My Summer of 2023 Renaissance

Last time on The Cat I was discussing options with my GYN. According to her, we had a bevvy of options from which to choose. I trusted her and was ready to explore. The first tool in her toolkit was low-dose birth control. It promised an end to the the roller coaster of emotions, pelvic pain and hot flashes. Sign me up!

The initial weeks on this protocol were phenomenal. I felt better than I had in months. My energy was up and my pain was down. My general outlook on the world was positive and optimistic. Low-dose birth control where have you been all my life? I wondered why I hadn't done this before. Things were looking up. I began to use the membership we have at the YMCA. Lifting weights, building muscle, and looking good.

By the second month the tides were turning, in the wrong direction. Summer was in full swing. Hunter and I decided to try FOUR different summer camps this year. With my job at The Savannah Book Festival my schedule gave me the flexibility to try camps with hours and locations that were previously out of reach.

Along with a diverse sampling of summer camps, Hunter had a two-week trip to Chicago, and I had a week in NYC planned for work. It all went off without a hitch, except for the mood swings. They were back. 

Spikes of fury and exasperation, some provoked others outsized reactions to normal inconveniences became frequent occurrences. A few other unmentionable symptoms kept me awake at night pondering the purpose of low-dose birth control and my harried existence. I traded my life for an existence. I was not living. I suffered physically in ways that sent me spiraling into despair one moment and feeling awkward and uncomfortable in my body the next. 

With the side effects outweighing the benefits, I ended my relationship with my GYN, and her protocol. Instead, returning to my acupuncturist and an herbal treatment plan. Within days I felt better. I emerged from a fog of incoherence like Italian Renaissance painter Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. I was refreshed, sharp and filled once again with my robust, impulsive life force.

As I basked in the newness of my post-hormone replacement therapy emergence, an urge to celebrate my survival and reinforcement of my ability to trust myself above all else became imperative. 

What better way to celebrate my renaissance than with Beyonce's Renaissance tour. Until next time on The Cat.

I Had My First Hot Flash in 2019

The aging process is inevitable. A reflection of our inability to control time. Although we can have an influence on how we experience time as well as the aging process we can't stop it, move it forward or reverse. All this to say I'm perimenopausal, which is not awesome most of the time. 

Moving into middle age is not for everyone, but we all have to do it. For women this process can be harrowing. As we produce less estrogen and progesterone because we are moving out of our reproductive years, our bodies awkwardly adjust. For some it's a breeze, a walk in the park, nothing particularly memorable. For others, namely me, it's a bumpy ride toward menopause. 

I had my first hot flash in 2019. It was unmistakable. Like the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion I remember exactly where I was when it happened. I was at work, one the many jobs I have had since my arrival in Savannah, when I felt an unusual heat rising in my pelvis. Not just my pelvis, but in my vaginal canal. You know that saying: Stick it where the sun don't shine? Well it felt like the sun was shinning inside me with a heat and intensity that caused the rest of my body to at first warm and then, God help me, burst into flames of sweat. It was fast-moving, powerful, and propulsive. I thought the heat was going somewhere, taking me somewhere I didn't know, but might be fun? The heat continued to build expanding from my pelvis upward into my abdomen, my chest cavity, my neck and finally my head. Within seconds I was covered in sweat. My bra and panties wet with perspiration. And then, just like that, it was gone. 

What just happened? Have you seen the animated series on Netflix: Hilda? Hunter and I love to watch this show. There's an episode where Hilda uses a witchcraft spell to help her mother and best friend achieve their heart's desire. Her plan goes awry when even though her mom gets her dream job, and David gets a solo in the school choir, the payment is their SOULS. As Hilda, David and her mom careen through the streets of Trollberg to the site where they can undo the spell, both David and Hilda's mom fall into myoclonic convulsions from which they emerge amnesic of the previous 90-second fit.

 

This is what a hot flash is like. For a short burst of time I felt hot enough to lose consciousness and then suddenly my bodily functions returned to homeostasis as quickly as the heat began. As I sat in office in my wet underwear (ideal conditions for yeast propagation), I considered what just happened. As I tried to describe it to a friend I diagnosed the condition with my description. I said the strangest thing just happened to me. I had a flash of heat come over me quickly and then leave. I gasped, cupped my palm to my mouth with a popping sound, and whispered: I just had a hot flash. It was a revelation of epic proportions.  

The symptoms in the months and years that followed were recurrent, with mysterious triggers. New indicators of my perimenopausal existence appeared. Mood swings that swung from despair to white hot anger were illogical, unprompted and profuse. Lethargy, inability to focus and pelvic pain joined this unholy diagnosis. 

My gyn reminded me at every annual that if symptoms became too uncomfortable, I had options. By May of this year I was ready to explore my options. Until next time on The Cat.