PMS,Menopause, Anger, Depression, Weight Gain and The Finger...The Gift That Keeps on Giving.

Out on a Ledge....

My first experience with menopause and not realizing it was in late January two winters ago. I was asleep, tossing and turning. Around 2 am I woke up after some bizarre dream about being chased around a high school gymnasium by a large Vlasic Pickle with legs and found myself feeling hotter than July and not in the sexy way. I was burning up. I was sweating. I kicked off the covers. I couldn't understand it. It was January in Michigan. On this particular night it was about 20 degrees with a wind chill. (Can't forget the all important wind chill. We are just the biggest snobs about our wind chills in the Great Lakes Region.) Anyhow, I couldn't cool off. I got out of bed, started pacing, feeling like I was going to spontaneously combust. I went to the bathroom, turned on the cold water in the sink and started splashing cold water on my face. Nothing helped. Finally, I went to my living room, opened the door wall that led to my balcony and stepped out into the frigid air and let it hit my entire body, the brittle, bitter winter air whipping through my body, through my jammies and through my skin. I loved it. I stood there like a freak for a good ten minutes enjoying this self-imposed refrigeration, oblivious to the possibility that a neighbor up late might see me and call the cops. "She's on the ledge of her balcony. Her arms are outstretched. She's smiling...I think she's on something..."

I was on something. I was on menopause. Or, as my late mother used to call it, "the change." She was never clear about what it was I was about to change into. That was the kicker. I soon found out that she was being polite when she said that.

I was going to change into a Super Bitch.

And how.

Anger Comes out to Play.

About a month or so after that first hot flash I was driving around the Target parking lot looking for a spot near the entrance like everyone else does on a day when the temperature is below zero. I kept circling and circling, losing my patience. Don't they know I am waiting for a parking spot? What is wrong with these people?

Then, it happened. A car behind me backed up a bit, slithered up alongside of me and made that smooth move to cut in front of me. I moved up a little so he couldn't. I felt my blood starting to boil. I don't know why, though. There was no parking spot to be had at this point so he wasn't cutting in front of me to take a soon to be available spot. Why was I getting so worked up? Still, I felt myself getting ready to blow. The guy eventually slid in front of me with no problem and proceeded to pass me without further incident.

Oh, I'm driving too slow for you, am I? Really? You can't wait a few minutes while I try to find a parking spot? You think you're better than me? Is that it?

I sped up a bit, as much as I could in a public parking lot at a Target. I got behind the guy, feeling my rage take over. I was nearly kissing his bumper. I honked the horn a little. He didn't react. He turned down an aisle. I turned down the aisle. He stopped and looked in his rear view mirror. I smiled a devilish smile and mouthed the words, "Who do you think you are, asshole?" He just stared at me curiously and shrugged. Only one thing was going through my mind at this point.

I am going to get even with you for cutting in front of me if it takes me all afternoon, jerk off.

The guy drove up yet another aisle, this time a little faster. Presumably to get the hell away from the nut job in the car behind him. I laid on the horn. I was consumed with anger and rage.

Finally, his car stopped in the middle of the aisle. He put it in park, got out and walked over to my car behind him. It was at that moment I realized he could have a gun or at best was just going to slap the shit out of me for being so impatient.

Cautiously, I rolled down my window. Not so brave now. The guy looked harmless enough. He leaned into me and said, "What is your problem?" My heart was beating fast.

"Uh, wow...you're not Ted. I thought you were my friend Ted...you look just like him. But you're not Ted at all. Wow. I'm really sorry. I was trying to get your attention because I thought you were Ted. I'm really embarrassed..." The guy looked puzzled.

"Oh" he said, buying my whole excuse. I felt myself getting a grip on reality.

"Well, I'm not Ted. I'm Joe. Sorry" he said. Joe shrugged, pulled up the collar on his coat and turned to walk back to his car.

Of course, I felt like an idiot. What had just happened?

