I’ve been talking to the universe (again). Alone in my car I’ll say, “So, universe, listen up.” Then I’ll continue, aloud, for a decent stretch, the way one would shoot the shit with a sister. Though I try to get to the damn point already, in case the universe has ADD.
Since I share this freely, I might as well disclose that I also make a point of visualizing things each morning and last thing I do before sleep. I don’t actually see anything, but I try to imagine myself in the life setting I want. Then—wait for it—I speak in present tense, as if I’m already living the life I desire.
With whatever it is I want, I speak as if I already have it. I don’t just speak it, I visualize it and imagine myself in it, hoping to feel at least a little of the “giddy.” For me, giddy is the feeling I most want to experience. Monetary freedom, for example, isn’t a feeling. Carefree and breezy, feelings (and a creative weather forecast).
“Amazing,” I say from my current kitchen, “I could choose to read this cookbook in my white library room, the sun soaked one that still manages to keep reliably cool and glare free, the one with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a rolling ladder, right there down the hall. Choice is up to me.” Imagining that I actually have this option stirs something up in me. Kick in the step, swagger in the walk, ass in the shake (ass comes first when we’re talking this much ass).
I imagine and speak in specific details, for example, of my kitchen, the one with the surround sound and flat-paneled TV that pulls out from the ceiling into which it’s built. The very one near my espresso bar station.
Lately our little talks have been about health. Not my health, actually, but of those very close to me who’ve been struggling. People I love dearly, people who show up in my dreams. They’ve been going through some tough things. I speak as if they’re already well, then visualize them surrounded by healing golden light, in a bubble of it, radiating nourishment and healing… just to keep them so healthy, see?
Today, after meeting with a reproductive endocrinologist and being handed the news that yes, I am, in premature menopause, and yes the bone density tests reveal that I have mild hip osteopenia (T score of -1.54) and a normal to low spinal T score of (-1.26), I got into my car and summoned the universe to listen up but good. Then, I said, “Thank you.” Seriously.
“No, it’s not the greatest news here, but it truly could be so much worse. Thank you for guiding me into that doctor’s office when you did, so they were able to discover this now, not ten years from now. I’m already healthy and strong, and this really will only make me stronger. Do I love the idea of “bioidentical hormone replacement therapy?” Of course not. I am terrified of this option and don’t know what my other options are. Have there even been any studies of women in their 30s and HRT? Not that I’ve found. “Pig,” I’ve heard before. But “Guinea Pig” is in a whole other league.
All this in combination with anti-osteoporosis drugs like Atelvia or Actonel for my bones, which I believe with long term use creates micro-fractures. This is scary and it sucks, but. But it could be life-threatening news, and I’m deeply thankful that it’s not.
Maybe this happened to me so I could write about it and reach someone who might otherwise have taken longer to drag her vag into the gyn. “She’ll then thank you universe, for having me go through this (even though it sounds kind of evil, I know it’s not). That’s what we’re here for right? To serve, to give of ourselves, to share for a greater good; we’re all connected, parts of the same thing, a part of you universe, or God, or whatever created our existence. So, thank you. Now you can make a note that I’ve received the message and there’s no reason to give me any more shit to write about.”
AMH blood testing will confirm the premature menopause one way or another, but based on the magic wand up the crotch maneuver, today’s ultrasound, where my girly gadgets were measured, gave the reproductive endocrinologist a better picture of what’s going on. And what’s going on is NOT poly-cystic ovaries. “What I’m seeing here looks consistent with menopause. There are no cysts. Nothing.”
“So, I should just assume I’m in premature menopause, without needing the AMH test results?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Then we talked cause to this unusual effect. What could have caused this, for me to be 1 in 250 women to go into premature menopause? Genetic and thyroid and attacking ovarian antibody tests have been ordered, more blood drawn, results to follow… IN TWO FCUKING WEEKS.
“You do realize I have to live with this woman,” Phil said to the doctor.
“I will drive him crazy, it’s true,” I said. Though, he will get off easy, being in New York for another two weeks beginning on the night of Mother’s Day. Still, I can be very “present” over the phone.
“Okay, how about this? If anything comes across my desk before then, anything major, I will call you before our May 25th appointment?”
Oh, joy. I’m turning off my phone now. Er, I mean, “I am already well.” They will find nothing in these blood tests. No underlying autoimmune or genetic disorders. Right people? Go on, please say it aloud for me, okay?
“She’s totally normal, ______ (Universe, G-d, Great Creator. Insert your favorite flavor)… for a woman who talks to herself as much as she does.”
May 25. You’ve got to hang in there with my crazy until then. After I shut off my phone, I’m going back to my dream kitchen to make foods, which according to my Five-Elements Acupuncturist sister, “draw out the damp.” A wing and a prayer, people.
Also, something near my heart or my actual heart has been feeling funky. Maybe it’s a pulled muscle or something on the surface, from where my laptop pokes into me when it slides up as I type with the laptop on my stomach. So tomorrow I have an appointment scheduled with Phil’s cardiologist. Let the good times roll. Next week I’ll schedule a mammogram, just to get it all over with at once. Then I’ll go shopping for jeans and bathing suits.
Like I said, if you’re reading this, it could be because you’re supposed to. So get yourself current with your doctors and blood tests, just for piece of mind. And send this on to your own loved ones because this universe might want to get in touch with someone through the shit it’s making me go through. So let this body of mine do another body good.
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