This blog may be of interest only to “women of a certain age.” I am not sure why, how or when that came to be a part of our lexicon, and I for sure am not happy with it, but I have to admit I fit the criteria.
Most of the time, I don’t think about it. My health is pretty good, although I’ve had a bit of a tussle with my lower back off and on. And when I sprained my ankle during the summer by sort of falling off of my really adorable wedge sandal while walking to a lunch meeting, it did cross my mind that I probably should have taken more heed to the calcium-is-your-friend advice. But overall, except for about 20 pounds that crept up and have taken happy residence on my thighs, bum and tum, I’m pretty healthy.
It’s true, my hair has changed into a color I like to call silver, but I only recently discovered it when I decided to “go natural” and find out what was really sprouting out of my head. Ever since I spotted my first grays, probably in my early 30s, I have been close friends with Lady Clairol and her cohorts. And, oh, what fun we’ve had together, mixing and blending colors like chestnut, auburn, fire-engine red, brunette, auburn, mahogany, blonde. But yes, silver is my newest shade.
The thing is, I may be of a certain age, but the age I operate from is of a much younger age. I just don’t feel of a certain age. And I sort of resent it when it confronts me. Like yesterday.
It was at my annual — that’s what we women call our yearly appointment with our lady doctor. One of the things I wanted to talk to her about was the whole hormone thing. I was of the notion that not taking medication must be better than taking it. She said I was wrong.
She then told me, this woman of a certain age, in no uncertain terms, that after women go through menopause, their bodies, well, begin to die. “Our purpose, according to Mother Nature, is to make babies,” she said. “When we run out of eggs…” She clearly must have seen the rictus of horror on my face. But she bravely went on: “You see, we fool Mother Nature with hormones. Otherwise, our bodies just go into decline, they’re not useful any more.” She said women of a certain age who do not embark on hormone therapy statistically develop brittle bones, arthrosclerosis (hardening of the arteries), heart disease, they lose their hair, get wrinkled and shriveled up, sex becomes really painful if not nonexistent (sorry, but like she said, everything becomes a dried-out husk) — and the list goes on and on.
So, yeah, this woman of a certain age left my doctor’s office with a hormone prescription (low-dose, bio-identical cream). See, I don’t mind my new silver fox ‘do, I can camouflage a few pounds with smart-looking empire-waisted jackets and dresses.
But hey, not that excited about shriveling up and having a heart attack. I’ve got things to do, people, and I want to be around to dance with my grandchildren and maybe even my great-grandchildren.
And I don’t care if it’s not nice — I’m gonna keep fooling Mother Nature, at least for a bit longer.