Getting Old

Sometimes it sure does suck to be a girl. Actually, it doesn’t tend to suck fully until you become a woman. I’ve been pretty lucky when it comes to The Cycle – until now. Though my doctor says I’m too young at 43 to have the big M word, she’s coming around to the idea. In fact, the M word is the best case scenario. I don’t want to think about the worst case scenario. (Nevertheless, there are unpleasant tests to look forward to, just in case.)

The upshot is I could be ambushed by my own body at any time. I won’t go into the gory details. The unpredictability wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t mean, without warning, find myself utterly drained and unable to go anywhere unless there’s almost no walking involved and I can get to a toilet at a moment’s notice, or unable to exercise for the discomfort, and finding my clothes are either way too big or way too small from week to week – but in different areas at different times.

I’m beginning to think I’m going to have to have three wardrobes, each a different size, so I can switch according to whether my body is currently bloated, and whether it’s the top or bottom half.

So, my dear friends, if I don’t commit to something until the last moment, suddenly back out of plans, leave a social gathering suddenly, or generally look a bit anxious about something (like the availability of your toilet), don’t take it personally. And it won’t last forever. Apparently I should get over it in somewhere between two to ten years.