I'm not going to sit here and list the things about post-menopause that suck, but let me zone in: Somewhere between #14 Rogue Hairs and #18 Epic Hangovers is the constant slow death by thirst. It's like your body mourns the loss of estrogen and progesterone, and wants to drown its sorrows in water.
Fortunately for my husband, my dehydration and I have a long history. I've been thirsty since I was in my mid-20s. So now, when I get up in the middle of the night feeling like a raisin and claw my way to the bathroom like that cartoon guy in the desert, my husband can still kid himself that he's married to his 25-year-old bride and not an old broad suffering from hormonal chaos.
Every couple has inside-joke catch phrases that come up throughout the course of a long marriage. You know, like something he blurted out when she dropped her ice cream cone on his lap on that first date. Or the double entendre her mother said when she found out she was dating the kid who changes the oil on the family station wagon. Our catch phrases have to do with my mispronunciations of menu items and my fears of water, but our best one is:
"I'm already dehydrated."Long ago, I read somewhere that if you feel thirsty, your body isn't just gently reminding you that it might be time for a glass of water; it's a Level Magenta alarm to let you know that you're already dehydrated. It's too late to stave off the damaging effects of a lack of water; you've already passed that point and you're basically administering life support via H Two Oh.
"Can we swing through the McDonald's drive-through, because I'm already dehydrated."
"Are you going into the kitchen? Because: already dehydrated."
"Put an ice cube in this wine, wouldja? Already. Dehydrated."
And then I got a kidney stone. This was back when I had four-to-six little kids. I only gave birth to three of them, but once the oldest turned 6, we always had at least one playmate at our house. So the day my husband had to rush me to the hospital for what I thought was a chemical fire in my abdomen, our son had a friend over. The drive started out for my doctor's office, then we made a U turn and headed for my OBGYN's office, because I became convinced the chemical fire had caused a spontaneous and miraculous conception and I was in Transitional Labor, about to give birth to something with claws. Just before we got to the freeway entrance ramp, I yelled at him to forget the doctor, screw the OBGYN, and take me directly to the hospital, where I had it on good authority that drugs were plentiful and at the ready.
So into the ER we traipsed, me in a walking fetal position vomiting into a Noodle Kidoodle bag, our oldest son and his friend carrying swords and Go-Gurts, and my husband carrying the baby, a toddler, and a variety of security blankets, pacifiers, sippy cups, stuffed animals, toys, and other forms of comfort.
For me, it would take a lot more than a blankie and a beanie baby to take my pain away. Specifically, intravenous morphine. Intravenous morphine that my husband saw as a gift that just dropped into his lap. After farming out the kids, he sat by my bedside and tried like heck to get me to say something embarrassing. I'm told he took notes. I have seen no evidence of that. Look for more on this in his eulogy at my funeral.
I don't remember much about those three days. But I do have a hazy memory of the urologist swimming into my room and talking to me about the cause of my kidney stone and my husband and I chanting in unison the end of his sentence, "You know, when you feel thirsty you're - (all together now) - already dehydrated!" And then we all laughed and laughed and I got my morphine turned up and went to sleep for 86 hours.
Now that I'm in a constant state of nighttime already-dehydration, I do worry about another kidney stone breaking off, trying to escape down a narrow passageway, where it has no business at all. I drink water every chance I get. I drink from water fountains and from bottled water that's been in the car - it's well worth the risk. And there are a couple supplements I take just because they're huge and they require d. And I'm working on our new couples' catch phrase:
I have to go to the bathroom again.
