About a year ago I felt some discomfort in my lower abdominal, later to be decided to be my ovaries. After many people had a say (and hand) in what was going on, I received a few remedies to "encourage" the eggs to jump off the ovaries and to soften the outer shell making it easier for them to detach. This went on for so long that people would often ask me how I was feeling, and those braver who were following this unfurling saga would ask specifically about my ovaries.
I suffered months and months of discomfort, and finally after enduring a variety of doctors, tests, and referrals, the word "hormones" crept into the picture. Hmm. That changes everything. Not really, but it was then that I realized I was no longer 26 with an egg or two going through a rough patch, but rather that I'm 47 and my hormones are stepping out of bounds, my eggs are becoming decrepit, and they have forgotten to do what they've done so perfectly for so many years.
In hindsight, for me middle aged began when "ovary" became an everyday word.
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| Middle ages Middle-aged. Aren't you glad I didn't post an ovary?...because I thought about it. |
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The ideas gained by men before they are twenty-five are practically the only ideas they shall have in their lives. ~William James
