Nova Infernos of Doom and Other Fun Ways to Enjoy Your 40s (and 50s)

I’ve been in perimenopause for the last few years. It probably started when I was 38 or 39, but it’s hard to say. I went to three OBGYN practitioners who failed to diagnose me with early perimenopause, as if it were some rare, hard to identify condition rather than something that every woman experiences. When I was diagnosed, it was by my primary care physician. My husband and I ran to a fertility specialist, but it was already too late. My eggs had mostly flown the coup.

Menopause, and perimenopause, are strange. Not because they’re rare, but because no one wants to talk about them. People get uncomfortable. Awkward. And part of this is probably because I can’t have children, and no one knows what to say to that. Which is okay. I get it. It’s hard to know what to say to that. But most of the time, I just want to vent about how I can be sitting at home, minding my own business, when suddenly a nova inferno of doom ignites in my torso and radiates out of my entire body as if I, and not the furnace, regulated the temperature of the entire house.

Because we don’t talk about menopause, I didn’t know the difference between menopause and perimenopause until I started going through it. Menopause is when you’re done. It’s when you haven’t had a period for an entire year. And your body has basically shut down your egg processing plant. No more eggs. Your ovaries finally get to rest and go on vacation. Maybe to the Bahamas.

Perimenopause, however, is the entire shutting down process. It takes a while. Just like when any business closes and holds a clearance sale, perimenopause is your body’s Everything Must Go Sale. All the eggs that are left, the ones on the back of shelf gathering dust, the ones that have been turned so no one could see the cracked bits, even the expired eggs, are finally ready to be processed. This process seems endless. But your body has to adjust to this new situation, this clearing out of inventory before packing for that vacation to the Bahamas. Everything has to be just right. Hormones adjusted. New inventory discovered. New sale signs made. Eggs processed. Hormones re-adjusted. Still more inventory back there. Still more sale signage. Body adjusted. Everything gets tweaked in increments, over and over and over and over and over.

This is the part everyone knows about. Hot flashes. Tears. Rage. These generally aren’t symptoms of menopause, but of PERImenopause, the big clearance sale. And there’s more. Fatigue. Muscle weakness. Aches. Brain fog. Forgetting whatever that thought was. Or that one. And oh shit, did I mention crying? Excuse me, I have to take off my light hoodie and go and crawl inside my freezer for a minute.

This can go for years. I’ve been experiencing all of this, in varying degrees, for the last five years.

Which is why I deserve presents. We all do honestly. We have engagement showers (getting married and about to make/adopt some babies!), baby showers (that baby is on it’s way, get ready!), but no menopause showers (no more babies coming, time to plan for the Bahamas!). And the point of all these showers is to get some things to prepare you for the next stage of life (which probably has something to do with babies). But not everyone gets married or has babies. And dammit, when you hit perimenopause, you need some things. You need a lot of things. You DESERVE lots of things. So I would like to propose menopause showers, where your friends and loved ones can get you stocked up for The Change. Here are some registry suggestions:

A cooling gel pillow, so you can sleep for at least 30 minutes at night, aka the time of a thousand hot flashes.

A punching bag, so that you don’t hit anyone you actually love in your burst of inexplicable homicidal rage.

Kleenex. Lots of it. So when you begin weeping while watching fish leap out of the ocean and eat seagulls during a documentary, and then refuse to eat the rest of your chicken dinner, as least you don’t have snot on your face.

Tank tops. A lightweight hoodie. Layers, people. It’s all about layers. You gotta be ready to throw off those layers at any second. This goes for socks and shoes. Mules, slingbacks, you need shoes you can kick right off. Because, for some ungodly reason, your feet also experience the hot flash fires of hell.

A voodoo doll. Again, for the rage. That guy who just cut you off in traffic? Yeah. He’s gonna get it now.

Face creams, sheet masks, lotion. Watch your skin alternate between parchment and acne. You thought that shit ended after middle school. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Sucker.

Water bottle. Who doesn’t love a water bottle? Hydration is awesome. Plus, you can pour it over your head in a hot flash emergency.

