Shmirshky Read online
no skipping pages
I made this book short and easy, but
if you skip ahead, you will not know a
shmirshky from an erlick!
to my bff
My BFF (Birthday Friend Forever), Marcia, whom I first heard use the words shmirshky and erlick, was an amazing woman. She was vivacious, chic, and endlessly loving. In 2002, Marcia was diagnosed with cancer at the age of seventy-two. Toward the end of her battle, she was home with amazing hospice care. It was her birthday. I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I celebrate it or not mention it? I knew it would be the last birthday of her life.
We decided that it was the perfect time to celebrate. I will never forget that October day. When we arrived at Marcia’s condo, we were told not to go into her bedroom, but instead were directed to the living room. This was odd; usually we found ourselves flopped on her bed talking and reminiscing about happier times.
Today was different. Marcia was wheeled out with a huge smile on her face. We hadn’t seen her out of bed in several months, so this was an amazing sight. We showered her with presents that she immediately wrapped herself up in, and just for a moment, she looked like she was ready to go to a party. Boy, did she love to party!
Marcia was very weak, but her eyes sparkled and her smile was big and beautiful. I still see her in my mind. With joy in her eyes, she left us one last monumental piece of wisdom: make every day your birthday. Her message was so powerful; I felt it in my soul. Those of us in the room will never forget it.
With Marcia’s wisdom in mind, my friends and I will sometimes randomly send each other a birthday cake. When I receive one on a day that’s not my birthday, I feel loved. Simply hearing “Happy Birthday!” makes me joyful and lighthearted, especially when I’m going through a tough time.
Thank you, my dear sweet BFF. Your spirit and wisdom have helped me through many hard days and lonely nights.
Contents
no skipping pages
to my bff
A Note to the Reader
meet the shmirshky
CHAPTER 1 - a simpler shmirshky
CHAPTER 2 - shmirshky latin
CHAPTER 3 - shmirshky alert
CHAPTER 4 - the alien and the organizer
CHAPTER 5 - the big shmirshky cover-up
CHAPTER 6 - how to schedule PM&M
CHAPTER 7 - don’t hide your shmirshky under a bush
CHAPTER 8 - sleepless in PM&M
CHAPTER 9 - the thyroidian slip
CHAPTER 10 - not-so-hot flashes
CHAPTER 11 - shmirshky in the basement
CHAPTER 12 - shmirshky private “i”
CHAPTER 13 - shmirshky interview
CHAPTER 14 - shmirshky numbers
CHAPTER 15 - to hrt or not to hrt?
CHAPTER 16 - shmirshky support
CHAPTER 17 - period or no period?
CHAPTER 18 - erlicks are people too
CHAPTER 19 - shmirshky jackpot
CHAPTER 20 - shmirshky redecorated
CHAPTER 21 - sex in the desert
CHAPTER 22 - no needles in my shmirshky
CHAPTER 23 - let my shmirshky go
CHAPTER 24 - sumo free
CHAPTER 25 - the sisterhood of the shrinking pants
CHAPTER 26 - shmirshky board
CHAPTER 27 - shmirshky don’t-jump-off-a-cliff notes
afterglow
my shmirshky
happy birthday!
shmirshky fun terms
shmirshky not-so-fun terms
hormone therapy menu
hormone therapy brands
resources and notes
additional notes
shmirshky daily symptoms chart
my shmirshky journal
Letter
About the Authors
Copyright
A Note to the Reader
Because the pagination of this electronic edition does not match the print edition from which it was created, any references to specific page numbers should be ignored. Instead, to locate a specific passage within the text, please use the search feature of your e-book reader.
meet the shmirshky
Got a vagina? Know someone who does? If you don’t have one yourself, odds are you have a wife, girlfriend, mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, sister, daughter, friend, mentor, co-worker, or boss who’s got one. Vaginas are everywhere!
Vagina, vagina, vagina. What a strange word! It’s a word you only hear doctors and awkward sex-education instructors using. All the women I know call it something completely different. My BFF,1 Marcia, called the vagina shmirshky (pronounced shmersh-key) and the penis erlick (rhymes with her-lick). I love these names! I use them not only to refer to specific parts of a person’s anatomy but also the respective sexes that possess them. All women both have and are shmirshkies, and all men have and are erlicks.
I am a shmirshky, a shmirshky who has struggled with perimenopause and menopause. I’m not crazy about these terms either. What a mouthful. Let’s call perimenopause PM and menopause M. I like to call this entire time in our lives PM&M! That reminds me of something sweet and wonderful—way more fun.
Now you can have a serious and private discussion about menopause, vaginas, and penises and no one within earshot will have a clue what you’re talking about. For all they know, you could be talking about a great restaurant or the friends you had drinks with the night before. I once threw a party with shmirshky erlick monogrammed on the cocktail napkins. Marcia and I laughed hysterically all night long as the other guests tried to figure out what this meant. Eventually, we told everyone and all laughed together. Welcome to the PM&M, shmirshky, and erlick secrets!
