YOUR STORIES

I was both drafted and enlisted. I think. Here’s my story.

A few months before my 21^st birthday, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer.  I just moved from Virginia to California for work. I’d seen my Planned Parenthood clinic doctor for my birth control pills before going but neglected to fill the prescription in Virginia before the move not realizing the prescription would not be valid in another state. Thus, I had to go to a California doctor for my pills and thank goodness I did. When he performed the requisite humiliating examination, a small anomaly showed up in the test result. Hardly enough to bother with, especially as I was so young and had never been pregnant, but he had a feeling and wanted to run a more rigorous test. There it was – positive for cervical cancer.

Standard procedure would be a hysterectomy because most of this type of cancer (at that time anyway) were older women at the end of or past childbearing age. My doctor wanted to preserve my fertility. Then he paid me what I chose to believe was a compliment. He said I was made for making babies, perfect body for it, one of those women who could work in the fields, squat out a baby and go back to work without missing a beat. Lovely, eh?

He scheduled a cone biopsy procedure because the cancer was “in situ” and he was confident that would remove the cancer. The appointment was set for November the 6^th.  On the 5^th, Mom called me in a rage from Virginia because I had forgotten Dad’s birthday on the 4^th. The relationship between Mom and me was strained to say the least and I won’t get into that here; I had not told anyone in my circle of friends or family about what I was going through. I apologized for forgetting and told Mom something to the effect that I had something pressing on my mind. “Well, what is more important than your Father?!?” and I calmly said, “I’m going in tomorrow for an operation for cancer.” That shut her up.

Now one thing I will say about Mom is she was THE best person you could have taking care of you when you were sick or injured. If she’d been born a generation later no doubt she would’ve been a doctor. She soaked up anything having to do with healing, she would remember a wives’ tale remedy as surely as the name, use and properties of any prescribed medications she came across. She was both empathic and intuitive in soothing all symptoms. Dad told me later it was everything he could do to keep her from jumping on a plane that day.

The cone biopsy came back with clean tissue all around, they’d gotten it. Yea!! Next follow-up exam a few months later and the cancer was back. Another operation. Successful! Yea!! Next follow-up exam a few months later and the cancer was back again. This went on a few more times, each procedure successful, yet the cancer kept coming back.

The California doctor was loath to perform a hysterectomy because I was so young and otherwise healthy, so Mom talked to her gyno. He got my records and was concerned because the cancer seemed to be aggressing toward my lymph system yet he, too, was reluctant to perform the operation. Mom told him I had never played with dolls (except Barbie) as a child, had never shown interest in becoming a mother and had a very good solid career. He finally agreed to do the operation. I flew home to Virginia; Mom was great, and I recovered quickly. My fiancé in California flew to Virginia to be with me, but also to break up. He loved me but wanted a child of his loins. (Fast forward a few decades and he never did have kids, of his loins or otherwise.) I never married, either. My most significant other has two wonderful sons from his previous marriage, and we are all a well-blended happy family.

I never ever went for a follow-up after that last operation because every time I did the cancer came back and now, well, there was nothing else to cut. I decided that I’d live and if symptoms of cancer began, I would take my great credit and credit cards, travel the world until I couldn’t stand it anymore and then end my own life. No chemo, no radiation – I’d seen what that could do to a person and the odds would not be in my favor.

No uterus or cervix, but I still ovulated, so I never needed any kind of hormone therapy. As I learned to explain it – they “took the swings but left the playground.” From the age of 22 on, I could go hiking, swimming, traveling, canoeing whatever and not worry about checking into the Red Roof Inn. The way the Dr. explained it, the ovaries would just toss the eggs into empty space. That picture bothered me for a while thinking of all these eggs just accumulating in my gut. He assured me they were cell-size small. They wouldn’t interfere with anything and just sort of disappear.

I never had to think about lady business until my mid 50’s when I started getting hot flashes and night sweats. My most significant other, a person well versed in natural remedies, got me some things to take like Black Cohosh, Red Clover and Ginseng. The supplements helped and my symptoms while annoying and disruptive were relatively mild and only lasted about a year.

So, you see, I both enlisted (had the operation) and got drafted (went through the sweats). Anyway, that’s my story.

My menopause story could begin at a variety of times since I was not paying attention to my body.  I was busy with kids, career, community, failing marriage, etc. I’ll start the story in 2015. I didn’t know it at the time but a year later my period would just abruptly stop. Or maybe it wasn’t so abrupt. 

In April of 2015 I filed for divorce. I do not remember any hot flashes but rather my whole life was on fire. I felt surges of power and anger and deep instinctual protectiveness as I waged battles in all areas of my life.  Looking back, I have to ask: was I that much of a hot mess? Or was it menopause silently descending from the shower ceiling like a spider? I was battling for my job in the public school system, I was battling my soon to be ex-husband, I was battling for my struggling teenage daughter, I was battling our leaky old house. I did not sleep much. I started dating again after 20 years. I felt like the whole county knew about my hot mess of a life. I remember my mother telling me: “You should land another man before menopause. Women are less attractive to men after menopause. They’ll know by looking at your skin. Men want someone to make babies with.” I was livid, but secretly I started taking evening primrose oil, in case she was right. 

