I Can’t Even Fill a Carton

It happens all the time, 24 hours a day; I break out in a major sweat, swooosh, fire-like heat pulses from my body’s core, emerging as sweat and sometimes I get so hot, I steam. I am a little tea pot. I started the hormones, but I am in-between doctors and need to get my estrogen on…and quick.

I realized I was entering into a new phase when I went to get my nails painted. Picking the color is a hard thing for me- I am basically a red or coral kind of girl. On this particular trip my sister and I were together. The ladies at the nail shop liked her better; they would say to me, “You sister is funny, you not funny. She say you comic, but you not funny, you not even very nice.” Gail, my sister is always happy when she is getting  her nails done. For her, it seems to be a holiday, something to celebrate. She walks in and says hi to everyone- she is like a celebrity at the nail place! They tell her the stories about Vietnam, and taught her a few words. And get this, they don’t laugh at her, they laugh with her. My sister: United States Ambassador to Nail Salons.

“Look, Gail…hey, Gail, over here! Look, they have Mood nail polish- it changes color with your mood like the mood rings from the 70’s!” I loved my mood ring and was so very sad when I got it wet and it didn’t work anymore. I wore it anyway even though it was a constant black/blue color. It fit my teenage angst! My mood ring was as gothic as I got. Mood color nail polish it was that day; and I made sure I could get it wet.

We finished up at the nail salon and after Gail waved her last goodbye I suggested we go walking. We met at the park and started our 4 mile walk/sharing time. I forgot about the nail polish until mile 2. “Look, look at my hands!” I cried. My sister grabbed my left hand and stopped cold. She looked me square in the eye, “You are starting the change, God help you.”

Every nail was a different color. Does that scream, I have issues? When someone says, “Hey, Kim, how you doing?” I can’t look to the mood nail polish and answer, because I don’t know. I guess I could pick a color and try and go with it.

I bought books. I read them. Getting the scoop on menopause is fine, living it is not fine. I found out some cool facts. A female fetus, at 6 months has about 6 million eggs. When she is born she is down to about 250,000 through apoptosis. Our cells naturally pop and die, so do our eggs. The best eggs, supposedly, stay behind. I am at the point in apoptosis where I have maybe 10 left and of those 10 a few are cracked. I can’t even fill an egg carton. My eggs are like the eggs you see in the cartons left open in the store where customers look to see if the eggs are good, and seeing the yolk and busted eggs, they lay it down with a look of yukko.

My tubes were tied when I was 40, but I couldn’t get pregnant now even it they weren’t. What eggs are left, if not cracked, are hard boiled.  Poached. No good. Once, when I was married to my second husband I was afraid I was pregnant even though I had my tubes tied. I figured if any sperm could get me pregnant it would be the Mexican sperm! “Staples, we go around the staples! Who brought the knife?”

My sister and I wrote a song about the change. It is a parody, and if you remember Yesterday by The Beatles, you can sing this one:


My ovaries make it only now and then

Look, I am getting grandma’s bearded double chin

Oh, I believe in Estrogen!

Suddenly, I am twice the girl I used to be

I don’t want a hysterectomy, or hormone replacement therapy

Why do I sweat in my sleep, have weird dreams I couldn’t say

I say a lot of things wrong

Now I long, for Estrogen……


My ovaries make it only now and then

I am getting a hot flash again

Oh I believe in estrogen

hm “>hm “>hm “>hm “>hm “>hm hm hm hm hm hm hm


9 thoughts on “I Can’t Even Fill a Carton

  1. Verse 1

    Hot flashes come in the morning.’
    Hot flashes come in the night.
    Hot flashes cold flashes,
    Weak flashes bold flashes.
    Night sweats and urges to fight.

    I hate everybody
    especially you.
    When I think of you I start to itch.
    I hat everybody,
    especially you.
    Why don’t you love me you sonofabitch?

    Verse 2

    I’m not writing a goddam verse 2.

    Love your stuff

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