Post #3

Sticky situations

The Menopausal Incident Report · Filed under: unscheduled rage, bodily betrayal, and loud awakenings

Are you freaking kidding me?! Where do I start with the absolutely massive list of shitty symptoms that come with perimenopause and menopause? As if losing my hair isn’t bad enough. Quite a good mane did I have once. Or watching my boobs and backside make a run for it. Never had complaints there before (from me or stallions) Or even seeing my feet starting to resemble horse hooves – what no more horsey puns? As they say, actually as I say, since dispensing sage advice is now part of my job description… there are two guarantees in life. One is death and the other is, things can always get worse. And they have. Are you curious yet? Okay then, but I bet some of you won’t be surprised to hear about my Crone bits and will nod your heads in recognition.

This nasty little symptom of my divebombing hormones crept up on me really slowly. First, it only happened when I’d been sitting at a funny angle on the sofa. But then it sprung up randomly, like the time I was walking and suddenly a slight draft made its way between my legs. With horror I realized my labia were sticking to my inner thighs! Splayed open like a manspreader on a train. I was like my husband Tatter Cloak’s sweaty scrotum glued to his legs like Velcro. Normally a sneaky crotch grab and readjustment is enough to corral my bits, but as I have been freed from constraints like being observed and judged, I swipe at my pants like Wacko Jacko himself.

After making this discovery I had to investigate. So I tried squatting over a mirror to see better, but all I did was get cramp in my thighs and steam the thing up, not sure how, maybe my hotness? I’d make a terrible pole dancer! Next came my phone but that proved even trickier and provided me with more shots of my thighs than anything else. Blurry ones too, so eventually I gave up and asked Tatter Cloak to snap away. To say he was eager to volunteer having forgotten what I look like down there, is an understatement. Task complete, the jury is in. My lady bits have deflated, not as much as me, (this is a blow). Once plump, I’m transforming into a shriveled hag one lady bit at a time.

They bad news comes in pairs, so I checked my clitoris. Yes you guessed it, it’s a shadow of its former self. Quite sad and pathetic, hiding out looking scared like a dried pea in a kitchen cupboard. At my cursing, a worried Tatter Cloak came running into the room but soon perked up, crooked grin in tow as he watched me sat legs akimbo bemoaning my lost bean. After much cajoling and comforting he gave me a hug and a cuppa saying he’ll do anything I want so I can feel better. (This is one gripe I don’t have, but for those of you who do, I have a remedy. No it’s not pillow therapy… sadly we can’t get away with that!)

I know falling estrogen levels are to blame for so many of our symptoms (yes seeing you are also Crones in Training or fully-fledged and I consider us as one) but the bean? I haven’t dared explore the inside yet, but if I don’t get a handle on things, my vagina will be atrophying too - the technical term for shriveling. For the detail-focused of you it’s Atrophic vaginitis/genitourinary syndrome of menopause GSM. After my revelation you better believe my doctor will hear about this and adjust my estrogen dose. (Seems my patches are about as effective as a chocolate tea pot, up and down more often than a yoyo). In my next post you’ll see that there was something else I have missed in the nether lands of my body…

Crafty, Cranky and Crone.