My Menopausal Musings

I cried for the next two days. The night The Bartender left I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I cried because I could still smell him on the pillow next to me. I couldn’t seem to get dressed so I thought a bubble bath would make me feel better. I surprised myself by the sound of my own sobs as they echoed against the bathroom tile – the same bathroom where he had lovingly washed my hair as we showered together. My cries came from a place so deep inside that I cannot even describe it. My sorrow is physical and I am consumed by it. I finally got myself out the door and into my office. The phone rang and it was The Bartender. He called to see how I was doing. I had asked him not to call. He said he wouldn’t call, but there he was on the phone saying he missed me and talking about how his day was going. I barely got through the rest of the day. My tears would spring forth for no reason at all and I didn’t know what to do with them. I reached out to girlfri

Between the next rounds of dating was a little more down time than usual. It wasn’t just me; everyone was spending less time on personal matters and turning all attention to politics and the war. It seemed as though my hot flashes were running as hot as the political debates. The hot flashes were never ending. I was not sleeping as well as usual. I wake myself up in the middle of the night because I am wildly ripping the clothes off my body. I am alone. I am just hotter than hell. It’s unbelievable. I am finally comfortable and drift back off to sleep only to awaken because I am so cold that I must get up to retrieve the duvet from the floor. Months of practice have enabled me to strip and merely throw the duvet to the side for easy recovery. My sleep is interrupted a bit less. Friends are considering hormone replacement therapy to subside their hot flashes. Others are talking about herbal teas and tincture of sage. I am not ready to go there yet. While I am occasionally

Round Three has been very disappointing, but all is not lost. Faux 60 Year Old Man resurfaces and joins the roster. I am incredibly happy to hear from him. During this period of time he makes contact on several occasions and I am delighted. When he is with me he is kind, smart, thoughtful and vulnerable about personal issues that are impacting his life. I don’t want to be, but I believe I am smitten. I truly enjoy his company even when we aren’t having earth-moving aerobic sex. He couldn’t be more inappropriate or unrealistic or wrong for me. Even worse, each time he resurfaces I realize that I have actually missed him. I cannot deny that it is true. The encounter is more than fun, but his youth is beginning to annoy me, especially how he communicates – only via e-mail. The menopausal synapses finally connect and I realize that he has all of my contact information but I have none of his. Not everyone spends their life on the web. I am sure other women are receiving yellow roses, but he

It is date day. He calls me and I explain that I find myself in his home town. He offers to drive me home and to take me out in the city. Without hesitation I agree. So much for the mad planning of menopausal women. Frantically, I shower and dress while having a hot flash. It is August, and while my friend is also having hot flashes, her husband is very thin, never hot and has no understanding of why I am sweating, swelling, yelling, crying and gasping for breath. I have fifteen minutes to be ready. The solution? Teething rings left in the freezer from years gone by placed between and under each breast. I am just beginning to breathe normally and the doorbell rings. My friend and I are paralyzed. Her husband befuddled. Insisting that my friend stay in the kitchen – I know her nose was pressed up against the window as I left – I go to answer the door for my mystery date. He is exactly what he represented. He is young, cute and smart. Stepping out with my most vivacious self, I hopped in

Then there were a few freaks thrown in. Thank God most of the on-line dating services allow you to initially communicate anonymously and to block unwanted attempts at communication. Then they come pouring in. There are a couple of flirtations that seem as though they might go somewhere. It was still too soon to tell. Then along came an entirely different kind of flirtation. He was cute, fair and younger than springtime. He began with what seemed like a sincere question about my on-line profile. He wondered if I truly loved dinosaur bones. Many e-mails were anonymously exchanged. We only have the information we have chosen to share about each other and what is supposed to be a recent photo. I wonder why he likes me and I ask him why he has chosen to flirt with a woman so much older – he is only 36. Is he typically attracted to older women? He says I am beautiful. And so the instant messaging conversations begin. The first one is more than flirtatious but does not cross the line. He is f

Within 48 hours the first viable flirtation came in. He was about my age, attractive, similar career path but, having a penis of his own, still gainfully employed in the business world. It seemed right. I was optimistic. After the exchange of several e-mails we agreed to meet for a date. I was nervous. It had been so long since I had been on an actual dinner date that I wasn’t sure how to act. I’m a 48 year old woman and it was necessary for a girlfriend to come over to help me pick out what to wear. A couple of hours passed modeling possible outfits and working on hair and makeup. I was beside myself. My girlfriend suggested a drink but I decided it would be wrong to be drunk at the beginning of my date. I considered taking a valium but decided that could end badly as the evening progressed. I decided that a smart cocktail upon arrival at the restaurant would ease my nerves enough and if it was really that bad, I would just skip dinner and come home. My makeup was perfect; my hair loo

I am in menopause. I am at my beginning. Again, I have come of age. We all do it. We all do it differently – hormone replacement therapy; hot flashes; loss of sex drive; increased sex drive; the tragedy of new facial hair; fear of bone loss; antidepressants – and none of us know what will come next. Very few of us share our secrets. I have spent the last few years discussing these issues with girlfriends. We have shocked and surprised each other as well as found comfort in some of our common stories. After years of being single and keeping my eyes on nothing but my career, it was clearly time to take control of myself and my body. I had just gone through a record emotional dry spell. I felt very alone, but imagined that I was not in a place so different than other women. Women in the workplace spend years losing themselves in order to gain advancement that, even if it does come, won’t be as satisfying as they thought. It is that time in your late thirties, often through your forties, t