There are over six and a half billion people in the world, and about half of them are shmirshkies! By the end of 2008, around fifty million American shmirshkies reached M. That’s approximately 18 percent of the U.S. population. And by 2010, nearly two thirds of the adult female population in the United States reached age forty or older. That’s a lot of shmirshkies in PM&M.2
Since I’m not a doctor, researcher, or scientist, I don’t have professional expertise to recommend or not recommend different remedies and procedures. I do, however, have a shmirshky and have experienced PM&M firsthand. I know how hard it can be.
I began writing this book because I was afraid to talk with people about my experience (and I really love to talk!). So the computer became my friend. I’d sit down in the morning in my bathrobe, with a cup of coffee, and sometimes finish late at night with a martini. All the while, I was chatting away with my computer about PM&M.
shmirshky party alert!
Eventually I worked up the courage to invite my girlfriends over for a drink and began talking about my experiences. I found that throwing a little Shmirshky Party is a great way to share and hear stories with the shmirshkies in our lives. I’m including some of those stories in the pages that follow (Shmirshky Party Alerts!). These girlfriend stories are good reminders of how powerful and helpful the sisterhood can be when we share information and support each other.3
When you’re in PM&M, you’ve got to think inside the box! That means think about how you feel, listen to your body, and recognize your needs. When I think inside the box, I’m prioritizing and trusting myself as a shmirshky. Sometimes the erlicks need to think inside the box as well (albeit in a different way than they usually do).
Once I started to think inside the box, I realized I had a whole lot to say, so I’ve turned my writings, research, and conversations into this small book with a BIG story, so my daughter, my friends, the Sisterhood of Shmirshkies, and the erlicks in their lives can all have an easier time with PM&M. I know you’re crazy busy, but you can read this while getting your hair done, in between meetings, on the potty, on a plane, at your desk, in a doctor’s wait
ing room, on your cell phone, or in between carpooling your kids.
To help make this little book nice and easy to read, I included some “tickle-your-feet notes.” They are kind of like footnotes, but way more fun. This way, you won’t have to flip to the back of the book to get fun facts and definitions. For more detail and easy reference, there are a bunch of resources and citations in the back of the book along with a list of Shmirshky Fun Terms and Shmirshky Not-So-Fun Terms.
Okay, enough housekeeping, I think we’re ready to jump right in. Be sure to hold on to your shmirshky—you erlicks are always holding yours—and let’s get started!
CHAPTER 1
a simpler shmirshky
When I was fourteen, all I wanted was to get my period. My girlfriends got theirs years before I did. They also had boobs. Apparently, I stepped out of the boob line for a minute and missed my allocation. I was probably in the cupcake or raw cookie dough line. (Thank God for the padded bra.)
I became obsessed with getting my period. After all, when you had your period, you were “in,” and more important, you got excused from taking a shower in PE. Standing in the shower with a soaking wet towel plastered over my flat chest while trying to camouflage my raging embarrassment was no day at the beach. The anticipation of taking that communal shower each day twisted my stomach into knots. I badly needed to be excused. So one day, I woke up and decided that it was time to take action. It was time to fake my period.
Every week, I walked confidently up to my PE teacher and announced that I needed to be excused. Unfortunately, I really didn’t understand the menstrual cycle; all I knew was that I wanted a period and the boobs that came with it. Eventually, my teacher pulled me aside to tell me I could only be excused for one week every twenty-eight days. I had overused my excuses! I solved this problem by copying a friend’s period cycle. Whenever she got her period, I pretended to get mine. This worked great, but I still had period envy for almost two years.
Then, one day, it actually came! I was sixteen years old. The fabulous period had arrived, and I was sure that I was going to be “in” now. I knew guys would start flocking around me. I was ecstatic. I had been dreaming of this day for such a long time.
I reached into my purse and pulled out my longing-to-be-used belt and pad. (Yes, we had belts in those days, and I don’t mean Gucci.) The pad I carried in my purse for years was all shriveled up and yucky. (For you erlicks, this was similar to the condom you carried around when you were fourteen, hoping at any minute that you would get laid.) I put on my belt and pad and waited to feel something magical, something extraordinary—even orgasmic!
As I left the bathroom, my head was pounding and I was still waiting. There was no euphoria. The only thing exploding was my pulsating headache. Did I really have to walk around with blood dripping between my legs onto this huge barge in my crotch for seven days every month of my life? Was this what I had been praying for? Are you kidding me? By the way, what about those cramps and the pulling on the inside of my thighs? What’s up with that? I looked down at my breasts. It was clear that I still didn’t need a bra; a couple of Band-Aids would have done the job just fine. A loud, angry voice inside my head kept yelling, “Hey, where are my boobs? I thought this was a package deal!”
