Woman of a Certain Age

The woman awakened this morning sweaty, desperately searching for cooler air, afraid of the unknown that lies ahead in her life. The feeling of aging, isolation and insecurity in this new role prompts her once again to make another appointment.  She feels rocky, barren, dry, crisp, like the spaces above tree line, the tundra, at the highest of altitudes.  Not much takes hold above tree line and life struggles for every sacred millimeter of growth, gulping every droplet of water.  It is all so fragile, so is she.. Starting anew, trying to find the softness for a root of some sort to take hold.  Searching always, never giving up on herself she enters the clinic.

A WOMAN’S PLACE 

NEW PATIENT INTAKE FORM

56 Medical Parkway, Ridgeview, CA

Sex: Female

Age: of a certain

Primary Concerns or Reason for Being Here:

No more children, no more pregnancies, no more periods cramps and bleeding.  I was told there is great loss of joy when we bleed, but I have lost joy in the non-bleeding. 

Have you seen in the past for the same issues?:  Yes, several times in the past three to four years.    

Past Treatments:  Prescribed anti depressants.  Prescribed anti anxiety medication. Was told to go to therapy and perhaps even to leave my marriage.

Symptoms and Timeline:  Eight years ago a strong need for SPACE, then came the anger, or more like rage really, then sadness, lots of tears, sensitivity, oh and hot flashes off and on throughout.  The hot flashes feel like the burning off of the residual, the last remaining bits of my past self.

What if any past treatments helped to aileviate symptoms?:  Meditation, Black Cohosh for the hot flashes, and Shatavari to nurture mood swings, and many other herbs depending upon the symptoms of the day. The above pharmaceuticals just added on more symptoms.

When did you last ovulate?:  NA ?

What day 30 days ago was your last opportunity of fertility?:  NA I guess? I do wonder what I would have done if I had known it was my last opportunity - maybe I’d have had an ‘unbaby’ shower?

Past Diagnosis:  Depression.  Anxiety.  Stressful marriage.  High Cholesterol. Per menopausal. I am now in menopause and starting to find my footing there. My body has done its best to keep up with the changes - so has my husband and my family and my friends, but I still struggle nearly every day,

Prognosis: The rising up of power from the ashes (from the hot flashes) like the phoenix! From the barren, burnt out forest struggles the seed to grow new life, from empty womb my egg-less ovaries where the newest version of myself is born. 

Last Birth:  After eight years of transition and coming through the cocoon I have birthed who I am today. This birth seems in contraction to the expansion 32 years of gestation.  The spurts and stops of finding who I am under all the emotion, the drama, the life of it all, all with love.

She smiles as she hands the form to the front desk.  She confidently sits in the uncomfortable chair next to the pile of Mothering Magazines and samples of baby formula.  After a few moments of looking around at the expansive bellies and toddler play section of the waiting room she gets up and takes herself out to a glorious lunch with wine.

The Unicorn is Attacked

In the midst of the gilded age, John D Rockefeller Jr. gifted a beautiful tapestry to the Met. He purchased it for approximately one million dollars and had it in his personal collection for over 15 years.  Now it hangs for all to see in the impressive New York City  museum. This specific tapestry is the third in a series of seven tapestries depicting the hunt and eventual capture, of a unicorn, an animal known for its invincibility and described to carry immense healing properties in its twisted horn.  This group of tapestries certainly tug at your heart strings and are a sad representation of man as the innate hunter vs the ultimate trophy of the mythical magical elusive animal.  Melancholy  seeps into your being the longer you stand in front of it.  The piece portrays simple paiges and noblemen alike, in their customary dress of the age, their hounds at the heel, spears drawn, cornering a beguiling looking unicorn, a creature of innocence and naivete. 

Being a patron of such  outstanding works of art with their history and richness is bound to keep you awake at night.  Perhaps Rockefeller found it too disturbing to hang on his walls any longer, waking him in a hot sweat after he sat gazing at it over his fireplace as he sipped his scotch each night.  Maybe it simply clashed with a remodeled interior, or most likely his benefactor nature simply prevailed.  Regardless, there it was, in a small side room of a remote wing in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

After being politely ushered out of the museum at closing time a foursome drifts along with the rest of the late day patrons to the magnificent marble front steps of the museum. Here the family pauses to absorb the beauty of what has been seen inside. The tapestry reproduced in a  postcard image gets pulled from the crisp white gift shop paper bag and handed around to each of the individual members of the family.  To the father leaning upon the iconic building’s massive column while manipulating his hand held to find a place for them to all troop towards soon for a meal.  He glances at it, giving it a moment of attention before he passes it across to the son.  Teasingly the son waves it away from his youngest, and only sister.  The kids  jabber on together in a banter of sibling code, a reverse Charlie Brown dialect to the ears of the parents. After making its rounds to all the postcard finally returns to the mother of the clan, who carefully places it back into its protection of the white bag. She absentmindedly slides it into her handbag as she picks back up her day dream she was having earlier on the subway on the way to the museum.  Glancing up at the soft blue sky, noting the cotton ball clouds, she softly closes her eyes and begins to plot through again how to would be to hijack the zamboni she saw earlier that day at the ice rink in Rockefeller Center.  She could finally fulfill her lifelong dream of driving a zamboni.   Her mind spinning and twisting with joy while laying out like a chessboard what her moves would be, concocting the entire scenario in her mind.  The daydream ends with the ultimate satisfaction that is a flight of fancy as she now finds herself on the walk to the restaurant with her family.