menopause

The Big Change Nobody Wants to Talk About

Sue Fagalde Lick infertility, Jody Day, menopause, menopause for childless women , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Menopause. The big bugaboo people don’t talk about except to make hot flash jokes. 

The deadline that looms for those desperately trying to get pregnant before they run out of time.

The end of worry for those who fear getting pregnant when they don’t want a children (or another child).

The Childless Elderwomen met last Saturday, and we talked about it in depth. We could have gone on for hours. We may not usually discuss it with anyone but our doctors, but judging by the more than 100 questions that our host Jody Day received beforehand, people are interested and anxious about it. 

Our panel ranged in age from 49 to 79, from Catherine-Emanuelle Delisle, who went into early menopause at age 14, to Maria Hill and I, for whom it has been decades since our period. Others are still dealing with the effects.

For all women, the arrival of the monthly period, the sloughing off of the lining of the uterus that was prepared for a possible baby, signals that they are not pregnant. For some, that’s a relief because a baby was the last thing they wanted, at least then in their current life situation. For those who wanted to be pregnant, it can be a mild disappointment or a crushing blow, depending on how long they have been trying and how difficult it has been. It’s a reminder that another month has passed, their attempts have failed, and at some point, their fertile years will be over. 

It can be hard, but it’s not the end of the world. In fact, as writer and life coach Maria Hill said, “Once you hit menopause, you’re really starting to come into your own.” Others put it more bluntly. We reach the point in life we were give far fewer “fucks” about things that don’t matter. 

Yes, the end of your monthly cycles means you will not be able to give birth, but it also ends the pressure to keep trying. It allows you to move on.

The preparation phase of menopause, called perimenopause, is a drag. Periods come and go willy-nilly, heavy one time, light the next, one after another, or with big gaps when you think maybe it’s over and then it’s not. You may suffer from hot flashes, weight gain, vaginal dryness, and mood swings, but when it’s over, ahhhhh. 

Imagine life with no more cramps, no more PMS, no more pads or tampons, and no more birth control. I’m here to tell you it’s nice. 

In our talk, we discussed sex, physical changes that come with aging, feeling invisible, and especially to men. We touched on hormones and other options for dealing with the discomforts of perimenopause and menopause. I won’t lie. Some people have a hard time.

But we also talked about feeling like we have a fresh start, almost as if we are back to being the girls we were before puberty. We have a better perspective on what matters. We can spread our maternal energy in many directions. In other words, life is not over. 

My own menopause occurred at the same time I was dealing with my mother’s death, my husband’s dementia, and my own bouts with Graves’ disease, a hyperthyroid disorder. I was also in grad school. It was hard to distinguish menopause from everything else.

My male doctors wanted me to take hormones. I’m afraid some OB-Gyns are only interested in patients who are having babies. Menopause? Give them a pill and send them out the door. I insisted on doing it naturally. There’s no shame in taking hormones or trying natural therapies for your symptoms, but if your doc refuses to listen to what you want to do, find another one.

Menopause happens at different times for different people. Catherine was a teenager. Stella Duffy menopaused early as a result of cancer treatment. For many, the signs of impending menopause may begin in their 40s and conclude around 50, but it varies. My mother claimed to still have hot flashes in her 70s. However it happens, you deal with it and go on. Life is not over. In many ways, you are entering a newer, freer phase of life.

Btw, your sex drive will not go away. With your periods over, you may feel lustier than ever. Just sayin’.

Jody asked us what we would say to our younger selves about menopause if we could. I said I would tell her that the lead-up is annoying, but menopause is good. You get yourself back again after being controlled by your ovaries all these years. You are not old and dried up. You are still a strong and powerful woman.

I say the same thing to you. There may be some turbulence along the way, but you’ll arrive at a better, calmer place. You go through the bloody fertility tunnel and come out the other side. Without a baby, yes, but you do come out, and it’s all right here in menopause land. 

For men reading this, don’t feel left out. Understand that menopause is like going through puberty in reverse. If someone you love is going through it, know it won’t last forever. She’s still the same person she always was. Offer hugs, bubble baths and chocolate, along with air conditioning or a big fan. 

