The Long Wait
Reflections on Perimenopause
Nowadays, I am going through a transitional period known as perimenopause: the long wait until I stop menstruating. It has made me vulnerable to the heat, and the threat of a heat stroke seems to be a danger to me, every other day. It has made my skin dry, my scalp itch, and my afternoons dizzy. I am grateful that the worst part of this is happening after my Ph.D., and not while I was doing it. I will be turning 50 next year.
Getting older, especially during this time, is a bitch. Hot flashes seems to be the theme of my days, and I am only grateful that the mood swings have lessened considerably. I have less murderous rages now and more weak spells. The literature says that things get better after menopause, but I have been on this roller coaster of perimenopause for years now.
Early on, I would keep waking up in the middle of the night. Now, I can’t stop napping, as if my energy levels are on a permanent low. The last time I went to a doctor to talk about this, she took one look at me and said, “You’re too young to have perimenopause.” I wanted to tell her, you’re too young to be my doctor. Because the medical establishment, especially here in the Philippines, does not know how to handle perimenopausal women, or menopausal women, for that matter. They are afraid of prescribing hormonal therapy, even though this can help ease the symptoms.
The good thing about my doctor is she eventually gave me estrogen, after testing me on everything (I don’t have several kinds of cancer, thank God). But she only prescribed it for a month, and the three weeks of heavy bleeding eventually normalized… but now, my cycles are lasting much longer, going for 65 days from one period to the next (I also took a pregnancy test just before my period came).
If you are a man reading this, you may be asking yourself, why am I reading this? And the answer is that, if you are attached to a woman, married to her or in a long-term relationship, this is an experience both of you have to go through.
Sometimes, we might think something is wrong, but in the end, it is just the body that is transitioning.
It is also oddly infuriating, looking young while going through this. I mean, yes, that’s good, because vitality is always seen as attractive, but it’s also infuriating, because I feel like I’m going through a secret process. I glory in the white strands I have that are a testament to my age, but most people still think I’m in my late thirties. When I tell my students about my sons in their mid-twenties, they ask me if I gave birth when I was 13.
I would have liked to be an obvious crone, with a bent back and full white hair, and a wicked gleam in her eye, not unlike the witch in Snow White, polishing her apple in the corner. At least, people will not wonder why I am acting strange, because I already look strange. And then from time to time, I would transition into the deadly queen when I feel like carving out hunters’ hearts.
I would have liked to be Medusa, beautiful and deadly, which is the precise reason humans stay away. I would like to have a sign on my door that says, “Beware the Monstress,” even as my rages have already died down, simply because I want to be left alone.
I am not, perhaps, a dotty old grandma who would dote on children and have gingerbread ready. Instead, I am the one that hisses in corners and give strange warnings to young women about the ways of the world. I might be the one who would create that gingerbread fantasy in the forest, slowly building a visual metaphor of things too good to be true, cackling to myself until the stupid children find themselves ensnared.
But I look nothing like the crone, the witch, or the monstress. And yet, I am her. I am transitioning, sure as the werewolf turning as the full moon shines. All women do, if they live long enough.
And it seems that human society needs women of a certain age. People say we, as a species, have evolved, in order to need the post-menopausal woman. One just has to go through this stage, and emerge, one day, free from the tyranny of hormones, and find oneself hopefully better and wiser someday.