Well, as embarrassing as it is, I just skimmed read Suzanne Somers’ book called “The Sexy Years.”   (It’s so pathetic in so many ways, I’m blushing as I type.)

Chrissy Suzanne has reinvented herself several times in recent years as an expert in exercise, diet and, most recently, perimenopausal and menopausal health.  She’s smart, wickedly successful and – more importantly – looks like awesomeness itself so, being the desperate open-minded sort that I am, I thought I should at least take a look since I am, you know, being ravaged by hellish, hormonal demons that cloud the very sky that I live under each and every day. My skin, my mood, my memory, my body, my cravings, my hair, my nails, my sleep … suffice to say that I am being sucked into midlife quicksand and I just haven’t been able to snap out of it long enough to do anything about it.  Enter Chrissy …

It's a fine read. That's my full review ...

Short story made shorter: when I was done, I went to her page full of ads website and found her list of recommended doctors who specialize in bio-identical hormone replacement and immediately called the one closest to me.  I made an appointment, met with the  doctor, had so much blood drawn I almost keeled over in the elevator on the way out of the building and waited, impatient as hell, for the results.  Today, finally, I met with the doctor and the blessed Day of Revelations happened.  You want the good or the bad first?

Okay, the good:  Everything in my body is working, even my overworked liver which has had to handle more “bring another round, garcon” evenings lately that it should have to.   Miracles happen.

Now the bad (I need bullet points for this):

• I can no longer say that I have a slow metabolism (fully 30% of me is muscle, making that claim impossible). Fuck.
• I can no longer surmise that my weight has to do with insulin resistance (in fact, I have impressively low insulin).  Fuck, fuck.
• Fully X% of me is fat (like I’m going to tell you that! I will say, though, that I need to lose 15 pounds – of fat, btw, not muscle).
• My body has no measurable progesterone (only those of you flirting with perimenopause will know what that means so let me tell you that for me it means anxiety, crabbiness, crazy periods, weight gain, fuzzy thinking, freezing feet and hands, joint pain, bone loss and unexplained sadness).
• I am awash in estrogen.  Too much means the same as above but add fatigue and more weight gain.
• I, believe it or not, have low testosterone.  Not enough of that means the same as above but add thinning skin, memory problems and more bone loss.  Good times!

In the spirit of keeping this story short short-ish, I picked up my prescriptions today and begin taking them tomorrow.  Word on the street says I should feel like a new (younger) woman in a week.   Outstanding!

Now, I’m telling you all this for a reason.  First, if you are a girl, this is your future so, you know, pay attention.  Second, when it happens, don’t go into a hormone-deficient coma and let it all wash over you until you shrivel, break your hip and die.  And finally, I am lucky.  Lucky that I have the time, ability and means to try to suss out what the F is happening to me, my mind and my body and fix it.  Lucky that I live in a time when we have finally figured out a few things about how to make women a little less miserable during this long, long life we get to lead.  And, finally, lucky that I have a husband who hasn’t killed me (yet) and is (pretty much) fine with me looting the nest egg to work it out.

Thanks, honey.  I should be back soon…