In 1998 I was forty-one years old. My mother and grandmother had both reached menopause by that age.
But, not me. Instead, I went on to give birth to another child two years later.
What I didn’t realize at the time, however, is that the catalyst for her conception was perimenopause.
I had experienced what I now know to be a phantom period which had reset my menstrual cycle and viola’ – a child was born.
Now, listen, I’m an educated girl. I’ve been a voracious reader my entire life. I’m a good writer. I can debate politics, social issues, philosophy and the deeper meaning of life with the best of them.
I graduated from college with a respectable GPA, I’ve been to graduate school, and I’ve never been accused of being vapid.
But, none of that mattered when I began to go through what I now call the hormonal ride from hell, aka, perimenopause.
To say I was unprepared for what hit me is a massive understatement. In fact, few women are.
It was the transition and foray into full blown middle-age, menopause, and senior citizen status that really brought me to my knees.
Perimenopause Is Like Death
Things die when you enter perimenopause. Your ovaries stop producing eggs. You become infertile. You no longer have a life giving womb and your body changes in ways you never thought imaginable.
But, the death and dying of perimenopause reaches much farther than just your physiology and biology.