Post #7

Shits, farts and constipation

Hormone County Report · Filed under: Classified until menopause ends

In all the years I’ve been married to Tatter Cloak, he’s only heard me fart once. And that was a lame-ass (pardon the pun) pfft in my sleep and I can’t be held responsible for it. You KNOW where this is going. I’m farting like a teenage boy having a farting contest with his friends at fart camp. I seriously need to have a conversation with my body. It’s damn embarrassing, parent – teenager LEVEL embarrassing. I hate farts, the sound, the smell, the indignity. And they seem to know it so they troll me, course they do little bastards. The only saving grace is that they don’t stink and I don’t need to blame the dog.

But you know how I say things can always be worse? Well my farts aren’t going solo. They’ve latched onto the freaking shits too. So there I am standing in the bakery section of the local supermarket and I feel a rumbling. But these days when I eat, feeling the gas and indigestion isn’t unusual. Yep another gift from perimenopause, it’s the grift that keeps on giving. So I’m hanging around the discounted goods, because that’s the ONLY and best reason to be in the fucking supermarket in the first place. It’s busy, there are other stealth Crones honing in on the bargains as well as some elderly gentlemen.

We eye each other up like Eastwood and Van Cleef, not showing our hands just yet. THEN I break into a trot. And I squeak somewhere in my pants. I ignore it and make like a charging bull for my target (donuts on discount). One more step, another loud squeak, everything grows still. Pins drop, elderly hearing aids tune in as I toot away. With my new-found DGAFing (Don’t Give A Fuck status) I ignore the looks and act natural as I hurtle along. But just as I reach the cart and the mountain of packages and boxes. I LET RIP and it’s not a soft cutesy little pfft that endeared Tatter Cloak.

It’s a soft sticky pathetic whoopee cushion SPLAT. And this time I can’t hide behind my giant swinging balls of steel. I blush, and sweat and stop dead in my tracks hoping the damage in my undies isn’t a replay of Dambusters.

So because I’m amongst friends I can say this. My fellow discount donut chasers, saw and HEARD my mishap. The closet Crones looked away in recognition and even the gents (were reminded to visit the adult diaper aisle) nodded in wilted condolence! As for your dearest Crone. I grabbed the first box of pastries (which happened to be German chocolate danishes, oh the trolling!) and hobbled carefully to pay and then the bathrooms.

AbsoFUCKINGlutely hilarious, when only this morning I spent 10 minutes (that’s an eon as far as lady-bathroom habits go) trying to have a crap. I swear my gut hasn’t a clue and is as confused about what’s happening to me as every other organ that has suffered hormone assault.

So let’s try and understand why.

When hormones decline it affects gut motility aka movement. Progesterone acts like a muscle relaxant that keeps things moving so when it drops, everything stays in the gut longer and we get that backlog. Then say hello to gas people. Toot fucking TOOT! When estrogen drops it totally cocks up the gut microbiome and that reinforces the gas and diarrhea. So when hormones fluctuate you can go from gas to IBS to constipation throughout the day! Oh fucking joy as if pissing myself when I laugh or sneeze or even think about water; wasn’t bad enough. The number twos like an irritating attention-ho, want in on the action too.

That’s also what happens when you start taking progesterone as part of your HRT regime (ironic isn’t it!), though it’s supposed to taper off. Mine hasn’t though. HEH, I remember in my early days of perimenopause constipation was one of the first symptoms. I actually ate raw kale wraps for lunch like a giant rabbit munching away just so I could go to the bathroom! Now it’s brown rice twice a week or all hell breaks loose (eventually) and as the potty joke states, you don’t need a pencil to work that one out! So combine diet, exercise, hydration, medication, stress. I mean which one of us isn’t suffering from all of that lot going down the shitter (not sorry about the puns but I really don’t give a crap! Kind of like my colon and bowels).

So when the shits hit…

Keep Crone and Carry On