Where I capitalize a lot of unnecessary stuff

Because this appears to be turning into a Subjecting You All To My Health Concerns blog, I should probably tell you about my latest ovarian escapades.

(This is the point at which my 2 male readers are allowed to leave the room.)

(No, really. Go on, guys.)

I haven’t said anything about it in a while, because things have been status quo, as in, apparently I’m in menopause.

Recently I got a “final” diagnosis from a new OB-GYN, and guess what? Apparently I’m in menopause!

“Well,” he qualified, “before the age of 40 it’s actually called Premature Ovarian Failure.”

I thought, Hear that, girls? You’re failures! Both of you! MAMA IS SO PROUD.

(I didn’t say that, however. I cocked an eyebrow and informed him, “That is a terrible name.” He concurred and started referring to it as Premature Ovarian Shutdown. Which…is still terrible. Well, he tried.)

Anyway, bottom line is that I am now on Hormone Replacement Therapy, the traditional, non-bioidentical kind, which is just fine with me because at this point I am just fucking sick of dealing with it. Will it make me sleep better? Make me less bitchy? Remove this brain fog that I have been swimming through for over 2 years? Great! Sign me up!

It does, and it has made great strides in those areas. I’m pretty happy to go back to being recreationally bitchy, instead of compulsively so.

The other bottom line is that in order to conceive, I would need a donor egg. I actually have several egg offers, because I am singularly blessed in the area of Friends Who Would Give Me An Egg And Also Probably Help Me Move A Body. (I’m somewhat deficient in the areas of Friends Who Want To Fly Me To Maui and Friends Who Have An Extra Jaguar They Just Don’t Know What To Do With, if anybody wants to step up. But I think I’m still ahead of the game.) The donor egg option isn’t completely off the table, but…well, I’m not sure we’re entirely comfortable with it, and Xander is 4 and somewhat self-sufficient, sometimes he can even go 15 whole minutes without attempting to maim himself, and do we really want to go back to that whole diapering thing again?

(I’ll keep you posted on that one.)

Of course there’s always the possibility that my ovaries will “wake up” and drop a random egg, which I’m sure is exactly what will happen…when I’m 47.

That’s just kind of how things work around here.