Vah-gay fǝmfog?

Sounds Finnish, doesn't it? Vah-gay fǝmfog...

Almost as if your Isoäiti (Grandmother) were asking your jock bro if he had taken a shower after his pesäpallo (a Finn's version of baseball) play-off.

"Vahgay fǝmfog, Armas?" The accent is on the gay part of the word and not a slur of bro's sexual orientation. And that's Armas as in Darling, not arm pits....

If bro's sisar (sister, i.e. YOU in this scenario) were addressing the topic, no doubt she'd say, "Broidi, sua haista... löyhkä... löyhkätä...  haju... lemuta... LEMU! (as in" Brother, you stink six ways to Sunday!) VAH-GAYFǝMFOG!!!!"

Sadly, my vah-gay fǝmfog has nothing to do with personal cleanliness. Finnish or otherwise. And you can't blame my ears this time, either.

It's CVS Caremark's fault. Plain and simple.

Today, I finally got around to dialing up a refill on my Vagifem tabs - that local dose of estrogen that my gynecologist prescribed - even though the label said to refill after 3/13/12. I guess I've been conserving them... call it what you will.

Anyway, I dialed in a bunch of information, and the chummy computer voice asked me to respond.

"You ordered Vah-gay fǝmfog, right? Say 'Yes' or dial 1 if this is correct. Press 2 to repeat this information."

I pressed 2 immediately. What the hell was she talking about? My box said Vagifem 10mcg.

"You ordered Vah-gay fǝmfog, right? Say 'Yes' or dial 1 if this is correct. Press 2 to repeat this information."

I'm tapping my head, convinced that the pharmacy is trying to pull a fast one. Maybe it is going to send me Low-T therapy or brain tumor meds. I press 2 again, feeling like an idiot.

"You ordered Vah-gay fǝmfog, right? Say 'Yes' or dial 1 if this is correct. Press 2 to repeat this information."

Then I really focus in on the printed prescription. It says, "VAGIFEM VAG TAB 10MCG."

Ohhhhh.... that Vahgayfemvag... for my vahguyna.

I think I yelled YES and pressed 1 at the same time.

That's it. I'm finnished.

And Toto, too? ...When Ears Go Bad

Remember that heroic scene from the film Independence Day when Randy Quaid flies his missile-laden aircraft right up the tuckus of the aliens' mother ship?  He's bellowing "I'M BAAAACK!!!!!" It speaks to me... or rather speaks for me... especially when there's been a long time between posts.

Seriously, I can recall his nasally taunt with a clarity rivaled only by Billie Burke's syrupy reply in the Wizard of Oz. I'm referring to the scene in which Glinda the Good Witch of the North has just broken the news to an ecstatic Dorothy that she will be clicking her heels back to Kansas.

Dorothy pleads, "And Toto, too?"

Whereupon Glinda burbles back, "And Toto, too!" It has the joyous import of "Avon Calling!" and the Hallelujah chorus all rolled into four glorious syllables. Remarkable dialogue, isn't it?

Is my age showing?

There was a time when my mother used to greet the Fuller Brush Man like a long lost brother. (Pox on you who are murmuring, "Brush Man? What the hell?") He was just one of the door-to-door salesmen who entered our house before home invasion was even a concept. There's a catch in her voice...

"This is the best brush I've ever had. It's seven years old! Real boar."

She was instructing me in the art of bristle maintenance: Warm soapy water... The nose-wrinkling tang of vinegar. Was I five at the time? (And you thought Sesame Street was educational...)

I can still hear the chinking clatter of the milkman's bottle carrier as he set it on the step while he unfastened the milk chute. Milk chute?

Sound bites. They're the eidetic memory of our ears.

So what happens when ears go bad? Life becomes surreal. I know it well.

My spouse and I are sitting in a cafe, discussing our to do list. He mumbles into his menu.

"Your cleaning with the tuner belt?" I ask. Focused the list of salads, my eyes cross with the sudden effort of trying to decode the words free-falling in my brain.

My husband looks up and enunciates, "I'm leaning towards the tuna melt."

