Bioidentical Hormone Replacement Therapy
It is the day before my 50th birthday, and I’d be doing okay if everyone didn’t keep calling me to ask if I’m doing okay.
Really, I can’t complain. I have my health, my hair, and all my original teeth. Which, to be honest, is more than I can say for many of the men whose pictures used to show up in my online dating inbox.
But I do have a few things I would like to bring up with God. Or my mother. Wait, she’ll think that’s redundant. First of all, why didn’t anyone ever tell me that raging hormones strike twice in a woman’s life? Once in adolescence and again, during peri-menopause. The ironic twist? My 14-year-old son and I are both dealing with irrational hormones at the same time, in the same single-parent household. If you don’t hear from me for a few days, please come make sure neither one of us has locked himself/herself in the bathroom for too long.
To my son: I apologize in advance for what's coming this year. I will mark my calendar so that I am hyper-aware of when a hormonal seizure is predicted to erupt, and promise to take myself out of the house and into a safe area.
At least you can walk away. I have to be in the same room with me. I did try to head off the whole change-of-life thing before it got this close. Last year, a friend of mine who is nearly a decade older than I highly recommended that I see her bioidentical hormone replacement therapy doctor. She said that she had tons more energy, her memory and mood had improved, she had lost the five aggravating pounds that seemed to follow her around just above her belt line, and she and her husband both exclaimed – loudly and before I could stop them -- that their sex life was even better than when they first met. Being in a fairly new relationship myself, I didn’t need this last testimonial, but I would like my brain back full-time. And those extra little pounds? My jeans keep falling down not because I've lost weight, but because my new love handles are literally pushing them down.
So I went to see the miracle doctor. I filled out an exhaustive 15-page form and the nurse extracted from my body what seemed to be about half of my blood supply. One week and $500 later, I went back to the doctor’s office to discuss my results. The first thing she asked me was if I had eaten a lot of sugar the day before my blood tests. Not more than usual, I said. I could see this was not going well.
She began reading my results -- which she said were not that bad for my age -- and then she proceeded to line up nine bottles of special-lab-created pills and a jar of cream and a paper straw thing I was supposed to sip with water once a day. All in all, I was instructed to take some 16 pills a day, three to six at a time, at regularly scheduled intervals. I was to have food with some, take others on an empty stomach, cut some in half and dissolve others. I don’t even eat regularly enough to be able to take all those pills, and if I did, I think I would gain more weight than my pesky five-pound love handles.
Ginger Emas is the mother of a 14-year-old son and the author of “Back On Top: Fearless Dating After Divorce.” She is a regular ShareWIK.com columnist.
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