Madame M. came to my house when I was thirty-four.
She did not bring a gift to my newborn baby, nor was she subtle, dare I say rude, as she entered quickly, barely saying hello. Madame M. has lived with me since then.
Mixing Baby Blues and menopause is a cocktail few have tasted, but let me tell you, it is one nasty drink. A lack of hormones can cause people to do drastic things. I did not shave my head, but when I see women who do, I wonder if they, too, tasted Madame B.B.'s underrated drink. Mix in Madame M., and it is psychedelic!
In Madame M.'s presence, how was I to know that I would not need a coat for the next five years? She gave new meaning to the word hot and not in the way of sexy.
I had heard tales of Madame M. how she could slap you on the side of your head, cause your face to turn red, have you forget your name, and make you feel, unlike a natural woman. I was shocked to learn everything I had heard was true. Yes, she was a head trip I wish I did not have to take. The journey was long, tedious, and without a road map or Estrogen as a friend, I stumbled along the way. Thankfully French Husband stood by me, loving me while I wrestled with myself under the influence of Madame M.
When I was thirty-four, I had ovarian cancer (stage two). The chemotherapy rendered me menopausal. The doctors forgot to tell me about Madame M.'s visit. A few nights after my first chemotherapy, I kicked the covers off, opened the window wide, and swore to God the house was on fire. It took a few more nights of this routine before it dawned on me that I was experiencing hot flashes.
Hot flashes were easy breezy compared to the other party favors Madame M. brought me. The worse trips I ever took with her were the ones where I felt I was going down the kitchen drain. Hard to explain to someone who hasn't had menopause, but Madame M. can make you think you are going crazy. I saw ants crawling out of my pores. I pinched myself to see if I was awake, then wished I was sleeping.
After having a toddler and a newborn baby, a radical hysterectomy and no hormone replacement was a stark reality that didn't add up. It felt like my world was going around and around as I stood still, trying to hold on to what I loved and let go of the rest. But most of the time, I prayed I would survive cancer. That was my focus; being with Madame M. was nothing by comparison.
Thirty-two years have passed since Madame M. came to live with me. I have several coats and wear them often funny how she makes me feel cool after years of feeling too hot.
Lately, my women friends talk about menopause; naturally, they are of that age, and some are older, and Madame M. opens up her other bag of tricks. One party favor after another. I look at them, smile, think back, and count my lucky stars. Madame M. is a resident in my body; we live comfortably with one another, dare I say harmonious.
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How was your visit with Madame M.?
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