Menopause as a grieving process

wedgie

Many of us are familiar with The Five Stages of Grief as introduced by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and we recognise that when someone we love dies we will experience some or all of the emotions associated with the long grieving process – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  Not many of us realise that we can expect to react similarly in other times of crisis or loss (job, divorce, rape, illness, burglary etc).  In fact, if you like, these emotions are the major themes of our lives, playing either in the background or the foreground, sometimes softly and other times at deafening levels if we could only see ourselves as others see us.

If there is a taboo in our society about talking about or dealing with death and the dying (and there is), then it is doubly so for menopause.  Just as we do not publicise our periods , we are not expected or allowed to talk openly about Menopause.  But we should.  Because this is a life changer that destroys marriages, creates volatile home environments for children and young people and takes women to the outer edges of their sanity and their ability to cope.  Depression has come out of the closet in all its guises, now it’s time for Menopause to step forward into the spotlight.

Let’s talk about the fact that women universally think that menopause happens to women over 50.  They don’t know that peri-menopause starts around age 40, and earlier if you have used in vitro or fertility drugs which provoke early and often release of eggs.  Peri-menopause – it sounds so harmless, so sweet, so unassuming . . . but it’s not.

Often the first symptom is an all consuming rage which is unidentified as a symptom of peri menopause and therefore directed at husband, children, employers and employees and colleagues.  Families and worklife can be wrecked if the emotion isn’t correctly attributed and some sort of management commenced.  Some women have hot flushes, some don’t.  Some have a couple a night and some have hundreds a day.  They are embarrassing, exhausting, debilitating.  We have to learn how to dress differently in order to manage them, and most women will try a plethora of remedies in order to stem or stop them.

After the rage has wreaked its havoc then comes the depression (which may simply be a reaction to the unforeseen and unexpected change of life).  For many women (especially those hounded by hot flushes) the depression is all consuming, a deep dark pit at the bottom of which is a desire to leave life and all we love.  Undiagnosed, this can end in the ultimate tragedy.

Woven among the above is the denial ‘this can’t be happening to me now’, ‘I’m not ready’, ‘’m too young’ etc as we realise that our biological clock is ticking away our childbearing years and heralding the dawn of the demise into old age and eventual death.  We are forced to contemplate our own mortality, our life purpose, our own needs and wants and desires after subjugating our souls and selves during our childrearing years.  Often women feel rudderless, pointless, empty, barren and embittered as the women’s heartbeat in our womb slows and stops.  Some women are beset with almost constant bleeding and are left begging for the cessation of the flow.  All the physical symptoms are exhausting and the broken nights of sleeplessness add to the out of control feelings and the inability to cope.

This is a time when we need to nurture ourselves, take time out from daily stresses and reflect on our lives thus far and question ourselves deeply about what we want to feel, see, hear, achieve in the second and final half of our lives.  This should be a time of deep going within, withdrawal and meditation for a woman.  This is the perfect opportunity for a life changing journey or pilgrimage to seek out her soul’s longing.  But instead she is often hurried and harried at work and by the frenetic pace of modern life.  All too often a peri-menopausal woman is at war with a teenager in the house, a clash of hormones which is a recipe for disaster and can destroy parent-child relationships.  In my case, menopause has coincided with toddlerdom for my first and apparently, only, child.  I can only hope we can both forget some of our darkest days.  I now fully understand the wisdom of having children in our youthful, fertile years and get them long gone from the nest so that menopause can at least be survived in the sanctity of one’s own space.

Bargaining is part of the process.  Being women we reach out to complementary health professionals, herbal remedies, natural oestrogen boosters and yoga, pilates, exercise, healthier food etc which might stave off or alleviate the symptoms.  We’re bargaining with Mother Nature for more time.

