PMS Institute

PMS can mean many things, but in this case, it means Peri-Menopause.

After this past two weeks I realized something. There needs to be a mental institute for peri-menopausal women. 

I'm generally a nice person- really, I am! But during this past month, the grasp on my emotions has been getting steadily worse, and I think it all started two to three years ago, when the peri-menopausal monster decided to rear its over-estrogenated, roller-coaster-emotioned head.

As of this weekend, I lost my grip entirely.

I was crying for no reason. Anything brought me to near-crying! The pastors' sermon was uplifting, but my eyes acted like it was an eulogy. He could have said the word 'the' and my eyes would blur with unreleased tears.

But that wasn't all folks- oh no! I went from an understanding, loving person to unreasonable shrew in less than 1.2 seconds- and all it took was a loving smile from my hard-working husband. 

He doesn't deserve that. My worst enemy doesn't deserve that! But on I spewed, ranting and raving about all the wrong in my life and the world, volcanic words erupting from my mouth and throwing ash all over the living room carpets.

When I was by myself, I cried that no one cared. When I was with people at church, I wanted to be alone. Does that sound like a sane person?

Well, this wasn't the first time this happened (though I admit it was one of the worst hormonal episodes), so I decided to get checked out. I'm still not sure if that was the right decision or not, because they found something.

Atypical cells.

So instead of an institute, I'm going to the hospital for an outpatient procedure called a D&C. Apparently I have a few layers that decided to stay put and they have to go in and do a little wallpaper removal. They have to check my innards to make sure those atypical cells were possibly an organic typo, or if I need to get some parts removed. The doc told me my estrogen levels were through the roof- and that was probably why I was a peri-menopausal psychopath, and that I was also a high, pre-cancer risk. 

Oh Joy and Rapture.

I go in for the surgery Wednesday. If things turn out to be atypical (or even cancerous), I will be having a hysterectomy. In my case, it will be a hystericalectomy. I'm not crazy about having my parts removed, but I'm also not crazy about being hormonally crazy either. 

(Wolfburgers, anyone? Been there, almost done that!)

After talking to a few of my 'ectomy' friends, it seems the hormonal roller coaster rides will stop, and the estrogen levels will level off, because I won't be producing it anymore. Since estrogen is stored in the fat cells (according to the doc), I'll get some of the estrogen back when I start losing weight, but eventually I'll have to start taking supplements. 

Eventually. Like when I'm eighty.

So the trade off is a calmer, happier and possibly thinner me (or at least thinning), no chance of having to support kids in college in my seventies, and no more monthly (or quarterly) mattresses in exchange for one uterus and a couple of over-active ovaries. 

I think I can handle that- at least until the next hormonal surge happens. Then I'll be in the bedroom drowning myself in my tear-soaked pillow. Sigh.

In the mean time I would ask for your prayers and positive thoughts as I go under the whatever-it-is they use for the D&C- and don't tell me, I really don't want to know. 
Just so long as I'm in a medical institution for less than a day and not a mental one for the rest of my hot-flashing, teeth-grinding life, I believe God's got this- but a lot of prayers sure don't hurt matters...right?