It was kind of lucky I was in a room all by myself today, not exposed to the greater community. Who knows what might have happened? But I feel much better now because I got my period. And if that's TMI, I totally get it and you can stop reading this post pronto. But there's something important here, about life, women and health, that I just need to write about. So stick with me if you can bear it.
I haven't had my period since August. And I assumed that POOF! it was just gone. I'd been very consistent for years, and then that was it. I mentioned this lack of period to two doctors to not much concern. They kind of looked at me to say, "Lady, you got way bigger problems than that." And I guess I agreed, but it didn't keep me from still thinking about it. When women are menopausal they take care of themselves in certain ways, and I wanted to be part of that group. I wanted my doctor to at least give a shit about it. Because, despite being a person dealing with cancer and it's treatments, I'm still everything else I was before this all began. And I always thought that when my periods started to wane I'd have a going away party or something. Or a thank-you dinner. But then this abrupt disappearance threw me. I didn't get to have an appreciative glass of champagne with the reproductive system that gave me my two boys. My baby soul-mates.
When I was first diagnosed, before I started treatment, the doctor in Chicago said, "You know, chemotherapy will put you right into menopause". She said it with such annoying pity. I can't describe how weird and bitchy she was about it. She made me feel like a sorry sucker. It prompted me to quickly reassess myself. "Wait!" I thought, "Do I have kids? Yes, I have kids. Two kids. I'm done having kids. Why is she making me feel like such crap?" And from then on, I kept waiting for my period to disappear. And what was weirder is that they also wanted me to go on the pill. What? That made zero sense to me and I didn't do it. And through all my treatment in Chicago, I had my period and I was fine. In fact, I think I got cocky about it. Like, "Ha! See? I can do chemo and not lose my period. I can do chemo and still have my youth and my joie and my sense of humor. So there!" And as a side note, it was switching from this less than compassionate doctor that forced me to take control of my healthcare and ultimately led me to Marty Tallman. Small blessings.
I never really identified with cancer before this year. I never owned it, and only saw it as something passing through me that I needed to release. So then when my period finally did disappear I started feeling less invincible and more involved in cancer and like somebody all mixed-up in the world of chemo. This one effect on my body, of losing my period, out of all the effects chemo has had, forced yet another label on me, in addition to all the other labels: WIFE MOM FRIEND DAUGHTER SISTER YOGINI TEACHER HUMOR ENTHUSIAST ART ENTHUSIAST NATURE LOVER, ETC... and.....Chemo Lady who lost her period. Yuck!
I hadn't thought much about menopause before this year. I realised that as pesky as periods are, they are my reliable friends. They represent something really magic. The creation of another teeny-weeny human. A creation in which so many things have to go right. It's totally amazes me that there is overpopulation in this world because it's not easy to have a baby. It's really hard in fact. There is so much emotion, for every woman, around periods and making babies. There are so many decisions: Whether to decide to have kids, or not? Can you have your own kids, or not? Should you have your own or love someone else's like it's you're own? What if you try try try and yet fail? Then what?
Or maybe you're a surrogate and you carry someones else's kid and then hand that baby over? Maybe you decided to end a pregnancy because you're not ready? Maybe you've been raped? Maybe you weren't careful or you were unlucky? Maybe you don't love the father? Maybe you don't even like the father? Or maybe you'll keep a pregnancy and decide it's better for someone else to raise it? And what if you do want the baby, but you miscarry? Deliver early? Will you and the baby be well? Survive? And then finally, if you do have kids, will you raise them like you were raised or do something completely different?
These are not light questions or issues. They are poignant and difficult questions and issues of responsibility and maturity. They are what make women beautifully deep thinkers. This is why I wanted to say good-bye properly. So now I just wanted to thank my period for coming back, even if it's just a cameo appearance, because at least now I have time to plan a party.
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