Finally we begin to accept that in all of life there are seasons and we begin to embrace what our autumn years can gift to us, rather than railing against the injustice of the loss of youth and elasticity.  We accept that while we might have saggier skin, boobs and bellies, our hearts are purer, bigger and more open to the wonder of life.  We have experienced life and now we have wisdom to share.  We can devote time and energy to long cherished dreams, creative endeavours and play pursuits.  Menopause is a time when women ask ‘what about me?’, ‘what makes ME happy?’ and finally have time to explore ourselves.  It’s a transition from youth to maturity and we must mourn our losses as well as celebrate what we gain.  Let no woman suffer in silence and may every woman better understand what will come to us all.

Menopause or I don’t want to die

Just as I had really started enjoying the summer of my life, with my little boy, my farm, my lovely husband, I turned into a raging Monster with a heart and soul black and dark and thick with anger and frustration.  Then the hot flushes started.  And still I didn’t have the sense to marry the two together.  I blamed toddlerdom (even though I have an angel child), Ged and the world at large.  My marriage almost didn’t survive the onslaught.  I couldn’t believe that Menopause could happen to me aged only 45.  We wanted another child . . . every time last year my period came later and later I was convinced I was pregnant.  I didn’t see the writing on the wall … didn’t even know there WAS writing on the wall.

I thought menopause happened in your fifties, not your forties.  I thought I was in my prime, not starting the steady decline to death.  I thought anything was possible and the world was my oyster.  Instead my ovaries were shutting down, changing me forever from woman to wasteland of broken dreams, lost opportunities and babies terminated before they ever had a chance to become.

Menopause is a bitch.  The mood swings, the violent rages welling up from nowhere, no reason and no way to control them.  The hot flushes which take over and rule my life.  The feeling of being ill and at the mercy of something so far beyond my control as to make me look like King Canute trying to stop the waves . . . The constant pain in my uterus, the grief – the endless waves of grief as I farewell my child bearing years, the little girl I didn’t get to have and hold, the sense of myself as young, that glorious feeling of ripe fertility only possible in late pregnancy, the sense of limitless possibilities . . .

All of a sudden I, who have duelled and diced and danced with death so many times in my lifetime and have longed to fall into his peaceful embrace am screaming and sobbing ‘I don’t want to die’.  Clearly one has to see one’s one ultimate destiny and the steady decline towards it unblinkered in order to appreciate just how precious this life, and every moment in it, is.

After all, we don’t know what is going to happen next.  I was flirting with the idea of getting pregnant again, not taking it that seriously, thinking I had plenty of time . . .

Baby is dying too.  She has Cushings and she is going downhill fast.  So I am also screaming and sobbing ‘I don’t know how or who to be without Baby’ and ‘please don’t go’ and ‘just one last summer together please’.  I’m letting go of babies real and ethereal – those who are and those who were never meant to be . . .

You see, I was so busy being busy, so determinedly procrastinating, saving the fun and enjoyment and play til some  ‘later’ in the ever diminishing future when all the work is done that I didn’t realise that we have to have fun NOW because we just don’t know what tomorrow may bring and the greatest gift we can give anyone, can share with anyone, can spend is TIME.  Sweet, precious, limited, ever ticking time.

Like Peter Pan before me, I never wanted to grow up.  I succeeded pretty well.  I only ever thought of myself as grown up last year and now it appears I am old, dried up, used up, washed up.  Old before my time with creaking joints and sore, tired muscles and wrinkles like clothes left too long in the dryer.

I didn’t know this was around the corner.  I never imagined how debilitating, depressing and daunting this particular female rite of passage could be.  It feels like transition in labour – totally out of control, completely uncomfortable, sick making, overwhelming and I’m trying to stand on the merry go round, yelling ‘I didn’t sign up for this, let me off!’

Why the code of silence Women?  Why don’t we talk about this, map the stages and ages of our ovaries and life’s passages so we know what to expect, when and how to wear and bear it.

The addict in me is appalled at how many pills I am taking at the moment.  And how many I seem to need.  My naturopath says ‘why not?’ and ‘stop fighting it, this is beyond your control.’  But really I would rather just ride it out and get it over with.  But I can’t.  I have a little boy to look after.  A little boy of three who knows what a hot flush is, where the fan is, and hates having to have all the car windows open while I ride one out.