Cry Me a River in the Target Small Appliance Dept.

I eventually got a parking spot and went into Target. I had a small list in my pocket. A bottle of Vitamin C, some Kleenex, a couple light bulbs, some AA batteries and some coffee filters. Easy.

I grabbed a basket and headed up the health and beauty aisle. Of course, you don't just walk up and down the aisles at Target. You linger in them like you were in some sort of retail gazebo where any minute a cast member from The Sound of Music might jump out in front of you and start singing a cheery number to enhance your shopping experience. Yes, you get what you need but then you don't just move on to the next department. You stay, you look, you touch, you wonder what else you need before you leave that particular aisle. You see, at Target, everything is pretty and arranged in happy rows and in perfect order. Next to the Vitamin C there is Vitamin B12 and B6 and eventually you're examining endless bottles of herbs. Feverfew. Rose Hips. Garlic tabs. (Odorless or regular...amazing!) Flax Seed oil. Black Cohosh. Fish Oil. Wonderful, magical herbs. Lord, what do all these do? You find yourself in a sort of Target Euphoria. You become overwhelmed with joy and peace and love for all humankind because Target is Oz. Target is Universal Studios. Target is the the Cedar Point of Retail Fun.You and Target are one. You never want to stop shopping. Because that's what Target does to people. You come in for a four pack of Northern and you leave with an entertainment center you never knew you needed. And there you are in the middle of January in the cold trying to fit a 200 pound bookcase in the trunk of your sedan and surprise! It requires assembly.

Eventually I make my way to the Small Appliance Department where I know I will be able to find my coffee filters. I use the number 4 basket style. Target always has these huge packages of them where you can get like a 150 for two bucks. They are always stocked near the coffee makers, usually on a shelf overhead for my convenience.

I looked overhead and saw a row of cone style filters. I moved a few around and saw only #2 cone filters. The Melitta Brand yet. Where were the #4 Target basket style brand? I felt myself getting anxious. I became frantic. I climbed up on the bottom step to better reach the top shelf overhead and started moving the other filters around angrily. The inner monologue started yapping a mile a minute.

What the hell? Where are the #4 basket style? Where did they hide them? They're always here! Damn! This is bullshit. I hate Target. Why did I even come here today? Sonofabitch."

And then, in the small appliances aisle at Target, I started to cry. Not wailing. But the tears flowed. I stood there, leaning on my shopping cart, weeping because they were out of #4 basket filters. Now what? Now what would I do? I fished around in my coat pocket for a tissue. This is horrible. How will I make coffee tomorrow morning if I can't find my #4 basket filters today?Better yet, why the hell was I crying about it?

I eventually composed myself and started up another aisle. I dobbed at my eyes with the tissue and again, wondered what just happened. I knew in my heart that this wasn't about coffee filters and the inability to find them where they usually are at my favorite Target.

This was about something more, something deeper, something...hormonal.

This was menopause. Welcome to hell, Cheryl. We've been waiting for you. Well, it did feel like somebody had been poking me in the ass with a pitch fork lately...

Does my Butt look Big in These?

One day my metabolism just came to a screeching halt. Okay, well, I don't know if it happened "one day" but it seemed like one day I woke up and couldn't fasten my jeans, couldn't bend over to tie my shoes without cutting off my circulation, couldn't walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing and couldn't walk more than a few feet without my knees hurting. Of course, I didn't mention this to anyone and I didn't bother to get on a scale to weigh myself to see what the numbers said. I was full of excuses. The biggest one was since I was in menopause this kind of stuff was bound to happen. Let the good times roll.

The thing was, these were not good times. The only thing that was rolling was the fat on my thighs. And I was content to do nothing and blame it all on menopause.

Now it's true. Menopause does turn us into monsters until ye olde eggs dry up and are no more. But there are things we can do to lessen the agony. We just don't do them because we figure it's hopeless. Menopause is just the natural order of things; our God given right to be nasty for a couple years. So shut up and go get me another Klondike bar from the freezer.

