding care from the nurses, I vowed I would never go in the hospital again. I started walking three miles a day and took off more than 60 pounds. I looked pretty good, but underneath was a seething, horrible monster-woman.
The problem was the removal of my uterus and ovaries had sent me into the wilds of immediate menopause. My ob/gyn put me on estrogen to kill the hot flashes and night sweats. That worked fine for awhile. But then my body started to revolt. I became more irritable. I thought I was developing lumps in my breasts. I was angry all the time. I wanted to die. So I stopped taking the estrogen. Cold turkey. Bad idea. Things got really dismal then. I knew something had to be done when I woke up one day and wanted to give away my dogs. And if I couldn’t do that, I was going to put them to sleep.
Now that scared my co-workers and my family. I’m a quintessential dog lover. I still cry about the loss of my last dog. My menopausal symptoms were so alarming that a friend called my husband after we had had dinner to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t.
I went to see my new family doctor. Near tears, I begged her for help. I couldn’t stand myself anymore. I was tired. I was cranky. I wasn’t a fun person. I had been an incredibly fun person when I was younger, but now I was just an old, cranky broad with recurrent and profuse perspiration outbreaks.
“Have you taken the saliva test?” she asked me. What! Saliva test? Now, I had heard about this darned saliva test from my chiropractor. She had questioned me about taking estrogen after my surgery. She wanted to know why I was taking estrogen when no one had checked to see if I needed it. I told her I didn’t have ovaries, so of course I needed estrogen. She told me I ought to take the saliva test. I told her to stick to cracking my back.
Later, at a sorority reunion, one of my sisters (who had always sort of been “out there” if you know what I mean) told us we ought to take this saliva test. She even had kits available for us.
But here was my new, young, well-educated doctor telling me to take the test. Well, things couldn’t get worse, so I decided to take the test to the tune of $150. To take the test you spit in a small vial. For guys, this is like a two-minute drill. But for us women, it takes a good 30 to 45 minutes. And then you ship it to Oregon. You fill out a questionnaire about your symptoms…everything from being tired all the time to dry skin to preferring reading the dictionary to a romantic interlude with your husband.
My test results were sent to my doctor and indicated that the last thing I needed was estrogen. I had more than enough. Huh?
It seems that your ovaries aren’t the only things that produce estrogen. Your fat and your adrenal glands help. I had plenty of estrogen. I had been “overdosing” with my previous prescription. What I didn’t have was enough progesterone and testosterone, according to the test.
Testosterone! I really wasn’t fond of the idea of growing facial hair. My doctor told me not to worry. It wasn’t in a dose that would make me look like Hulk Hogan. It was what you might term a girlie dose. She also recommended that I go to a talk by Jeff Robbins, a registered pharmacist from Preckshot Pharmacy. Fine, another male telling me what life was like in menopause. Like he would know. A consummate researcher, I came heavily armed to the presentation with the “Oh yeah, well what about this?” kind of questions.
Mr. Robbins was a wonderful presenter. He talked to us about bio-identical hormones. These are hormones that are made from soy that have the same molecular structure as the hormones our bodies produce. He pointed out that there are synthetic female hormones on the market that don’t have the same molecular structure as our own hormones. In fact, they have little extra things on their molecules.
Now, I admit I’m no biologist, but these little extra additives don’t seem to be something I ought to be putting in my body. Many of these drugs are made from horse urine. That’s right: urine from mares. And pharmaceutical companies patent these drugs based on these unique little things added to the structure of the hormone. You can’t patent stuff that’s identical to the hormones human bodies make—there’s nothing unique about those structures to patent.
Bio-identical hormones are compounded from soy. Because the liver filters out stuff when we take pills, they come in creams that are rubbed into the body. This causes the hormones to infiltrate the body through the bloodstream, like our real hormones do.
Bio-identical hormone replacement therapy has been available on the coasts for about 10 years and in Europe even longer. I’m not sure why it hasn’t been used here. But I’m glad it is now.
I started my bio-identical hormone therapy in late January. My regimen didn’t start with estrogen but did include progesterone and testosterone. The results from the therapy have been nothing short of amazing. My hot flashes and night sweats are all but gone. When I do have them, it’s usually on days when I’ve had cocktails or a lot of caffeine. The violent mood swings are gone. My energy is terrific. I don’t want to kill my dogs anymore. But the most profound change in my life has been that I’m actually interested in romance again. That’s right girls, I like being with my husband. He’s so thrilled, he’s thinking about sending my doctor flowers. I’m thinking about it, too.
I’m not advocating that this approach is right for everyone. Different women have different medical conditions. They need to consult their physicians. But what I’m saying is that it’s been a terrific approach for me—and a lot of other women in the Peoria area. I know, I’ve run into them all over town. But the problem is that there are only a handful of Peoria area doctors who know, suggest, and use this approach. And if women don’t happen to stumble onto one of them or have a hip chiropractor, a wacky sorority sister, or know someone like me, it’s unlikely they’ll ever find out about this course of treatment or ask their doctors if it’s right for them.
But in the meantime, these women feel miserable and are alienating family, friends, and husbands. They experience a whole potpourri of emotions and just don’t know why. Their waists thicken, and their self-confidence wanes. And they aren’t having any fun.
And that’s sad because I know how good my menopausal and post-menopausal years are going to be. I feel really great. My thinking is clearer, and my skin is softer. I’m not as thin as I’d like to be, but then what woman is? On the the relationship side of things…well, let’s just say my husband doesn’t join in with the rest of the guys joking about their menopausal wives and what’s not happening on Saturday nights. He just smiles. Me too. TPW