I have to try and manage and mitigate and massage some of my moods into something resembling normality.  For my own sanity.  For my child’s future psychological health.  For Ged’s peace of mind.  If only I could sleep how much better would all our lives be . . .

I completely understand why my Mother’s generation took HRT.  Instead I am on red clover, licorice, zizyphus, vitamin E, iron, B6, zinc, st john’s wort, the occasional kava, some sort of anti stress pill and who knows what from my acupuncturist.  The grief I can handle, the physical symptoms are driving me mad . . .

No man could handle menopause.  No woman ought to have to.  It’s too much, too soon, I’m not ready, can’t cope and don’t want to die . . . .

Planting roots

It’s so good to be home, even though Mischa has left a hole in our hearts and a huge vacuum in our house.  It feels so empty without her.  Phee has his moments where he revels in being the spoilt only child again but he is as lost as we are without her to talk to, play with, explore and wrestle with.

The upholsterer came and took away my long white (not so any more!) crewel work couch to fit for loose covers which will match the newly upholstered chairs and suddenly this house is really beginning to look and feel like a family home.
I have been in the Port Macquarie paper pitching my ‘no roads, no rates’ campaign to get the council to fulfil their obligation to our rural roads.  Since the big floods they are rocky roads (literally) and our poor cars are taking a pounding.  Other than that, just working my way through the mountain of washing we created while we were away and revelling in the warm winter sunshine.  The snowdrops are out, and we are planting lavendar and fruit trees and I am planning my round vegetable garden.  I envisage it like a Trivial Pursuit quiche with triangular beds with an apple tree at its heart.  We have planted raspberry and blackcurrant canes and have clematis and fuschia still to go in, plus all the big shade and colour trees for the farm.  Ged is still clearing his old shed, though, so I have to grab him in moments at the end and start of the weekend days, and, of course, the rest of the time he is out earning our daily bread.
I am really slowing down these days and the tiredness can be overwhelming.  Saturday was a vile windy wintry day so I stayed at home and rested up.  Sunday was warmer but I still spent most of the day cleaning the house.  I have finished the window in my pantry and put the curtains back up so I spring cleaned in there.  The nesting process is well underway!  And its funny how much I just love being at home and have no desire to go elsewhere . . . putting down roots finally, planting trees and looking forward to watching our little acorn grow . . . .

Travelling saleswoman

It seemed like an ideal time for me to do a long overdue road trip to show the major equine retailers in NSW Think Fly (if they hadn’t been ordering it) and also the new products that we have been wanting to bring in to the country for a while, but needed their approbation and willingness to sell, to do so.  It gets me out of the house while Bill the Painter is polluting the atmosphere with toxic paints.  So I set off on Tuesday and drove over the windy, windy mountain to Walcha, and then to Tamworth where I stayed the night with the Fensbo tribe who all marvelled at a ‘fat’ Sophie.  We had a good catch up and in the morning I transformed myself back into ‘Sales Sophie’ and hit the road . . . I had forgotten how much I enjoyed that face to face selling thing.  Getting a bit out of breath though now, at the end of my spiel . . .

