A few weeks ago I blogged about my experience with the butthead nurse practitioner, who patted me on the head and told me to exercise. I admit, I begged him for help with my weight gain. After sucking my thumb for a while, and whining to anyone who would listen about buttheadnursepractitioner, I’ve come to the conclusion that the medical profession is just as confused as the menopausal woman about how to proceed with declining hormones.
I have been toying with the idea of joining the Y, my previous experience with a gym membership proved grossly inadequate. As in, when I made an appointment with a personal trainer to learn how to use the machines, describing the personal trainer as uninterested is putting it mildly. He kept wandering over to the sweaty bumpy guys, and the girl in the spandex to chat leaving me to wonder if I was using the machine properly, how many reps I should be doing and why I was paying this ass to put me on the road to physical fitness. When he returned to me after his 5th attempt to impress spandexgirl I thanked him for his time and left the gym. When I got home I called the gym owner and told him I wouldn’t be needing the trainers services. I probably could have ended the relationship with the trainer then and their, but that would have put me at risk for the angry cry, and we all know adding hormonal to a moment just discredits the significance of the situation. I left there feeling like a fat housewife. I didn’t quit going to the gym, but I never felt like I had a plan, I didn’t know what I was doing and I just floundered for the couple months that I had paid for the membership. I never renewed, and I never went back.
I have become the google guru of menopause. Unfortunately the debate of supplements vs. hormone replacement therapy vs. diet vs. exercise vs. suckitupbuttercup (aka it’s a natural process to be embraced), has taken a reminiscent debate like the breast vs bottle debates of the 90′s.
So now, my hormones have declined a little more and I’m in my late 40′s. Besides the spreading, sweaty, can’t get a good nights sleep even if I resort to sleeping pills, woman I’ve become, my declining estrogen has put me in a position that to be blunt.
My give a damns busted.
Because my give a damn’s busted, I really have nothing to lose. Oh, if I continue on the path I’m on I’m going to be a fatter, angry, sweaty, tired housewife. Nobody wants to witness that. Least of all my sweet, loving husband. (That may have been a mood swing) I’m not giving up. Just adjusting my ‘tude’