Paper towels/more Kleenex. For cleaning up the floor after you pour the contents of a water bottle over your head.

Tea. Some calming tea. Some don’t cry so much tea. Don’t be so angry tea. MY GOD THE SUN IS RADIATING OUT OF MY CHEST. Maybe some iced tea. Maybe just some ice. Bonus: throwing ice cubes at people when you Hulk out!

Menopause acupuncture. Oh, but needles are scary? Not anymore. Nothing is scary anymore. Because every day is hormonal chaos and you haven’t slept in two weeks. Where the hell is that gel pillow? Did no one give you a gel pillow? BURN THEM WITH YOUR INTERNAL FIRES. Oh, thanks for that calming tea. Ahhhhhhh. Now, yes, let’s do that acupuncture and have a good night’s rest.

Books. But that brain fog is a real thing. You need something engaging. Something funny. Or something light and fun, where you don’t have to pay too much attention. Because you literally can’t. This essay is too long, isn’t it? If you’ve made it this far, you deserve a treat from this list for sure.

Chocolate. Always. For everything. And you’ve already gained ten pounds anyway, and it makes no difference what you eat. Salad makes you gain weight. You’ve been nagged and bullied and harassed about your body by the entire world for your whole life. Eat the chocolate. Put chocolate on everything. Put chocolate in your calming tea. It’s good. I promise.

Alcohol makes your hot flashes worse. So ask for wine (or whatever), but expect to have to find that sweet spot of not caring about the hot flashes the will burn you mercilessly. Know trying to find the sweet spot is a fool’s errand going in. But brain fog makes you sound drunk most of the time anyway. Screw it. Drink what you want. Layer. Have the water bottle ready. Maybe a bowl of ice. Maybe drink frozen margaritas or daiquiris.

Was that list too long? Did the brain fog kick back in? Wake up! Here’s something important! If you go looking for menopause support, or menopause relief, or products to help with menopause, you’ll discover that there is a lot of quackery out there. Some of it is legit. Black Cohosh can indeed help with hot flashes. But the long term effects aren’t well studied. And this is true for much of menopause. Women, as per the usual, aren’t a priority when it comes to medical research (and while this is changing, it’s a slow change. Much like the menopause of America). And to complicate that further, supplements aren’t well regulated, so who knows what you’re getting in that pill? And it’s even worse when you think about how we don’t talk about menopause, or support each other through menopause, or even normalize menopause and the aging process. Because let’s face it. Nothing you do is going to stop it. Period. (Or, really, no period).

Which is why we need menopause registries, and, in the future, showers (parties! With real people! In your house!). We need menopause conversations. And conversations about aging. Because no matter when you start perimenopause, it’s going to change your life. Literally. You will be older. You will be becoming infertile. You will be tired and forgetful and angry and sad and anxious and spacey and unsettled and pimply and thirsty and hot. You will not feel powerful, or strong, or goddess-like. You will feel a bit like a crone, especially if you start perimenopause early while the rest of your friends are still flush with fertility. But you will be hotter than you’ve ever been before.

And all of this is okay. You don’t need to anti-age. In fact, you can’t anti-age. Nothing, absolutely nothing you do will stop it. Aging is going to happen. Accept it. Enjoy it. Who the hell wants to be stuck in stasis forever? Change is inevitable. And the entire anti-aging industry is designed to sell stuff that reinforces stupid ideas about women. Fuck that shit. Don’t buy the hype! Buy the stuff you like, the stuff that makes you feel good, the stuff that comforts you. Cooling towels, books that you really want to read but haven’t yet, sheet masks that make you feel soothed and lovely. You don’t need that expensive eye cream (unless you like expensive eye cream). You don’t need that dubious weight loss pill. And you definitely don’t need anything that promises to make you younger. You’re not younger. Tell that shit to get off your lawn! And buy the things that make you feel good, not the things that make you feel broken and in need of repairs.

Better yet, get someone to buy it for you.

So here’s my registry link. Go make yours and add it in the comments!