Later:

"I can't hear you if I can't see you!" I call up the stairs to my son who has revealed his plans for the evening. He sounds like a back-up singer for Sha-Na-Na.

He finds me and says, "Read my lips. Hearing Aids."

It's time.

Who Are These People?

I just slip away in the middle of the night, and WHAM, before you know it... TEN FOLLOWERS!! Where the hell did you come from? (I can say HELL here because my dear spouse doesn't even know that the Menopause Cafe exists. He'd be tsk-tsking all the way to early morning Mass over my inappropriate language. Heck. Whatever.)

The real test is will you be back.... after a year and a half... or whenever I last posted about the woes of menopause.

Let's talk about sensitivity. No, I'm not talking about that weepiness that grabs the back of your throat when little Simba sees Mufasa imprinted with the hooves of a thousand water buffalo. I'm talking about being sensitive to everything else on the planet. Does that come with age?

For instance: Last time I used a different laundry detergent (Cheer of all things) I was really miserable. I laid my head on the pillow after a particularly long day and I suddenly felt as if I'd swallowed a box of No-Doz. My hairline started to itch, and I wanted to kick Señor who was happily snoring on the pillow next to mine. After several sleepless hours of fantasizing about pressing Popsicles to my scalp I finally moved to another bed.

It wasn't until the next day that I realized clean sheets were to blame... just about the time my nether regions began to chafe. It started as a certain sensitivity when I urinated. Then it  progressed into a desire to ride a hedge hog. I even toyed with the thought of putting Popsicles there. Anything to relieve that burning sensation.

NOOOOOO!!!!! I didn't use Preparation H!! Ick. I had a different problem.

TOXIC UNDERWEAR !!!

I tried going commando AND wore baggy pants. I drank a gallon of cranberry juice and meditated about bidets and igloos and shaved ice. And I soaked every stitch of my clothing that had seen the inside of a washing machine in the last three weeks. And the sheets and towels. In vinegar.

Finally, I went to my gynecologist who gave me the bad news. My vagina had betrayed me. It had gotten thin when I wasn't looking. (Too bad the rest of my body hadn't followed suit). And she gave me a small sample of Nirvana in a tube. How do you spell relief? CLOTRIMAZOLE AND BETAMETHASONE DIPROPIONATE

So I looked up vaginal atrophy online and learned with some disappointment that my epithelium was kaput. You can blame it on hormones. AGAIN. And I quote www.epigee.org here:

"Estrogen is the key to maintaining vaginal health and elasticity. As estrogen levels decrease during female menopause, the mucous membranes (vaginal epithelium) near your uterus produce less mucous. As a result, the vagina becomes very dry and thin. The walls of your vagina will become weaker and more sensitive. Acid levels also begin to decline, leaving you open to invading microorganisms, which can cause yeast infections and urinary tract infections. As your estrogen levels decline, less blood will circulate to the tissues in the pelvis, causing your vagina to thin and sag. Your vulva and vagina will probably begin to look different than it did before. Tissue and fat around the vagina will begin to disappear."

So there you have it. And you thought only your chin was beginning to sag.

Your weak walls will lead to the invasion of the body snatchers... They'll be grabbing your tissue and fat until your vulva is UNRECOGNIZABLE!!!

Shit.

But here's the silver lining...

"Relieving vaginal dryness is possible. There are a variety of treatments are available to women suffering from vaginal dryness. Your doctor will probably recommend that you try to have sex as much as possible."

 (I made that large just in case your eyesight is going, too.)

Now if that isn't enough to set your mind aflutter (and maybe something else) I offer the following, just in case you need a baggy pants option when your laundry detergent starts to revolt:

and even

though he's therapeutic in a different way.

Shock and Awe

Praise God and pass the ammunition! Four comments on my last post!! Even though the nasal hair trimmer disclaimer appeared twice, I'm counting it.