My sex drive went way up. I thought it was freedom but… maybe it was peri-menopause. I was 45. I remember noticing myself moving through space feeling so alive and so absolutely gorgeous and desirable. One of my dates from match.com called me “a battlement of Kyras.” I felt like the goddess Kali with many arms each holding a weapon. I was told I was vibrant, “Kyra the enchantress.” I remember another telling me I was emotionally dangerous, and yet another one explained my energy as post-divorce euphoria that would soon pass. I also remember inviting a man home and having sex in the bed that I used to share with my ex-husband. That month my period was late.  I began to fear that the condom had leaked. All tests were negative. I hadn’t needed to worry about whether my period was late since my ex-husband’s vasectomy a decade earlier. I spent time worrying about my daughters having periods, not my own cycle.  A few weeks later, my period restarted. I chalked it up to stress. 

Several months and several men later my period came normally… and never arrived again. It was spring of 2016. I was 46. It was easy.  

I remember standing in the tiny copier room at the elementary school where I worked as one of my coworkers fanned herself with copier paper. She cursed menopause and confessed she was bleeding intensely and hot flashing at the same damn time.  I told her how it was for me. She was jealous. I thought I was just lucky. Now I know better. 

Flash Forward 

That fall my doctor was worried about my non-existent period and my new sex life. She gave me all the STD tests. The HPV one came back positive. She also re-started me on anti-anxiety meds.  I met yet another match.com date. I told him about my menopause-ness, my hot mess life and my HPV. Although he was 39 years old to my 47, he was very interested in me. (So, there, mom!) A few short months later we were engaged. I remember I kept having fevers, especially at night and thinking it was strep throat. My fiance, the nurse, remembers me as, you guessed it, night-sweating. 

I was optimistic and starry-eyed and still incredibly busy.  By March, I was admitting to hot flashing during the day. The hot flashes came with slight nausea and complete brain-farts.  My weight began to creep up. I noticed my joints aching. I also began to realize that my former marriage had not just been unhappy, but emotionally abusive. My kids were not okay and neither was I. I began to look at everything through the lens of abuse. Emotions were high but that did not stop us from our August wedding on the rocky banks of the Ripton Gorge.  

I was not well when I began school that year. I was exhausted. My joints ached. I lost faith in the public school system. Complete burn-out set in. My face was red all the time. I was either overheated or freezing. My libido plummeted, as did my confidence in general. My husband encouraged me to go to my doctor. I was tested for Lupus, which I did not have. He encouraged me to ask about hormone replacement, but I brushed it off. Menopause had been so easy for me, after all. Part of me thought that by marrying and changing my last name from my old husband’s name to the new one would put the past behind me. Cue more night sweats and sprinkle in disillusionment. 

I quit my job. I sold my house. We moved from Vermont to North Carolina. I remember being warned against making such rash decisions. I remember being told that I was leaving behind every piece of my support system, which was madness, but I just could not imagine living any part of my old life. Was I insane or brave? Maybe both, with a heavy dose of menopausal mid-life crisis in the mix. 

It was hot down south, and I don’t just mean Carolina. Unemployed, with no local social outlets, I was hot flashing dozens of times per day. I put on 30 pounds and out-biggered all of my clothes. I felt like a fat frog. When I looked in the mirror my mother stared back at me. I started buying more supplements. My right hip, my feet, and my ankles started to hurt so much that I was nervous to hike, something I have always loved. My HPV ramped up and became high-dysplasia cervical cells. I started to flip out about cervical cancer. My new GYN was reassuring about the LEEP procedure taking care of things. I did not mention any menopause details to her. I was focused on “possible pre-CANCEROUS cells!” 

In early 2020, the HPV was back, as were the concerning cells. I was scheduled for a hysterectomy but COVID arrived to save my lady parts. The “elective procedure” was canceled. My GYN performed the most aggressive in-office cervical LEEP of her career.  We hoped for the best. At my last appointment in 2022 I am HPV and abnormal cervical-cell free. I am also unapologetically menopausal. I do not have a fever. It is a hot flash. I have become more aware of my own body. I lost weight, back down to the size I was before my period stopped. My sweat smells different than it used to. I love it! I love never having to worry about being pregnant. I love not being cold all the time. I feel good in my body when I dance around the basement. I feel strong, so strong that I switched careers from school librarian to massage therapist.  I feel sexy. I am more aware of my own beauty than I was when I was in my twenties. I like that I can go a week without washing my hair, as it does not get greasy the way it once did. I like that my leg hair is thinning out so I can get away with not shaving it. My boobs are fabulous. I am okay with sometimes appearing flaky or just plain weird. I bought fairy ears, fairy wings, and horns. I wear them. I write poetry. I have found friends with whom I can be a fairy goddess if I feel like it. My joints still hurt a bit, especially my right hip. I do not sleep well at night partially because I have to get up and pee a million times. Is it menopause, interstitial cystitis, or another mysterious combination of factors? I am still anxious, but who isn’t these days! My husband, the hot sleeper, and I have “Sweaty Betty” contests at night. I am not ashamed to win. 

Maybe this hot mess is nothing short of magical alchemy. I lit my whole life on fire just as my body was heating up with the chemical reactions needed for transformation. I am learning more about myself every day. I am learning to take care of myself. I am learning to trust myself. As my brown hair glints with silver threads I will put on my fairy ears and dance to the music of this precious part of life. 

After that, I have to get going to my urologist appointment……