Menopause: Black Swan Style

My cousin Betty is 10 years older than I and since neither of us had a sister, we kind of adopted each other to fill the void.  As her “little sister”, she often coached me on things like motherhood and of course more recently: menopause. She would tell me that when her hormones surged, she could feel her evil twin (as she called it) emerge.

One of last year’s best motion pictures was The Black Swan. I loved it. It was dark, creepy, and suspenseful. The sounds effects alone made me squirm (like the sound of Natalie Portman’s toenail being ripped off).

Being the dramatic and weirdly imaginative person that I am, I believe this movie is actually an allegory for menopause. This is my version of menopause—black swan style:

I am Natalie Portman, dressed in all in white, hair neatly pulled up into a tight knot on top of my head. I am in point shoes, up on my toes with my wrists and hands flitting gracefully like little wings as I travel along on the stage of life. I am happy happy happy! My family and friends are in the audience admiring and encouraging my total loveliness. I am obedient and submissive.

But….up in the glass control room overlooking the stage lurks the stoner-y looking pituitary man.(I am not sure why I need him to be stoner-y looking but it is critical at least  that he be a man) In his control room he has  switches that look like huge glider-type dimmers. Each one regulates a different hormone: estrogen, progesterone, FSH, thyroxin and testosterone.  Wickedly, just to see what power he really has over me, in the middle of the act, he starts manipulating the switches. Some he cranks up, and others he cranks down….. Until it happens: the pretty little white swan (that would be me) turns ebony with giant glossy black wings. My pupils turn deep glowing crimson red and in a raspy defiant Darth Vader voice announce It’s my turn. The audience (my family and friends) gasps in disbelief. The evil stoner pituitary man takes another hit of weed and laughs ha ha ha in his control room. The good little white swan (my former self) falls to her death never to be resurrected again.

And that (for those of you yet still unfamiliar with the sensation of midlife hormonal surges) is what menopause is all about Charlie Brown-- black swan style.