A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More “Touch Me”” ~Fall Out Boy

To menopause or not to menopause… that is the question the doctors can’t answer yet. Just when I thought I had a new permanent hashtag for my blog, I had another menses. And then another.

My last FSA labs were over 70, which has me squarely post-menopause, yet I still have a thick, juicey vagina. TMI? Welcome to my blog!

I reported to the VA for a biopsy crying “Please don’t cut me!” I keed!  I may still need one but the doctor sent me for a recheck on labs first. I let the endocrinologist know but she was dismissive. Anything that doesn’t fit into her neat little “evidence-based” box is a figment of the patient’s imagination. I always hope practitioners come to the VA with an open mind because as my previous endocrinologist used to say, there’s still so much we don’t know about our bodies. And regardless of what the tests say, you should still treat the symptoms. Also, it irritated the shit out of him that so many VA doctors behaved like tests and medication were coming out of their own damn pockets.

Unfortunately he retired. So I pay out of pocket when I want a second-opinion. Fact: Multiple Endocrine Neoplasia (MEN), up until a few years ago, was labeled 1 or 2, and are genetic. But with an increase in these ‘rare genetic’ disorders popping up in veterans with no family history of the disease and no genetic markers (ie: regardless of what the tests say), clinicians created a new category: 4. How is that not a case in point for an endocrinologist to keep an open mind?

On one hand, I was looking forward to menopause because hormone replacement therapy was sounding like a possible cure-all for everything from my insomnia to hot flashes to hang nails. But alas, it might be another false alarm. At least my VA OB doc is better than my endo and recognizes that dealing with meno symptoms off and on for the last 20 years is the only roller coaster I don’t enjoy. So she says that regardless of what is causing the menopause symptoms, she’s putting me on hormones. But she needs more tests to know which type to start me on. If I’m not actually post menopause, she wants to start me on the Nuvaring, which will deliver a low-dose hormone that might offer some balance and relief.

M and I are still doing well after a couple of hiccups a few weeks ago. If there is one strong commonality we have between us, it’s communication. I told him if things don’t work out between us, can we agree to not talk about each other – good or bad – with anyone in our dance community?  If people ask, just say it didn’t work out and I don’t want to talk about it. He agreed but followed up with “how about we just don’t break up?”

He’s cuddly, endearing and most of the time emotionally satisfying but there is room for improvement and growth in the physical department. I’m the first uninhibited partner he has had and he is enjoying it. But in conversations about sex, he told me that in the 5 years he was with his fiancé, two of those were a sexual desert. And he said it wasn’t a new development because when they first began dating, she admitted that she was not very sexual. And he said that was fine because sex is not terribly important to him.

I’ve been chewing on this.

Dancing is important to me. Sex is also important to me. I can tell him that I want him to initiate more but if the simple fact is that sex is not one of his motivators then no wonder he can stop mid-pump, pull his pants on and run out the door to a dance. Because dance is his crack. When he did that months ago, I was speechless and hurt. I told him the next day to never do that to me again. I am the Queen of Quickies so if we need to set an alarm because one of us has somewhere to be, fine, but don’t pull out mid-thrust! Wait for me to call it. And if I don’t call it, then you better damn well keep it going!

“Shout when you wanna get off the ride” ~ The Kills

I slogged (slow jogged) a 10K today across the Skyway today. This time last year, I was in ‘okay’ shape and made it across without too much damage but this year, I probably shouldn’t have done it. Sitting here with ice on my knee and unsure what is going on with the pain in my left heel that started less than 2 miles in. My time sucked too. I hope I can walk tomorrow because it’s a quarter mile from my car to my office.

Speaking of, I did a year at the VA, took stock of where I was heading, and put in my two-week notice. Then I promptly accepted my “old job” back, more or less. I tell myself it’s temporary but at least I wont be living paycheck to paycheck while I have it and that will be nice. Meanwhile, I still jump through vetting hoops for the local police dept and hope, if/when they offer me a position, that the salary is negotiable or it will be right back to paycheck-to-paycheck I go.

