You know, I remember thinking in my twenties that going through menopause would be wonderful. Putting a stop to periods would be worth anything I had to go through, I reasoned.

And now here I am at forty, in what the doctor lovingly calls premature ovarian failure, feeling like "old age" has just been dumped in my lap. I'm not very excited about the whole thing.

So much of who I am has been called into question since this diagnosis. Not by anyone on the ouside, but by me. Every day that I swallow my estrogen with my morning coffee, I'm reminded that I'm different now. And I haven't yet determined exactly what that is going to mean.

It's hard to do this with a ten-year-old at home. We've had to have discussions about hormones and moods and I hate it. I chart my moods, my hot flashes, my appetite and everything in between so that I can begin to control this thing somehow. When I notice that I have had a wonderful day, with clear thinking and no evil mood swings, I feel so thankful I can't even tell you.

I surely didn't mean to vent here. I guess I'm sort of tired of pretending like this is ok with me, when it's not ok with me at all. Even though I have to put on this show for everyone in my life, I know I'm safe here to be honest.