Since I have a habit of sharing all kinds of personal data, why not share this?
I shall use a common euphemism: I haven’t seen my aunt in about ten months. I thought she was coming last week but it turns out it was just my hormones torturing me again and nothing substantial ever materialized. Good thing too because I did not want to have to start the count all over again. What count you might ask? You know, the one where you anxiously tick off the months of not having a period until you get to the magical twelfth month indicating that you are to menopause, or through it, that always confuses me. I’m never quite sure if I’m traveling through menopause or to menopause? Either way, I feel like it’s some goal I’m trying to reach.
When I thought I might start my period again last week because I had every symptom known to woman, I looked up online how often it starts back up at ten months and found many women lamenting the recount. We all are reaching for the magical twelve months mark aren’t we? As if we get some kind of badge. Or maybe a chip? Yes, I vote for a chip that I can carry around in my pocket. Like this one:
I was so pleased to be able to keep my ten month chip. That means I am only two months away from that magical day of full transition. Or not. It seems many women get a period after a year of not having one. And tell me, why is anyone surprised by that? Doctors will tell you if that happens you should rush right off to see one because something might be wrong. But who in the world determined that twelve months is the magical moment? I bet a man! Because any woman who’s been through it will tell you that when we’re speaking about our hormones there are just no guarantees. (Of course if you do think you have a medical issue you should by all means look into it.)
This time last year I was in Europe. I wish I were there right now, but it was not to be. Next year though. Anyway, when I was packing for the trip I decided, even after six months being period free, I just better throw a couple of tampons into my bag. Good thing too.
I was taking a sleeper train from Florence to Paris and then changing trains to take the Eurostar to London, when yes, you guessed it, Aunt Flo showed up. And she had a lot of baggage, let me tell you! To make matters worse, I was in a six person couchette with a family of five from London. I couldn’t get an upgrade to a two person couchette so I decided what the heck, it will be an adventure.
Unfortunately those particular train cars are like youth hostels. There are teens in every bunk and all are drunk and sharing one toilet down the hall. I was actually quite lucky to get in with a family it turns out. They were truly lovely people and I wound up staying up half the night talking to them. Also on the fortunate side, the mother, who was one of those mothers who had a gigantic bag filled with everything in case of any emergency imaginable asked if I had extra toilet paper with me. I did not. So she handed me a flattened roll about a quarter full.
If I could give anyone in the world a million dollars, well she’d be it. There I was, three o’clock in the morning, in the most God-awful bathroom, rocking back and forth trying to balance and not touch anything, with the wind blowing from somewhere, desperately hanging onto a tampon and that precious roll of toilet paper having a surprise you-haven’t-had-a-period-in-six-months event.
It paints a picture, I know!
It’s hard to put into words how horrifying that moment was. And I still had twelve hours of travel time left, including two hours trying to get through British customs, getting on the Eurostar and then taking a train to the hotel where I was staying. When I arrived I promptly threw my underwear out and put all the clothes I was wearing into quarantine in a plastic bag. Funny enough, I had only taken baths for the last six months because of my hive issue, but this hotel room only had a shower stall. I sure did not care at that moment! I took a long, hot shower.
I went another three months before I had to start the count yet again in September, but under much less dramatic conditions. I am now at the ten month mark and am praying that the goalpost doesn’t move again!
I guess this post really has nothing to do with anything except that I was thinking about my trip and that crazy train trip. And I was wondering if on the day that I hit the twelfth month of being free of my pesky aunt if I will hear the angels sing and if someone will knock on my door and hand me my Menopause Club 12 chip. Maybe that cute UPS guy…