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Open Call To All Orb-Weavers: You are cordially invited to take up residence free of charge in this vacant, gently-used womb. Previously only inhabited by two occupants for brief, ten-month stays each. Guaranteed space to spread out and weave those cobwebs to your heart’s content. First-come, first-serve. Call today for your appointment: 1-800-Buh-byeFertility

Yup, folks, this is it: Time to say goodbye to the ol’ ovaries and hello to hot flashes and a diminished sex drive. Joy. Rapture. Thrills and chills. But I’ve put it off as long as I think my oncologist will let me, so….

And while I’m cracking jokes about it, I have to be honest: I am also falling absolutely to pieces over it at the same time. You really don’t think about this stuff when you’re in your thirties, until you get cancer and you have no option but to think about it. You just kind of think you’re going to be awesome and hot and sexy and fun and in the mood any old time and popping out babies when you get around to it… only, then you get to be me, and you’re washed up at 37 no matter what Madge et al have managed in their forties. I have to be honest with you folks out there with more than two of your own biological kids: right now, I kind of hate you. But don’t worry, I’ll get over myself eventually, and we’ll totally be friends again. After the hot flashes, diminished sex drive, depression, and possible endometrial cancer, blood clots, and strokes are all over with.

That’s in T-Minus 4 years and 364 days. We’ll chat on February 10, 2017. Sound good? OK, great. See you then, fertile mamas.

(And yes, I’m aware I’m lucky as I can be and have two, beautiful children and there are lots of women out there who can’t have their own children, and I am very, very grateful for the ones I have. But, this is my life and I have the right to feel totally cheated out of having a third child that I really wanted to have. And YES, I know there are starving children in [insert city / country here] and no, adoption wouldn’t be totally out of the question, except that you are being an insensitive shithead if you are seriously thinking of suggesting that in my little comments box below right now, seeing as I just shut my ovaries down about a day ago because I had cancer and have to throw my entire body into early menopause to try to avoid getting it again. Like, REALLY early menopause. Like, about fifteen years early menopause. So, I really think I should get a little time to feel sorry for myself before you try to talk me into going the Mother Teresa route, OK?) Wow, those pills are good, I’m definitely already feeling substantially crabbier and more haggish. Oh, you noticed? Yeah. Sorry. I got a little upset. I’m sure it will eventually die down some.

But in the meanwhile, I’m currently wallowing and feeling very sorry for myself; and since shortbread with chocolate on it is not doing anything like what it is supposed to be doing by way of cheering me up, I’ve decided fuck it, I’m buying myself the velvet evergreen jacket with my next paycheck. And Mom? I already know what you are going to say, and my reply is NO it’s not in the budget, and BACK OFF. You can yell at me next month. This month, thanks to my handy-dandy Menopause Miracle Pills I can totally go head-to-head with you in the I’m Feeling Bitchy department. Don’t taunt me.

And also – I love you, lots and lots. :o)