But it’s also exciting to be back in the saddle so to speak. I didn’t miss the traffic on the commute or waking up at 4:30 AM but I did miss the smell of the flight line. Back to wearing flip flops to the office and changing into heels. It’s too early to say how I’ll “like” being back but already, I’m grateful for the professional relevance (as well as the breathing room financially). It will be difficult to walk away again if the PD job pans out. Finally, I know this will sound arrogant as fck but it’s nice to come back to a job where I’m not the smartest person in the room and the toilets flush automatically (yes, two completely unrelated ‘pros’). Where I worked within the VA felt like a repository of people who couldn’t function or hold down a “real job”. Now I’m surrounded by high speed, moderate drag (because it IS still the government after all). But no one that I work with acts like they eat paint chips for breakfast.

Separately, I was bitching trying to set up my accounts at work because the questions to reset passwords were all “Where did you meet your spouse?” and “What is the middle name of your first born child?”. One of my coworkers said another comedian complained of the same thing: Where are the Single person’s security questions? You know what we (single people) get? “What was your phone number when you were 10”. If I could remember that, I could probably remember all my passwords and wouldnt need security questions.

Getting back to the old job means getting back to my old schedule too which was more conducive to catching a 4:30pm ballet class or a 6pm aerial silks class (because Gym Sock Burrito class doesn’t sound as sexy). Most folks are triggered by the New Year, New You but I needed a new job and a compatible schedule to recommit to my health. So as soon as I started the new/old job, I re-upped my membership for ballet and purchased a few other packages on Groupon. Plus, I started a 6 week poi spinning foundations course just to learn new tricks that might come in handy for Cabaret performances. Or not because I can’t stop socking myself in the head with the poi.

I also took inventory of my closet. Going back to work in a professional environment, I needed to face the facts of what fits and what does not. I have a bin of clothes in the garage labeled “Do not open for 20lbs”. Over the years, I’ve packed and unpacked and repacked that bin as my weight yo-yo’s with my endocrine problems. This time I changed the label to “30 lbs” and added more clothes.

But I’m not going to beat myself up because I’m back on track for the time being. I think. It’s too easy to blame my wonky lab results for the way I look and feel but I also wasn’t trying. Now excuse me while I hobble away for a fresh ice pack.

“the stars are stacked against you, girl; Get back in bed” M.C.C.

Sex isn’t everything but it’s important. He lays there silent, occasionally petting the top of my head while I spent, I guess, 20 minutes working him over with my mouth and hands. My arm starts to tire when he tells me he’s cumming and I think “Oh, he didn’t fall asleep after all”. In past relationships, I usually gave a man 10 minutes of oral before climbing on top to take a turn for myself but with CK, I can’t do that because the E.D. has left him unable to penetrate me from any angle but the back. Which is great but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life only getting it on doggie style. Now going on the 3 month mark, I finally brought it up again and asked him to talk to his doctor. I don’t know how the conversation went, perhaps nothing more than a message to say “Hey doc, Viagra doesn’t work, what’s next?” So he got a script for Cialis. I don’t expect a miracle. Diabetes has caused significant nerve damage and I don’t see how a pill will fix that.

I love this man but I find myself dreaming of other men, literally. I always had an active imagination though. And it’s not as if I’ll go rabid from frustration, break up with CK and screw every swinging dick that looks my way. But I can’t live like this for the rest of my life either. And I wonder if we would be sexually compatible even if he didn’t have E.D. Because he talks a good game but when the time comes…maybe it’s a combination of both our anxieties: his not being able to perform and me, knowing I’m not going to get off either. It’s … increasingly frustrating and less and less fun.

He wanted to see me again today but it has been a thousand papercuts day. Starting with chores, trying to be a good citizen, move carts out of the road at the grocery store and smashing my fingers between them. Then long overdue yard work sapping me of what little energy I had to start with. Decided to head to the dog bar because I haven’t spent quality time with my dog in 2 weeks. He had fun but in my exhaustion, wasnt thinking and wore flip flops. My toes suffered five stampedes and I was taken out at the knee by a pack of racing pit bulls aka bulldozers. 90min later, came home, slipped and fell in a pile of dog shit. Five minutes later, broke a gallon of cold brew in the refrigerator. Amid a flood of expensive Puerto rican coffee and glass, my roommate messaged me to tell me what a blast the salsa/bachata beach party was today and that this guy I used to have a crush on (still do, I suppose) was there and flying solo.  I disassembled the refrigerator drawers one by one, pulling out all the food and containers, inspecting it, rinsing it off, saving what I could, tossing what I couldn’t.

After 9p, I realized I haven’t eaten. I also havnt finished homework. But I’m going to stay “fuck it” to both and go to bed.