The response was excellent which was inspiring and affirming – that this grand Global Horse Products plan of mine does have legs and will run and run . . .
I did Tamworth, Scone, Moonbi  and Quirindi on Wednesday, then bunkered down in Denman for the night (trying to escape the roar of the trucks on the New England Highway).  Thursday was a busy day, covering Denman, Cessnock, Singleton, Maitland and Muswellbrook and then the long drive home.  Enough of sleeping in strange beds – need my home comforts and my human hot water bottle . . .
It is always such bliss to be home . . . .
Ged flew down to Sydney last week to get his new car.  It is a Japanese import called a Mitsubishi Delica.  A people mover on a Pajero chassis and engine.  So it’s a 4WD van basically, which is exactly what he needs for work.  He has ripped out the back seats and put the roof racks on for his ladders and seems to be very happy with his decision.  Now we just have to sell his Toyota – shouldn’t be hard.  I think my new car will be next year now, but my little red Pajero is still doing well and Benjamin won’t notice for a while yet . . .   Actually, the Delica is super comfortable and since it still has two back seats, is probably going to be used as the family car for long trips as long as it is clean!!
Came back from my trip to find the painting finished.  Very good on the outside but he seems to have just done a quick fix on the inside which I am not happy about.  I spent the weekend filling the nail holes in the skirting boards and putting on two coats of gloss.  I will work my way slowly round the windows to get them up to MY standard (which actually isn’t that high!!)  Honestly, if you need a job doing properly, you have to do it yourself . . . !
Also, a miracle has happened!  Those ducks have finally become normal!  They swim on the river during the day, they fly, they camp out under the house, and who knows where they sleep at night.  The ugly ducklings have become, if not swans, then at least responsible members of the duck family, and lovely to see paddling gently across the river from my kitchen window . . .

Tree change Anniversary

A whole year has now passed since I moved lock, stock, and two smoking barrels up here from KV.  What a lot has happened – to me, to the farm, to my life.  Who would have thought that this move that we all deemed the craziest and biggest risk of my daredevil life to date, would make so many dreams come true?

Here I am, one year on, belly distended with child, rings on my fingers, wed at last, in a sweet little cottage that is finally a home (just the finishing touches to go), an office on the way, surrounded by ducks, dog, chooks galore and STILL awaiting the birth of the first Avalon calf.  Truly all my forty odd years of restless searching have finally led me to Ged and this beautiful place that I can wholeheartedly call home . . .
The good news is that a literary agent I have worked with before in the UK is interested in seeing this ‘Mad Cow’ that you all keep saying is a book, written as such.  That actually doesn’t mean very much – it means that if I can knuckle down to writing the first three chapters, she would like to see them to see if they have potential in the publishing world . . . while the baby is sleeping  . . .??
We went out for dinner with friends in Port Macquarie on Friday night and had a dismally disappointing meal with appalling service.  We are slowly working our way through the eating establishments up here and it seems that the bad far outweigh the good.  We treated ourselves to the local Indian a week or so ago as we are both firm fans of the genre and it was awful!  Microwaved mess style food – ugh!!  And  I didn’t know that there was such a thing as a bad Indian restaurant – Port Macquarie really does take poor palatability to new depths!!  Nonetheless we will soldier on with our campaign to try them all so when you come to stay we know where we can safely send you and where not!  The things we do . . . .
The winter thus far has been so mild that all the plants are confused.  I have daffodils in flower, blossom on the trees, lavendar in bud – bizarre.

