Gettin' old ain't for sissies

**You men might want to skip this particular blog post!  :)

This has without a doubt been the best year of my life.  Larry and I are enjoying our normal, every day existence and I have welcomed the changes in my home, my routine and my heart.  Healthwise, though, it's been a nightmare for me.  Beginning in March when I got miserably sick with Epstein-Barr and CMV simultaneously and spent eight days in the hospital to what has now become an almost literal knock-down-drag-out with Mother Nature.  I am usually a very private person but it's my hope that my experience might help another woman or at least bring comfort to her if she's going through the same thing I am.  I am 47 and way too young for this mess!  I have begun my journey through "the change".  Menopause.  I am only 47!  I'm still getting pimples!  But it's true, a truth that I have accepted and even embraced.  I got my first period at NINE YEARS OLD.  NINE.  FOURTH GRADE.  I didn't even have boobs then.  And as far as I know, I was the first in my class.  So I'm ready to be free of it.  I embraced it, looked forward to it.  It's part of my journey as a woman.  It's cool.  Until this.  I have been bleeding for 54 days now.  I have been in constant contact with my doctor since somewhere around Day 30 and we tried medication to get it to stop.  It hasn't.  Not even close. And while this is not unheard of, it is not normal.  Larry and I have gone through two rounds of Clomid, to boost my ovulation to make it easier to get pregnant, since the two of us ain't getting no younger.  Well, that's on hold.  Obviously.  Anyway, I'm having a little outpatient surgery Monday to fix this li'l situation we got going on heah and get straightened out so we can get back to normal and do another round of Clomid.  Ask Larry how many times I've said, "I want my life back!".  A girl tends to whine a little when she's been bleeding for two months.  Who knew?

I had a sweet neighbor who passed away a year and a half ago in her sleep, peacefully, during a nap, right across the street from me.  Her name was Gladys and she used to tell me all the time, "this gettin' old shit ain't for sissies".  I never really understood what that meant until this happened to me.  It ain't for sissies.  You gotta be strong, you gotta be tough, you gotta face growing older head on and fight.  That's what I'm gonna do.  For Gladys.

I'd appreciate your prayers Monday.  For me, for Larry, for our baby.