Uh, yeah. What a crock.

Did it ever occur to me that maybe I was a bitch before menopause ever set in? A little something called PMS? Of course, we all know when we're in the throes of PMS we deny that it's PMS that is to blame. We want to key a car because it's nicer than ours, we want punch out the CVS cashier because she's chewing gum, we want to eat a gallon of Ben and Jerry's Dublin Mudslide Ice Cream because it "helps" and we want to break into tears every time we see that commercial on TV where the puppies are neglected in the shelter and Sarah McLachlan is singing a sad song in the background and begging us to give, give, give so the puppies won't die.

I keep saying "we" like every woman in the world had this kind of PMS. Shame on me. I had this kind of PMS. And it just morphed into a lousy menopause.

I am convinced that half the women incarcerated in prison committed their acts of violence on the 28th day.

"You're honor, I was bloated that day. I had cramps. I couldn't find my keys. He looked at me funny and asked me what was wrong. I told him I saw the way he looked at my OBGYN when she told him to be patient with me. He was having an affair with her. So I stabbed him with the steak knife. Thirty-two times."

Ridiculous begets ridiculous I suppose. But I'll go to any lengths to make a point.

Finally, The Finger.

During my worst PMS days and my most intense menopausal moments, I had no problem flipping people off, usually in traffic. And usually under the dashboard where they couldn't see me. I used to flip them off openly, on the freeway, and then the times changed. People started shooting each other over stuff like that. So, I swallowed my hormones and resisted the urge to flip them off openly. I started doing the dashboard flip. Not quite as effective, but it made me feel that in some small way I was indeed getting back at that idiot who wouldn't turn on red.

One day I saw Jerry Seinfeld's stand up routine about people who give the finger. Then I felt like an idiot for all the times I exercised my right to be an asshole who flipped the bird, hormonal or not. Jerry was right. You're not really getting back at anyone when you show them a random finger on your hand. It could be your pinky, your ring finger, your index finger or your middle finger. Point he made was, it was a finger. Oooooohhhhhh. I'm scared. Now I think back on my days of finger flipping and realize how stupid it truly is.

Honking my horn at morons in traffic is much more fun.

In Conclusion

So, PMS, menopause, anger, depression, weight gain and the finger. What of it? Can you relate? I think PMS and perimenopause turned me into a monster for most of my forties. I think PMS and menopause made a lot of things worse than they had to be. Is it any wonder they did a Broadway show and called it "PMS: The Musical?" I know I'm not alone on this one, girls. I do realize that some women get lesser symptoms than others. Good for you. Now go eat a bon bon and let the rest of us smash out some headlights. But seriously, nobody will argue the point with me that PMS and menopause in all its forms can make a woman crazy, or feel like she's on the verge of committing homicide or even suicide. Is that where all the depression comes from? Maybe, but now I don't think so. What if you are through with menopause and you still get depressed and angry and fed up with the way things are? What if you're still fat? Or, what if you hate yourself sometimes? What if you think you're going out of your mind still? What if it's just life as it is on life's terms that you have to learn to deal with and there isn't really anything organic going on inside your brain to blame it on?

Oh, I said. This is just life. Depression, anger, Weight Gain and the occasional need to flip someone off in traffic.

Or maybe I'll just flip off Jerry Seinfeld the next time I see him do that bit about the finger.

Silly male comedian. What the hell does he know? I'm a woman. I have a pass.

See? See how it goes?

After all this I have taught myself a lesson. Life often isn't fair. Life often sucks. In life, we are going to experience depression, anger, addictions, loss and a buffet spread of many other things that don't seem fair.

And most of the time those things will have nothing to do with PMS or Menopause. PMS and menopause is a good excuse for awhile. But then it's over and then the reality sets in.

"Oh, I'm having a bad day that seems to be going on forever..."

Now what?

I will survive.

Sing it, Gloria.

****************************************************