Women's Troubles and the Men Who Have Them

No, this post isn't going to be about men dealing with out-of-control-and-oh-so-unreasonable women in their lives. Sorry. Although, when one talks of women going through "The Change" one is prone to talk about those types of occurrences, isn't one?

I stumbled across this article (H/T ToM.com) about this man who has been dealing with the symptoms of menopause due to his treatments for prostate cancer. The tip of the iceberg:

I was in the middle of treatment for an aggressive case of prostate cancer last winter, and it included a six-month course of hormone therapy. My Lupron shots suppressed testosterone, which is the fuel for prostate cancer.

Read it all, cause that quote really only begins to tell the fun sordid story of a man suffering what women only wish the other gender could know what is like. (Yeah, I'm sure that sentence structure made a few of you cringe. :^P )

What struck me about Mr. Jennings situation was the similarities to my husband's reaction to his RA medications. He's not experiencing all the same things, but he does have the night sweats and hot flashes (to a degree). Now if he could only experience the mood swing roller-coaster, he'd get a fuller view of what we have to go through. Although, I'd probably experience a bit of "be careful what you wish for" regret at his manic behavior.

To top off my women's troubles theme here, I received an email from a friend who has allowed me to share her horrifying experience only on the basis I keep her anonymity. I couldn't not share this priceless story after I read it, so promise made. Here is the email:

I am only sharing this with you, because I know you won't let anyone know it was me. I'll just end up as one of those emails you get from people about some person somewhere having a, let's say unique experience.

Last month, during "the monthly visit," I decided to wear the oldest pair of panties I owned. I figured, if I was gonna have a leak, I wouldn't care too much. Right? Well, I also happened to purchase a rogue package of Always™ sanitaries in which they used what was the equivalent to superglue for the bonding material.

I was in {Redacted} and had that call of nature every woman fears and detests when in public during that time. (Yes, I know, I don't like going in public anyway, and I don't, when I can help it. Not some weird phobia, mind you, just a need to be in control somewhat of the germs surrounding my delicates, you see.) Everything was going normal. No line, so I got right in a stall. That's when my master plan of old panties went sour. Damn you, Always™ employee who replaced the regular stuff with superglue! Damn you to Heck!! When I went to pull the old pad off, the crotch of the panties came with. Literally disintegrating my underwear! I sat there for a full (what I'm sure wasn't quite as long as it felt) minute in total disbelief and quite sure I was having one of those hallucinations you, Apple, normally get when you are stupid and try to handle all of life's ills without telling people so that friends and family want to maim you if they weren't so frakkin' worried about you. There I was, during that time of month, unable to wear tampons, not that I had one in any case, with no undergarment to secure the replacement pad to. I had a panic attack, and one so bad that the lady in the next stall tried to calm me down. After reassuring her I was, at least, medically ok, I considered my options. I could send someone for {Redacted SO} and hope he could at some point find a lull in female bathroom traffic in order to help me out. I could ask some kind helpful soul to lend me a spare pair of panties. No, that would be silly! I chose what I felt was the least likely to let anyone else know the horror I found myself experiencing. I literally covered the crotch of my jeans in all the extra sanitaries I had in my purse. It was an Always™ diaper! And, because I was horrifyingly embarassed at what I had to do, I pulled up my pants, washed my hands, and exited to find {Redacted} and leave the store as fast as humanly possible so I could get home and shower and wash this bad bad day away from me!

My sister, {Redacted}, pointed out the sanity afterwards. I could have simply bought a new outfit and changed in the bathroom. Too bad, at the moment I needed it most, sanity was out to lunch. Sigh! Moral of the story: do not wear underwear past its expiration date.