Back when I was frighteningly thin, I lost my period for about 18 months.
Naturally I wondered if I would ever get it back again. True, I was so sick for a time that I revelled in my amenorrhea; because a lack of menstruation really, truly meant I must be thin. And that was a WIN! My (perverted) ‘hard work’ was paying off.
Then when I realised that this sick behaviour, at this rate, was looking like it would soon cost me more than my ability to have children, I decided to get serious and start working (and I mean that verb at it’s fullest tilt) on getting better.
This took time. I had setbacks. I had relapses. But eventually this inner dialogue began:
Brain: Okay, she seems to be back on track. Time to release an egg!
Ovaries: You’ve got to be kidding.
Brain: No, let’s show a bit of trust here. But we’ll make it easy: no ovulation pains.
Two weeks later….
Brain: Okay, uterus. Your turn. SHED!
Uterus: What the bloody hell is going on here? I’m confused. I barely remember what to do!
Brain: Just relax. Can you feel that?
Uterus: Feel what?
Brain: Exactly. No hormones, just the bare minimum to get this show underway again. We’re going to do this quick and fast. Set this girl up nice. If we go all Carrie blood-guts on her, she mightn’t be able to handle it and then goes and does something stupid. We’ll be nice to each other for a little bit.
Uterus: Fine, but I don’t like it.
Brain: I’m not much of a fan either.
And so it went for years – right up until I finished breastfeeding Riley, actually. Whenever I got a period there was no pain, minimal bleeding and (obviously) my fertility hadn’t been compromised.
But since June, since the kilos have been slowly yet steadily creeping back, my brain has remembered this ancient conversation and has decided to pay back the hormones – with interest.
So each month I grip the side of my body which the egg is being released, as it is being released. (Like some of my friends and I agree, as you get older ovulation pains tend to become worse than menstruation pains. Kind of like Mother Nature’s way of sticking the knife in more: especially to those who find it hard, nay impossible, to conceive at all.)
Then I look in the mirror as the pimples – not many, just one or two – surface over the next week.
Then comes the gnashing of the teeth and the suppression of temper which is so hard to do when you’re around children 24/7.
Unlike when I was 13 years old and completely new to this experience, I know perfectly well what I should and should not be doing at this time. I should exercise more. I should cut out refined sugar. And you can be damned sure I shouldn’t have eaten that block of cooking chocolate tucked away at the back of the cupboard. Or this:
This was my birthday cheesecake. Cheesecake – funny little fact – is the only kind of sweet treat none of the other family members will eat, strange creatures which they are. So I had to eat it all on my lonesome, with Dr. Northrup there sitting at my side, and I doubt she’d be happy with what I was shoving into my gob.
*sigh*
Some people turn to religion, the Big Book, in times of trial or frustration.
I turn to John, Paul, George and Ringo.
What songs do you listen to when you have PMS and need to cry? Or get angry? Or get happy? Tell me – I’m interested.
