I Killed My Ovaries – Bloody Hell, Now What?
Two years ago, at the age of 38 I was diagnosed with POF. And by that I don’t mean the POF, (Plenty Of Fish) – leading online dating service, but more likely the Premature Ovarian Failure (called interchangeably premature menopause), which hit me like a piece of debris coming straight from the sky.
Menopausal at 38? Are you f*cking kidding me?! – I looked at my gynecologist, questioning the unlikely results of my hormonal chart (which in fact showed that I’ve been way advanced into post menopause, putting my hormones in the range of zero).
Yet, as I was soon to uncover, the hell he was not!
To my misfortune, I rapidly experienced all the blessings that came with my newly acquired condition: hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, anxiety, extreme fatigue, depression, decreased libido, vaginal dryness, recurring bladder infections, hair loss, memory problems, incontinence, bloating, allergies, panic attacks, muscle aches etc.
Refusing to accept the brutal diagnosis, for two years I’ve been luring myself that it was just a temporary hick-up, that with the help of a magic wand my ovarian utility would return, and in the end would bless me with a bloody period.
But no! Nothing! Nada! Zero! Not even a drop!
So I gave up, and being an ideological Buddhist, I began to accept, that in reality I’m cooked. That not even the Bloody Mary can help me to recover, what I have lost during years of starvation and continued mental exhaustion.
Being worn out by the whole experience of having less than zero hormones, I started meditating, doing yoga, taking herb cocktails and even talking to God. I was locking myself in the bedroom, as soon I had the sudden urge to yell, not to scare my already traumatised husband and children, notoriously terrified of the scary mom.
With time passing I began to comprehend that I’ve slowly killed my own ovaries, by skipping meals, watching my waistline and trying to fit in my nine years old daughter’s jeans. That having depleted my body from vital body fat, I was left with no oestrogen, progesterone, not even thyroxin.
Thus I took, the cream, the pill, sometimes both, sometimes neither, and after months of trying to get the dose right, am happy to announce to all of you menopause survivors, that with the right mix of the magical powder (no, it’s not dope I’m talking), you can continue to be alive and kicking, whatever the outlook. That menopause, no matter if you’re 38 or 60 (according to the level of my hormones, I’m 68), doesn’t mean the end of everything that you knew until now, but is simply a question of nailing the precise combination down.
That within a few months of listening to your body and adjusting the portion on your spoon’s end you can get rid of the debilitating hot flashes and start sleeping again (not to mention that you can stop using Almond Oil to lubricate yourself).