I have been ready for menopause since I was 16. Around that time, I started my period — even though most of my girlfriends had gotten theirs at 12 or 13. So, I knew what to expect — and why it was coming. My mother and I had long had that talk. But I wasn’t too surprised that I’d made it passed my 13th birthday without an invitation into the Red Tent; that 14 came and went without the need to walk down the grocery aisle for maxi-pads.
God and I had a deal.
I knew even back then I didn’t want children. So, He and I agreed that there would be no need for de rigueur of this womanly rite of passage. In return, I vowed to be a good girl and keep my legs crossed. (One I kept faithfully, by the way, until my mid-twenties!)
After prayers, I crawled into bed, lying on my stomach with my arms crossed, pressed against my chest — boobs were another burden of womanhood I didn’t need. They made boys look at you different — and I had older cousins whose teen pregnancies led me to believe that boys looking at you differently could lead to babies.
Then Aunt Flow arrived. I was devastated and, for months, hesitant about sharing my intimate secrets with God.
Eventually, I got back on speaking terms with Him — my Mom having convinced me that this was not the huge betrayal I’d made it up in my mind to be. “It is was it is,” she said.
Still, I longed for menopause to come swiftly, even as I later watched my mother wildly fanning herself with a flat piece of anything she could find to ease the sudden strike of a hot flash. In the recent few years as I have been eagerly awaiting that full-year cycle without a cycle, Mom would laugh and shake her head. “You just wait!”
As I waited, I planned the party I would have once my years of menstrual purgatory was complete: No Mas Huevos. I love a good theme party, and this one would be as jubilant as it sounded to me in Spanish, complete with egg-less dishes I would prepare for my guests — I even thought of having an egg-shaped piñata filled with condoms and chocolate coins to symbolize a new sexual freedom…and all the money I’d be saving not having to buy tampons and sanitary napkins.
Then there was the back injury
That led to the MRI
That revealed the cyst
That led to the blood tests
That led to the ultra sound
That detected the fibroids
That led to the biopsies
That became the diagnosis
That trampled the dreams that Janice built.
In between this whir of medical visits, I got another period — ending the glorious seven-month period-free streak I’d been having; resetting the clock on my party plans. As I sat in the gynecologist’s office, telling this to the physician’s assistant, she curled her lips as she flipped through papers on a clip board with my test results. “That was not a period,” she said abruptly, shaking her head. “You don’t have any more eggs.”
Thirty-five years I’d been wanting to hear this news. But not like this; not while doctors were trying to decipher whether this bleeding was the result of some kind of reproductive cancer. This was how my mother found out she had uterine cancer two years ago.
At 77, Mom went through her hysterectomy and recovery like a champ, and I watched her bravely take on six months of chemo and radiation therapy — including the temporary loss of her beautiful snowy white hair — with the courage I was now trying to summon for myself. I knew if this, too, should be my fate that I could beat it and move on with my life just as she has. It wasn’t the possibility of cancer that scared me. It was the not knowing.
Weeks between tests, stretched out into three months of waiting. Despite the work I was doing to lose a few pounds and tighten my core, there was solace in my go-to comfort foods — grilled cheese and tomato soup are good for the soul.
Then the call from the gynecologist came: “There is no cancer.” Of course, I was relieved, but disappointed that all this had overshadowed the triumph of my no mas huevos moment.
So, like Auntie Maxine, I’m reclaiming my time.
Although this perimenopause period is not yet over for me – and with it, its own annoying night sweats and “power surges” (the latest euphemism for one’s personal summer); slowing metabolism and unsightly chin hairs that require daily tweezing; bouts of forgetfulness and thirsty skin — I am also making a journey to the woman I want to be: confident, creative; happy, healthy and abundantly successful on my own terms.
With the consult of my therapist and physician, my wellness team, and the support of family and a core group of girlfriends (‘cause it takes a village, y’all), I’m doing whatever it takes to make a beautiful life for myself. So, I’ve decided to chronicle this journey through memoir, meditations and recipes. It’s me writing out loud while I do the introspective work of exploring what’s happening to me now, how I got here, and where I want to go. Because if the past several months has taught me anything, it’s that I am in control of my narrative, even with the unexpected shifts that are sure to come — and yes, I’m looking at you God.
The Ultimate Grilled Cheese Sandwich
About a month after my back injury in November, I hired a personal trainer to help me build my core strength which would go a long way in supporting and sustaining my back muscles, I was told. Of course, with core work I’ve had to adopt new eating habits – more plant-based proteins, an increase in colorful fruits and veggies…and no bread. This, for a woman with Southern roots where bread is a staple of every meal, has been the most difficult of my new meal regime — especially since, heretofore, I was used to eating pretty much whatever I wanted because I exercised regularly.
Then, while reading one of my many fitness and health magazines, I came across an article detailing the healthy benefits of sour dough bread, due to its grain fermentation process producing lactic acid bacteria that’s good for your gut — making it an ideal comfort food.
This recipe for The Ultimate Grilled Cheese Sandwich from Saveur is everything it says it is — and on sour dough bread! Paired with Trader Joe’s Tomato and Roasted Bell Pepper Soup, and maybe a simple salad, it’s super easy, inexpensive and healthy anytime meal — and no eggs necessary! 😊
A welcome comfort food to ease the ‘power surges’. –Photo by Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn
The secret to making a perfect grilled cheese sandwich is cooking it over low heat, which brings out the subtle flavors of a cheese — Comté, with its semi firm texture and nutty taste, is great for grilling — and slathering the bread with butter, which crisps it in the pan.
Yield: Serves 2
Ingredients
- 4 tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
- 4 (1/2-inch–thick) slices sourdough bread
- 8 oz. Comté cheese, grated
Instructions
- Spread butter evenly on both sides of each slice of bread. Put half the cheese on one slice and half on another. Top each with remaining bread slices. Heat a 12″ cast-iron skillet over medium-low heat.
- Add sandwiches to skillet and cook, flipping once with a metal spatula, until golden brown and crusty on both sides, 18-20 minutes. Transfer sandwiches to a cutting board and slice in half with a knife. Serve warm.
Top photo credit: Such a pretty mess! (Shout out to Tuan Uong for allowing me to egg his kitchen!) –Photo by Claudine Kashiwabara