Do you know any shmirshkies who love getting their periods or look forward to drowning in a sea of raging hormones? Do you know any shmirshkies (or erlicks for that matter) who can’t wait for the monthly PMS,4 the bloating, the constipation, the cravings, and the sore, exploding breasts? Isn’t the emotional roller coaster such a blast? Nearly two weeks out of every month, you and the poor souls around you are stuck in the MTZ (Menstruation Twilight Zone). Not to mention the many hours in your lifetime dedicated to picking out period paraphernalia. Yikes! You’ve got your heavy, your light, your scented, your long, your wide, your thong, your miniflow, your maxiflow, your gold, your silver, and your bronze. How about the applicators? Cardboard, plastic, environmentally friendly, or the string only. Oh, my favorite is the pad with wings! Wings? I don’t want wings when I’m on my period, I want ice cream.
We spend most of our time wondering where our period is, when it’s going to come, and when it will go away. It’s less like a period and more like a question mark. The only thing consistent about my period was that it always seemed to join my husband and me on our vacations (including our honeymoon!). Of course, everyone wants to take their period with them on vacation, right? I packed it a bag, bought it a pair of sunglasses and some wings, and off we went. My husband, David, my period, and I have been to many fun places over the past thirty-four years. It’s no wonder that from the moment I first got my period, I was sure I’d never miss it once it was gone. And why would I? I figured PM&M would be a piece of cake . . . mmm, cake!
CHAPTER 2
shmirshky latin
So what the hell is PM&M if not a delicious dessert? Well, if you don’t know anything about a subject, the first thing you do is look it up, right? There are lots of long funky words involved in the PM&M experience, so let’s see what Merriam-Webster’s Medical Dictionary5 can tell us about a few of the key terms (in order of experience):
pre·ma·ture men·o·pause
Pronunciation:
Function: noun
: refers to menopause that occurs before the age of forty6
pre·men·o·pause
Pronunciation:
Function: noun
: the premenopausal period of a woman’s life; especially : the period of irregular menstrual cycles preceding menopause
peri·men·o·pause
Pronunciation:
Function: noun
: the period around the onset of menopause that is often marked by various physical signs (as hot flashes and menstrual irregularity)
men·o·pause
Pronunciation:
Function: noun
1 a (1) : the natural cessation of menstruation occurring usually between the ages of 45 and 55 with a mean in Western cultures of approximately 51 (2) : the physiological period in the life of a woman in which such cessation and the accompanying regression of ovarian function occurs—called also climacteric—compare PERIMENOPAUSE b : cessation of menstruation from other than natural causes (as from surgical removal of the ovaries)
post·men·o·paus·al
Pronunciation:
Function: adjective
1 : having undergone menopause
2 : occurring after menopause
Wow, these definitions are soooo simple. It sounds like a breeze. It comes and goes, and you’re done! Wouldn’t that be nice? Clearly no one checked with Mrs. Webster before printing these definitions. No wonder I thought PM&M would be as easy as pie . . . mmm, pie!
CHAPTER 3
shmirshky alert
As it turns out, PM&M isn’t just the simple cessation of a bodily function. It’s your brain, your body, and your life transforming into something you’re totally unfamiliar with. You begin to question your sanity, relationships, hormones, genetics, sex drive, age, food, clothes, underwear, everything! It’s an every day, all day, and all-consuming shmirshky shitstorm.
Here’s a little forecast of what this storm might entail:7
• You begin worrying that you may be in the early stages of Alzheimer’s,8 because you can’t seem to grab a memory or a thought. You look at your dear friends and children and blank on their names. Your refrigerator and the dashboard of your car are plastered with sticky note reminders.
• Your eyes are constantly watering, as the least little thing makes you cry. You find yourself defending this constant dripping by announcing that you have allergies, even if it’s the dead of winter and nothing is blooming. In contrast, your shmirshky may be oddly dry.
• You are grumpy, unusually depressed, irritable, hypersensitive, have erratic mood swings, and feel lonely, yet all you want is to be alone.
• Your periods begin
to act weird: they disappear for months at a time, then they either arrive for just a quick second (spotting) or show up big and heavy, as if to say, “I’m baaaaack!”
• Your internal thermometer starts to change. You’re hot all the time! (This is not the kind of hot that you wake up your lover over.) You often find yourself perspiring as if you just finished a hike in a tropical rainforest, but you’ve actually been sitting down or just woke up.
• You no longer sleep through the night. Instead, you wake up two or three or more times. You might begin to find packages arriving at your doorstep filled with essential items bought during late-night shopping sprees: paring knives, food dehydrators, juicers, all-in-one home gyms, weight-loss programs, and magical carpet cleaners, to name a few.
• You find yourself staring in the mirror, startled at the changes you see: your skin is dry, randomly breaking out, or looks like it needs to be ironed. (I tried steaming. It doesn’t work.)
• You start to not feel sexy anymore and find that your significant other has placed a “remember me?” sticky note on his erlick or her shmirshky.
• You may feel like you have to pee all the time and/or find that you’re having symptoms similar to a urinary tract infection, but you aren’t in a new relationship or even having the fun that usually comes before the misery.
Shmirshky