I am getting so hot I wanna take my clothes off…..(Nelly 2002)

And at this moment I really do, I feel like I am going to explode…..and no it’s not with sexual desire! Right now I am SO not into that and this is not a blog on porn…that may come later!

I find that in this piece I am ‘method’ blogging, which is akin to ‘method’ acting. I’m virtually naked, hot and sweaty in a moist unpleasant but apt way. Could this a fever I’m describing?….non, it’s the nemesis of my 40th decade, the ‘pause’! I refuse to refer to it with its full title in an attempt to diminish my fear of it . Besides, isn’t it like a ‘pause’, a contraction of too many of my ingredients for happiness?

I’ve been dreading since I saw it turn my calm and collected Mother into an emotional terrorist. If it could do that to her, she at least came from a serene place whereas I do not, what the hell is it going to do to me ?!!!!

My ‘curse’, so well named, from inception involved a lengthy stay in the ‘House of Pain’(Cypress Hill) going ‘Insane in the Membrane’, whilst being simultaneously ravaged by the Hounds of the Baskerville. (Click on the Link for the nostalgic sound track) What’s laughable about this is that when it first occurred it was my Father not my Mother who gave me a ‘talk’ on how to treat this physical development?! He literally told me to ‘Jump Around’ , take it in my stride and not give in and become a victim to it. According to him, I had a choice in how to experience it? Was he a red-headed female? Was he a visitor to Menstrual Island? Ha, clearly not and nothing like, given that he is a man!

Plus adding insult to injury, not only do I get the afore-mentioned pain, I am fortnightly blessed with water retention, painful spots and a ride on a terrifying emotional seesaw. Yes, ovulation is just as shit — the bonus ball if you like.

Therefore, is it any wonder that I have chosen to expedite the ultimate conclusion of my fertility by way of an ‘ovectomy’….ending the tiresome havoc my hormones wreak? I did try to get this ‘done’ when I was getting rid of my womb, preferring the 3 in 1 approach to operations. But the surgeon vetoed this at the last-minute because of my existing condition, Joint Hypermobility Syndrome. None of his predecessors had thought to elucidate to me the salient point that it could create a fast track to osteoporosis!?

However, having never met me before, he was unaware of my fortnightly hormone mash-up, and being in an open ward I had no desire to challenge him with the gory facts.

Thus it was of no surprise, the hysterectomy did not remove my cyclical journeys through Hades. In our subsequent post op appointments, we reached a compromise in the form of monthly injections of Zoladex….which basically turns my ovaries off so it’s possible to determine if they are the culprits before their yanked out. Of course, there is chance they are falsely accused but given the repeated evidence that I am more in tune with my Body than the medical profession , I think not! I am not slagging of the NHS, I’m sure this is due to the fact that they are so underfunded they get little time to gather all the facts.

I’ve therefore invited and encouraged my Foe, instead of it creeping up on me. I’ve put my foot on the gas and driven to ‘difficult’ through intention. I’m in the midst of the ‘change’, the well pool of life drying up within me, along with my short-term memory, mental health, patience and passion.

My Husband is not taking it well, he feels he has no more slack to cut! He naïvely hoped the womb removal alone would deliver a calmer more reasoned wife….forgetting he chose to marry a feisty red-head! And despite repeatedly furnishing him with the facts like why this is gruesome process is necessary and that I really am trying to control my ‘pause’ ogre, he just can’t help snapping back or taking the piss — not very wise! Thus his support is somewhat compromised and patchy, really only running to the hunter gathering of chocolate and booze — despite my frequent reminders I am trying to diet — the ‘pause’ is bloody fattening too?! Bet you wish you were in my harmonious household at the moment…..

So here I sit melting onto the couch, growing more crotchety and crone like by the minute (I’m not allowed HRT until the 2nd injection) complete with a massive purple/black bruise on my stomach, writing to you. Yup, Zoladex involves an injection of a pessary into the subcutaneous fat on your tummy. The needle is fairly massive and the nurse prefers to accompany the delivery with a side order of lidocaine — which bloody stings!!! I thought it would be okay because some bright spark said there were fewer nerve endings in the stomach and since my second child I carry a few fatty tyres in that area — non, non, non. I am sincerely hoping this bruise heals before my next stabbing, or there will be some screaming and crying.

I had thought I would be very grown up about this next ‘stage’ of my evolution and not eat refined sugar, drink caffeine or alcohol in a bid to reduce the side-effect of the ‘pause’. However, in practice it’s impossible because along with my general shoutiness and extreme irritation with my Husband, I seem to have developed a ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude to self-control — helpful!

This is what I’m aiming for, no I can’t read the small print either, but I like her vibe…..

This is what I’m likely to achieve…..