Prone over Porcelain and Snoozing my life Away

Now I know that Little Miss has said that the farm is to be organic but we have a weed problem that is out of control and several steep banks where even the death defying George daren’t take his tractor, so there is only one thing for it – Grazon.
Of course I can’t do any spraying (or much of anything since I am so often prone on the sofa snoozing my life away!) so my brave husband-to-be has to go into the chemical fray.  We are both so conscious of the toxic fallout from these quite frankly HORRIBLE chemical soups that we would far rather not expose ourselves, and I made Ged get all the kit to protect himself.  Attractive, isn’t it?!
Little Miss appears to have had a hand in the proceeding from where she watches her potential parents as they endeavour to get her new home finished for her arrival, because not long after Ged commenced Operation Chemical Fallout I heard swearing and stripping in the front yard and found that he had come under enemy fire!  For some reason beyond my comprehension the sprayer I have used faithfully for the past few years turned traitor on its new master and blew a gasket (literally!) causing a fountain of chemical soup to deluge the one part of his body unprotected . . . his eyes.  Poor, poor love was in so much pain so we flushed and flushed and flushed, rang the poisons hotline and then laid him down with a cold flannel over his face to rest them as they recuperated.  Looks like Little Miss is going to get her way after all  . . !
It is very hard to feel enthused about the renovation while I am Little Miss Slumber and I am afraid I am falling behind.  I went to the doctor and we agreed that an ultrasound was essential to correctly date my pregnancy so we booked me in that same afternoon and Ged came to have his first peek of his little princess.  Apparently there’s a very strong heartbeat there and we are six weeks pregnant so we are in for a lot of momentous changes to our lives this  year, culminating in a new arrival at the end of September (they say 25th, I say 22nd) but I have been known to be wrong before . . . . !!
When I told Mummy she said ‘are you feeling sick yet?’ and I said in my most superior and patronising tone ‘I don’t believe in morning sickness, it’s all in the mind’.  Boy, was I wrong about that!  I never knew you could feel so sick and still stand up (although lying down is by far my best position for coping with the unrelenting nausea.  Why do they call it morning sickness  it’s from the moment I move from horizontal to halfway close to vertical in the morning, until the moment I lay my weary head down to sleep at night.  Ugh.  And what is it with the secret society of women who have borne children, that they never initiate their childless sisters into the horrors of hanging over ceramic from dawn to dusk?  I’m amazed that the world is as over-populated as it is – I can’t imagine why you’d willingly go through this more than once (even with the Australian $5,000 baby bonus and exhortations to have ‘one for you, one for Australia’!!)
Ah well, this too shall pass . . . . x

End of a very big year

Looks like I was premature to be signing off the year in my last missive – it still had a week to run!
I have to admit that I was FOUL in the run up to Christmas (poor Ged!), over-tired, over-stretched, and as it now transpires, suffering from severe hormonal fluctuations.  I was dreading my first Christmas with the ‘out-laws’ and as always at that time of year I was homesick for the traditional rituals, aromas and rain of England.  After all, it is the traditional time for family and I wanted mine, not his!!
We opened our ‘stockings’ at home before heading off to his parents’ place which is a beautiful 400 acre farm they raise Santa Gertrudis bulls on, about 40 minutes away.  Due to a flat tyre on the way (heaven-sent!) we missed the sit down dinner and were able to have a more relaxed afternoon with a moveable feast of family members as we munched on our vegetarian lasagne.  We were embarassed to get gifts from all Ged’s nephews and nieces (I know now for next year!) and got away at a reasonable hour so we could have our ‘first Christmas’ at home.  We opened a bottle of my favourite bubbles and traded gifts – I got my long awaited handbag and a punchbag and baseball bat which now have pride of place in the garage (he knows me well!!) and I gave Ged a big A4 filofax and new halters, lead ropes and a carrot stick for his horses so we were both very spoilt.  We only managed a glass of champagne each before we were pissed . . . and so to bed!
I had invited all his family over on Boxing Day so we had a whirlwind few hours turning the building site into something vaguely resembling a home and cooking up a storm and then had a very relaxed and easy day.  The boys BBQ’d organic beef steaks and sausages from a local farm in Comboyne, and I did potato and green salads with my special vinaigrette and homemade tomato sauce which, amazingly, all the boys hoed into and loved (just goes to show, you don’t need sugar!).
The 27th was my birthday (42!) and Ged made me Queen for a day and waited on me hand and foot so I slept on the sofa all afternoon and we both just relished the peace and quiet of a day off.  Then we had to put in a couple of days of work on the house before driving down to Ged’s best friends’ annual New Year’s Eve bash on the central coast.  I swapped places with Phee on the way down – I curled up in the back of the Pajero and slept and Phee took the passenger seat and kept Ged company in the front!  To be honest we were so tired, we weren’t great company that night, although it was good to meet a lot more of his old friends.  We were clock watching ’til midnight (‘are we there yet?’) and glad to escape to our tent once the celebrations had died down a bit.  The die-hard drinkers kept going until the wee smalls, but we were safely off with the sand man . . .

The new bathroom under the Jacaranda tree . . .