Enjoy the video posted above. About halfway in, I share something I have never told anybody. I’m embarrassed, but someone had to say it. Check it out.

Your turn

  • Does it offend you that I’m writing about this?
  • Have you gone through menopause? How was it?
  • How do you feel about the end of your fertile years?
  • What does having no more periods mean to you, whether you’re looking back or looking ahead to the future?
  • What would you say about it to your younger self?

Four posts to go before I stop posting regularly and move on to other things. What would you like to read here?

If you want to know what I’m up to these days, visit my “Can I Do It Alone?” Substack at https://suelick.substack.com or friend me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/suelick. 

I get to keep my uterus

Sue Fagalde Lick gynecologist, menopause, never having children, uterus

Whoa, there’s a headline. I visited the gynecologist Wednesday, fully expecting that the two-years-delayed hysterectomy was about to occur. But no, she said things haven’t changed since last year. Just keep doing my kegels. Wait, I’m doing one now.
Okay.

The other good news was that I’d lost seven pounds since last year’s exam, and my blood pressure was lower than ever, a good thing in a family that tends to stroke out.

But back to the uterus. I was quite nervous driving to Corvallis for my exam. There’s always the awkwardness of showing your parts to the doctor and the fear she might find signs of cancer. Have I mentioned that childless women are more likely to get breast, uterine and ovarian cancers? We are. But I was also wondering how I was going to work surgery into my busy schedule. I pictured myself pleading, “Can I keep it until October? I have some time then.” Shoot, I don’t even know how to fit in my dog Annie’s spay job before she goes into her first heat.

As I muttered to myself on the road, I finally said the words I’ve always shied away from: “I’m never going to have children.” I heard myself and thought, whoa, I said it. Does that mean I’ve accepted my fate? Yes and no. With menopause, it’s a done deal. I still have regrets, and those puppies I’m always talking about are not the same thing. They’re dogs, not people. Cute, but really hard to call on the phone.

Part of me wants to get this useless uterus out. It’s almost like the final stage of menopause. Take out the unnessary parts. But it makes things so final.

Meanwhile, pregnant young women dominated the waiting room, their bellies sticking way out in front of them. I scanned the middles of every woman who came in, smiling at the ones with no “bump.” My group. An older lady sitting across from me scanned the magazines, heavy on parenting, and chose a National Geographic.

As I waited in the examining room, wearing a gown that left half of me exposed, I scanned the walls. Everything was about having babies: pictures of babies, nutrition for a healthy baby, how to make labor easier. Can’t they set aside an examining room for those who are never going to have babies and might be losing their uteri? Call it the Empty Womb Room? It would be the compassionate thing to do.

Anyway, I’m keeping my parts for now and hoping for happy test results. And I’m never going to have a baby.

Where’s the Nursery?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless, husbands who don't want children, menopause, nursery