Sad. Sad. That's all I can say. I had to run to the mirror to check my nose hairs. Whew. Still in containment, but those chin whiskers keep me on my toes. I swear, they're made out of Kevlar or something. Every time I think I've grabbed one with the Maserati tweezers... it curls into its protective pore and doesn't come out 'til the sun is shining and I'm making an appearance at Wimbledon or Ascot or something.

Betcha never heard of Maserati speed tweezers? Right you are. My tweezing skills vanished when the bifocals arrived. I get whiplash just trying to groom my brows. Somebody suggested waxing, but I'm a wimp. Besides, if I started, I know I'd be tempted just to wax my whole face. I'd end up looking like a kohlrabi, which is nothing like a cool rabbi, just so ya know.

Sheesh! Now you've got me thinking that maybe ear hairs are to blame for my hearing loss. My husband has more hair in his ears than on top of his head. Is that just a male thing? Or is that another side effect of hormone replacement therapy? Help me out here, Ladies. Inquiring minds want to know.

My eighty-year-old mother finally decided she needed a hearing aid and had her hearing tested a month ago. The audiologist informed her that her ears were full of ear wax. Hello? And I thought our shared deafness was genetic...

So he sent her off in search of tree oil or jojoba or Crisco or something, and told her to put three drops in alternate ears for three days. Hmmmmm. You with me here?

When she returned to the audiologist, he was able to pull a fifty-year-old chunk of ear wax out of each ear. Fossilized, nay petrified ear wax. Looked and felt like wood. Where's Bernini when you need him? How many angels could be carved from that? (You know... pin sitters and all.)

Well, I think that's about enough for tonight. Next time, maybe we'll discuss something useful like constipation or homemade antiperspirants... or andropause.

Seems Like Yesterday

Shocking news!! The most recent Menopause Cafe post was more than a year and a month ago. Seems like yesterday. Well, maybe not yesterday, but no more than eight months ago tops. Things have changed ever so slightly...

Now, when I lie awake at night, I'm too lazy to go downstairs and fire up the blog.

And I've moved my alarm clock to the guest bedroom where I occasionally migrate if Señor snores too loudly, because we all know that staring at a clock does not encourage restful sleep.

Also, I do pelvic stretches under the covers to alleviate back spasms rather than leave the cozy bed. My socks and electric blanket... they comfort me.

And, after years of wearing little or nothing to bed, the flannel nightshirt arrived in the mail today. Warm trumps sexy... and the husband agrees.

This is sad. This is middle age. Chasing down the stray whiskers on my chin, looking for Grand-Canyon-strength deep wrinkle cream, settling for a nap instead of having sex.

Just shoot me now.

Just kidding.

Need something to brighten your day ....uh, night?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUYhcYw1ksw

Not Menopause...But Amusing

A preacher was telling his congregation that anything they could think of, old or new, was discussed somewhere in the Bible. The entirety of the human experience could be found there, without exception.

After the service, the preacher was approached by a woman who said, "Preacher, I don't believe the Bible mentions PMS."

The preacher replied that he was sure it must be there somewhere and that he would look it up.

The following week, after service, the preacher called the woman aside and showed her a passage which read ...

"And Mary rode Joseph's ass all the way to Bethlehem."

Middle-Aged Woman

Q: What can a man do while his wife is going through menopause?

A: Keep busy. If you're handy with tools, you can finish the
basement. When you are done you will have a place to live.
________________

Q: Where do 50+ year olds look for fashionable glasses?

A: Their foreheads.
________________

Q: What is the most common remark made by 50+ year olds when they enter antique stores?

A: "I remember these".

Somewhere I saw HRT referred to as Humor Replacement Therapy, which brought me to thoughts about God. Bringing God into it is a good idea, too... as in:

"Gawd, I wish I could get some sleep."
"Gawd, I'm out of dry pajamas."
"Gawd, I need a fire extinguisher for my face and neck." or
"Gawd, where did I put my car keys?" (St. Anthony works better here.)

To go along with the HRT theme, here's Lisa Koch:



Hey, I think I just embedded my first video! Wa-hoo!! Who says you can't teach an old bitch new tricks? If you don't get it, you aren't there yet...