Menopause - /ˈmenəˌpôz/ - noun
the ceasing of menstruation; the period in a woman's life (typically between 45 and 50 years of age) when this occurs.
Okay. Well, that definition is pathetically simplistic. Let's try a medical dictionary.
Definition: Menopause represents the end of menstruation. While technically it refers to the final period, it is not an abrupt event, but a gradual process. Menopause is not a disease that needs to be cured; it is a natural life-stage transition during which women often make decisions about "treatment" options, such as hormone replacement therapies.
Now we're getting somewhere. That one reads more like the opening of a conversation. Unfortunately, it's a conversation, it seems, no one is having, not with any kind of full-disclosure honesty or in-depth exploration. Or maybe it's too complex and unique for a true conversation; I just don't know.
What I do know is that 3 months ago, one of my favorite nurses at CCNW looked at me and said, "Well, you are fully post-menopausal, so we don't need to do anything there." Uuuuhhhhhh, WHAT? Before chemo started, I wasn't even PRE-menopausal, and now, less than 4 months later, I'm fully POST! What the F@CK!?! Couldn't SOMEONE have thought to mention to me that my hormone levels were changing so drastically that I would be through menopause in record time? Maybe there's a meditation practice I could have done to ease the symptoms. Maybe some gentle yoga. A pill with no harmful interactions? SOMETHING? I thought I was *losing* my mind. I really, seriously thought I was going crazy and that I wasn't going to come back from it. At least if I had known it was menopause, I could have focused on the.... temporary nature of the mood-swings and physical changes. I figured my care team would KNOW to say something about it, but no one thought to say anything. No one thought to mention it. I felt so invisible that day. So trivial. Glossed over and unseen.
And now I'm going through it again. Not menopause (I don't think), but the great, invisible Phantom Nipple strikes, this time. The weight of misunderstood assumption is *so heavy.* I completely understand why anyone in their right mind would look at breast reconstruction following malignant breast cancer as a positive, celebratory thing. Maybe I'm not in my right mind (ha. ha. ha.) but it doesn't feel that way. I just hurt. Badly. Not as bad as I did after the mastectomy, but almost. And definitely more widespread. This pain is temporary, though, I know that. Who, (there's that phrase again) in their *right mind* WOULDN'T celebrate their return to looking "normal?" Apparently, not me. I am on my way to the full breast augmentation I have wanted for *years,* and I am not happy about it. And I don't know why. I'm sure I will be, eventually, but right now, in this moment, no.
There's a sense I get that many might think I am now on the road to "over;" that I am officially on the road to "recovery" with this first surgery. Maybe that's what's pissing me off, because I don't feel the "over" - the "recovery" - that so many seem to see. I still have Herceptin infusions through September. I still have many minor and at least one more major surgery between now and February of next year. I have Tamoxifen pills (the ones that will KEEP me post-menopausal) for a minimum of 5 years, or 10 years, if the current studies say 10 years is better. Maybe I'm pissed off because I can't seem to see this step like others do - for me, this is one of twelve thousand steps I simply never wanted to *have* to take, one of many pills I never wanted prescribed, one of many chemicals I never wanted injected, one of many surgeries I never wanted to have. I can't seem to find the "at least" in this, yet.
And underneath it all, every time a migraine sets in, or my damaged heart starts pounding too quickly and too hard, or my vulnerable lungs show the slightest sign of ache, I will have to fight the urge to beg for more tests - just to *make sure* IT hasn't come back somewhere else. Just to make sure I don't have to start this *hell* all over again. I now know, intimately, how much this experience sucks. And I can never *not know* that again.
Ignorance is bliss. And in this, I am not blissful.
(In honor of my dearly departed cousin, Ashley Carol, age 52, who passed away on Good Friday. Your pain is relieved, your fears are allayed, and your suffering is at an end. God speed and take care of you, "Sis." You've earned it.)
What I do know is that 3 months ago, one of my favorite nurses at CCNW looked at me and said, "Well, you are fully post-menopausal, so we don't need to do anything there." Uuuuhhhhhh, WHAT? Before chemo started, I wasn't even PRE-menopausal, and now, less than 4 months later, I'm fully POST! What the F@CK!?! Couldn't SOMEONE have thought to mention to me that my hormone levels were changing so drastically that I would be through menopause in record time? Maybe there's a meditation practice I could have done to ease the symptoms. Maybe some gentle yoga. A pill with no harmful interactions? SOMETHING? I thought I was *losing* my mind. I really, seriously thought I was going crazy and that I wasn't going to come back from it. At least if I had known it was menopause, I could have focused on the.... temporary nature of the mood-swings and physical changes. I figured my care team would KNOW to say something about it, but no one thought to say anything. No one thought to mention it. I felt so invisible that day. So trivial. Glossed over and unseen.
And now I'm going through it again. Not menopause (I don't think), but the great, invisible Phantom Nipple strikes, this time. The weight of misunderstood assumption is *so heavy.* I completely understand why anyone in their right mind would look at breast reconstruction following malignant breast cancer as a positive, celebratory thing. Maybe I'm not in my right mind (ha. ha. ha.) but it doesn't feel that way. I just hurt. Badly. Not as bad as I did after the mastectomy, but almost. And definitely more widespread. This pain is temporary, though, I know that. Who, (there's that phrase again) in their *right mind* WOULDN'T celebrate their return to looking "normal?" Apparently, not me. I am on my way to the full breast augmentation I have wanted for *years,* and I am not happy about it. And I don't know why. I'm sure I will be, eventually, but right now, in this moment, no.
There's a sense I get that many might think I am now on the road to "over;" that I am officially on the road to "recovery" with this first surgery. Maybe that's what's pissing me off, because I don't feel the "over" - the "recovery" - that so many seem to see. I still have Herceptin infusions through September. I still have many minor and at least one more major surgery between now and February of next year. I have Tamoxifen pills (the ones that will KEEP me post-menopausal) for a minimum of 5 years, or 10 years, if the current studies say 10 years is better. Maybe I'm pissed off because I can't seem to see this step like others do - for me, this is one of twelve thousand steps I simply never wanted to *have* to take, one of many pills I never wanted prescribed, one of many chemicals I never wanted injected, one of many surgeries I never wanted to have. I can't seem to find the "at least" in this, yet.
And underneath it all, every time a migraine sets in, or my damaged heart starts pounding too quickly and too hard, or my vulnerable lungs show the slightest sign of ache, I will have to fight the urge to beg for more tests - just to *make sure* IT hasn't come back somewhere else. Just to make sure I don't have to start this *hell* all over again. I now know, intimately, how much this experience sucks. And I can never *not know* that again.
Ignorance is bliss. And in this, I am not blissful.
(In honor of my dearly departed cousin, Ashley Carol, age 52, who passed away on Good Friday. Your pain is relieved, your fears are allayed, and your suffering is at an end. God speed and take care of you, "Sis." You've earned it.)
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