“Dream House,” the slender file was labeled. I remembered it well, a 1968 home economics assignment filed away in a cabinet covered with bumper stickers for PBS, ecology groups, and local newspapers.
It was a great house, done up in bright red, green and yellow. I had an office, a darkroom, a craft room and a gallery, lots of bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, and bedroom, everything except a nursery. At 16, it never occurred to me to allot space for children. My home was a glorified office complex with living quarters attached.
The rest of the folder includes plans for a build-it-yourself desk and craft ideas for the kitchen and den. No nurseries or bunk beds.
Why didn’t I think about a place for children? I couldn’t have known that 35 years later I’d enter menopause without giving birth, that the equipment that caused me killer cramps every 28 days would never serve any purpose, that I would be married twice to men who wouldn’t or couldn’t have kids, that my only mothering experiences would be dog-mothering or step-mothering. I couldn’t possibly have known all that. I was not one of those teens who decide early that she doesn’t even want to have children. And, although I claim a bit of ESP, I don’t think that was involved here.
Perhaps I was just innocent. There’s no space for a husband in that house either. A late bloomer, I didn’t start dating until I was in college. By the time a man showed up at the door to take me on a date, my parents were so relieved they didn’t even consider imposing a curfew or giving him the third degree. But I daydreamed like every other teen of boys and men falling in love with me, wanting to marry me. Did I not realize that relationships with men usually led to children, or at least they did back in the ’60s? Love, marriage, baby carriage. I didn’t know much about sex, but I think I knew that much.
So why at 16 didn’t I leave space in my dream house for children? Why did I just seek work space?
I was a kid who “mothered” baby dolls, toddler dolls, Barbie dolls, stuffed animal dolls, enough dolls to cover my entire double bed. I gave them all names, carried them around with me, made them clothes, talked to them all the time, and grieved when they got torn or bent. I called myself their Mommy.
At the same time, I was in full wife and mother training. I learned how to cook and sew and clean. Mom had me washing, drying and ironing clothes by the hamper-full. By the time I was 10, I could copy her famous chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. By 15, I could prepare a full dinner. I could also knit, crochet, embroider and sew. Whatever other career I might pursue, my main life’s work would be the same as my mother’s: caring for a husband, home and children.
So why didn’t I put a nursery in my dream house?
Had I already decided that since I had had no dates at 16, nobody would ever ask me out, so I might as well plan life as a creative spinster? I don’t think so. As a 30-year-old divorcee whose life was all about work, I thought that, but not when I was in high school. I had crushes on several boys and at least one teacher, and I was berserk over Paul McCartney. But a nursery? Babies? I wasn’t thinking about that. Do most 16-year-olds think about babies in that window between playing with dolls and real-life pregnancy? Maybe that’s why so many teens get pregnant by accident. They don’t see it as something that might really happen to them.
I have always wanted a terrific office. Nurseries are pretty and soft and warm and smell of baby powder, but I have never seen myself belonging in one. I wanted to fit in; babies are God’s most amazing creation, but maybe I always knew he had another plan for me, a plan that required an office.
They say that the way you envision your life is the way it will turn out. If I had drawn a nursery into my dream house, would I be a mother and grandmother now? I’ll never know because it never occurred to me at 16.
Just as most of my classmates never thought about including an office in their dream houses. What for?
Perhaps this pencil diagram in an old folder in an old file cabinet contains the key to why I never became a mother. I could blame husband number one for not wanting them or husband number two for not wanting any more than the ones he already had. I could attribute my childless state to persistent use of birth control. But the truth, somehow, is that I always wanted an office, not a nursery. And that’s what I got.

As always, your comments are welcome.
Sue

Copyright 2007 Sue Fagalde Lick

Welcome to the Childless by Marriage blog

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage, menopause, no kids, stepchildren, vasectomy

Greetings,
I have resisted doing this blog for a while because I should be working on my book by this title, but so many women have contacted me and visited the “Childless Resources” page on my web site that it seems like a conversation that is dying to happen. People can’t wait until I get the book between covers. Plus thoughts and happenings keep coming up that don’t/won’t fit into a book or an article. So let’s blog a bit. I admit up front that I am a professional writer doing books and articles on the childless thing, and I promise I will not use your comment without your permission. That said, here’s my situation:

I have been married twice. Husband number one didn’t want children, although he didn’t tell me that until a few years in. It was always wait till he finishes college, wait till he gets a good job, wait till we buy a house. Then there came a time when I thought I might be pregnant, and his tune changed to: if you have a baby, I’m leaving. Ouch. I wasn’t pregnant, but the marriage didn’t work out anyway.

Husband number two, a wonderful older man who already had three children, didn’t want any more kids. He had had a vasectomy. I thought he might change his mind, but he didn’t. So now I have just reached menopause with no kids of my own and three stepchildren I’m not close to. I regret not having children, but at the same time I know that I have done a lot of things in my life that I could not have done if I were a mother.

So that’s the deal. Missed my chance, but maybe that’s what God had in mind for me.

I’ll be sharing stories, statistics, comments, etc., here. I welcome you to join me. Be forewarned that I don’t consider myself “childfree.” I’m “childless.” There’s a difference.
Sue