The doctor tried to break the news gently. She promises that in time I will overcome their careless disregard of consequences. That my sense of abandonment will dwindle. The ugly truth? My hormones up and left me. They flew the coop without even a kiss goodbye. Snuck off in the dead of night, leaving only a few stragglers. They didn’t warn me. They gave no notice of their intentions. Like deserters who knew we were going to lose the battle, they absconded while their general looked the other way.
Perhaps I knew deep inside, because I’ve been crying lately. I don’t know why I cry. Perhaps it’s their legacy: Tears for no reason. Happy tears, sad tears; random and unexpected tears at any given moment. That is not all they left behind, those hormonal cop-outs. There is the 30 pound weight gain in two months, a fatigue as deep and dark as the Marian Trench, a firestorm of evil probiotics wreaking havoc in my gut, and a vitamin D deficiency that I am sure is degenerating my bones as we speak. Farewell gifts I could do without.
I thought I had a few years left. Or, perhaps, I thought I was younger than I am. Years have a way of sneaking up on a person. One day you are cuddling babies, the next surviving teenagers, then one morning you wake up and you’re a grandmother. Time and hormones are stealthy like that: creeping up on you slowly, distracting you with their might, deceptively lingering only to vanish without warning.
I’ll tell you what I am going to do:
I am firing my ovaries.