Does Your Gyno Provide Pasties?

Twisted tales of aging up

How to seamlessly twirl from a gyno faux pas to burlesque

I grin at the country roadside haybale caterpillar and thank the bald eagles flying overhead as I drive towards Bartlesville, an hour outside of Tulsa, to see my Gyno about night sweats and what feels like month-long spotting.

A few months ago, my favorite-ever gyno, Dr. N., who recently returned to Oklahoma, recommended considering hormone replacement therapy to manage my increasing perimenopausal symptoms. I’d blown him off, cringing at the words. HRT was bad. I didn’t remember why it was bad. But, it was bad.

Thanks but no thanks, doc.

The symptoms were getting more frequent and life disrupting. Ongoing spotting. Mood swings. Night sweats. Day sweats. Shedding hair. An increased sex drive that didn’t often find neutral. A constant revved up horniness was unnerving. And inconvenient. Did I mention the continuous spotting? Night sweats and mood swings?

After reading up on the subject and realizing it wasn’t as scary as the research from the 1980s claimed, I was ready to discuss HRT.

The symptoms intensified over a three year period. Today was the day I’d go in with an open mind and possibly come out with a cream or something.

At the office, the scale confirmed my on-the-chunkier-side weight. Nurse Rita whisked me to a patient room, took my temp, my blood pressure and left me to wait for a bit. By this time I knew that the second part would be walking back to Dr. N’s office to have a face-to-face chat before getting naked in the examination room.

This is part of his person-first philosophy. I love it.

The TV was silent, but closed captions spelled out timeless Golden Girls jokes. Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia. Favorite ladies from my youth.

At least we have great role models for growing old, not gracefully, but with a sense of humor, I thought.

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