“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
― Mary Oliver
I got my first period in February 1999, a month and three days before my 12th birthday. I vividly remember sitting in class, quietly suffering through pain unlike anything I had ever felt before. That was my first experience with cramps. When I realized I had bled through my khaki capris (they were all the rage back then), I asked a classmate to borrow her sweater so I could wrap it around my waist and go to the bathroom. On my way home, I lay in the back seat of my mom’s car, writhing in pain from cramps. I became pretty intimately acquainted with ibuprofen after that.
Later that year, I traveled to Paris (my first trip to Europe!) on a school trip with six (maybe eight?) classmates, our French teacher, and a few moms who joined as chaperones. My mom was one of the chaperones. One night, we all ended up dancing at a nightclub. Dear reader, I had to call my mom and ask about this memory because how did a gaggle of preteens and their 30- and 40-something-year-old mothers end up dancing at a nightclub in Paris!? She can’t quite remember, but she does know we arrived early (like 4ish p.m. before they officially opened), were the only ones in there, stayed for an hour, and then left. I imagine someone knew someone (a family member, maybe?) who let us in. The details are lost on me.
What I do remember from that outing was all of us girls gathered in one of our hotel rooms “getting ready” with our moms' makeup. That was the first time I wore mascara. I felt SO cool. After all, I had gotten my period earlier that year. By society’s standards, I was a woman! A lanky, knobby-kneed, bubble gum-scented lip gloss-wearing woman. Just thinking about that moment in time makes me cringe. I’m so glad social media didn’t exist back then.
In March of this year, I was diagnosed with Primary Ovarian Insufficiency (POI). Shortly after that, I went on hormone replacement therapy (HRT) to help alleviate my symptoms. For two years before my POI diagnosis, I dealt with what, in retrospect, was a really dark time in my life. I experienced severe insomnia and woke up drenched in sweat most nights. I coped with vertigo so intense that I was forced to lay prone on the couch for two days because I couldn’t stay upright without falling over. My skin was so dry it was flaking. My ears were so itchy I thought I had an ear infection. And my period was sometimes heavy, sometimes light. Always irregular.
And the brain fog—holy hell, the brain fog. It was like walking through molasses. I was so forgetful that I would stop talking mid-sentence. My ADHD became untenable. It took all my energy to stay focused at work. By the end of each day, I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was sleep. My sweet husband prevented a few fires in the kitchen after I left items in the toaster oven well past their ready point.
Through it all, and between the ocean of tears I cried, I chalked it up to extreme stress and fatigue from two years of a global pandemic. I never thought to raise it with my doctor at my annual checkup. I never thought about mentioning it to my mom, who is a nurse practitioner. Instead, I white-knuckled my way through it, figuring it would eventually get better.
I have a friend to thank for suggesting that I talk to my doctor about perimenopause. We were sitting at lunch, talking about work and general life updates. I must have mentioned something about my symptoms because my friend suddenly said something to the effect of, "this sounds like perimenopause...have you made an appointment to talk to your doctor about that?” It was an a-ha moment I didn’t even know I was searching for. How had I not even considered that?!
By the next day, I had made an appointment with Midi Health to discuss what I was going through. By the following week, I had a diagnosis and was put on hormone replacement therapy. My life changed for the better almost immediately. I could sleep again. I could think again. If it hadn’t been for that conversation with my friend, I probably would have taken a much longer time to get to this diagnosis.
I returned to Paris in May of this year for the first time since my trip in 1999. I went with friends to attend Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. Our outfits involved lots of glitter and sashaying, and I wore (not bubble-gum-scented) lip gloss. On my first trip to Paris, I was still very newly acquainted with my period and what it meant for my body. On this trip, I was still learning all about hormones and how essential they are to my well-being and my body.
I am still processing and learning all about my diagnosis and have more questions than answers, but I’ve come a LONG way since those dark days. And while I have found many useful medical resources, what I continue to find most valuable and most comforting are the stories from women I have talked to about their own experiences and diagnoses. I want to offer that same community with Wild, Wild Women. I want to offer a place for women to tell their stories about wellness and womanhood, ask questions, and share resources.
I’m not a doctor; this isn’t a place to get medical advice. But I know that so many women are seeking support and a place to feel heard. I hope Wild, Wild Women becomes that place for you.
If you’d like to tell your story, fill out this form, and I’ll be back in touch. Please share this with other women you think would like to share their stories or read about others and their stories.