boys need not read. or girls, for that matter. basically anyone who's prone to queasiness.
Being 41 is great for a lot of reasons, but I am not enjoying the ways in which my hormones are jacking me around. First of all, [TMI - see subject line and act accordingly] my monthly womanly miracle is all over the map. This month it is 4 days early, but fortunately I was not caught out, because I can read the subtle clues my body likes to give me, such as a blinding migraine. Duly noted, body. Thanks for the heads-up. I had read, from various sources, that PMS gets worse as women get closer to menopause, but I couldn't imagine how it could get any worse, so I sort of poo-pooed that idea. As it turns out, for me it is not so much PMS that's worse as it is how I feel during the monthly miracle proper. I feel...oh, what is the word..?...CRAZY. Absolutely batshit CRAZY. Last night (day one of monthly miracle) I slept horribly, because my brain would not let go of some things that are stressing me out. I was having all these stressy thoughts and they were coming at me so Fast there was no way I could block them out. I don't know how long I laid there, tense and stressing, but it was probably at least an hour and a half and I only fell asleep finally because my brain burned itself out. Earlier this morning at work I was feeling the same way, and ended up writing myself a note: 'Add to doctor question list: Emergency Xanax?' I'm seeing my doctor in a couple of weeks, for my annual exam, and as per usual I've already started making a list of questions to ask him. The emergency Xanax question is absolutely going on there, unless you can suggest a better occasional-use anxiety medication for me to ask for.
Another thing I have to tell you today [groce TMI--strongly advise that you heed subject line] [seriously, this is your last chance] is that on Saturday I removed one of my moles with a sharp kitchen knife. It was the kind of mole that sticks up, so there wasn't a whole lot of cutting, and there was very little pain. A lot of bleeding, but it stopped eventually. Success! I'm going to do another one next weekend; I would have done them both on Saturday but thought I should see how the first one healed up. Answer = Very well. You know, it occurs to me, this mole-removal thing adds a lot of credence to my assertions of hormonal craziness. If my doctor wavers on the emergency Xanax, I'll tell him about my recent surgical exploits. THAT'll get him.
One of my internet friends (I can't remember who now, dammit) posted on Flickr a note she got from her doctor's office, along with chocolate, when she went in for her annual exam. The note was some cutesy thing about if you experience discomfort, eat the chocolate and it will help take your mind off it. I was thinking about this today, with my impending exam, and thinking it's good my doctor doesn't give out chocolate for eating during the exam, because I'd be afraid to do that lest I start to associate delicious chocolate with the sensation of having a speculum in my vagina. I'd rather not mix those two things if I can help it.
I didn't put a disclaimer on that last paragraph because I figured if you didn't stop reading after the mole business, you were made of strong stuff and could take a little vagina talk. Sorry if this was an incorrect assumption.
In closing, this weekend when I was at the Fred Meyer, I heard some people talking one aisle over and I'm still thinking about it. They were people who knew each other, running into each other there, based on the "Well hi, how are YOU?!" opening remarks. But then one woman said (and this is where I REALLY tuned in), "This is our grandson, Gaius", and the other woman said, "Hello Gaius", in that singsong way people talk to children, and I said, "GAIUS?", but not loud enough for them to hear me. But I mean. GAIUS?!? Really? His parents are obviously huge fans of either ancient Rome or Battlestar, and I know which one of those I'm betting on.
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