“O Lordy- Women Over Forty!!!!” by Susan Sieweke
There are things that happen to women when they are over forty that make me mad at God. Yes, I said mad at God! Don’t get religious on me! Listen up pre-menopausal women! If you tell me you’ve never been mad at God you’re lying! All forty-plus women who have been mad at God at one time or another for giving us our fickle and sensitive anatomy, if you know what I mean!
Let me give you an example. Last month, I went to my gynecologist. As usual, I took a list with me. On the piece of paper was everything I wanted the good doctor to “fix.” Heading the list was PMS, followed by a leaky bladder, and last but not least – sagging breasts. I don’t know why I put my breasts on the list. I knew that insurance wouldn’t pay for cosmetic surgery. I knew that John and I did not have the cash on hand to pay for it ourselves. I think I went temporarily insane while flipping through magazines in the waiting room, looking at all the airbrushed, tightly tucked women. Probably had a fantasy lapse and thought I was a celebrity or something.
Yep. In a vain moment, I marched right into the doctor’s office and asked for a referral for plastic surgery. Never mind that I pee when I laugh, sneeze, cough or jump. On that day, I was driven to get my breasts in shape first. And for what? I don’t know. What would I do with twenty year old breasts? I’m a born again Christian, and a Republican. Couldn’t do anything sinful. Couldn’t even parade around in public wearing a sexy top to show off my new reconstructed bosoms. Bummer. Might as well go to Wal-Mart and get another support bra!
This wasn’t the entire conversation but I’ll bottom line it for you- “Doctor, doctor, my anatomy is sagging, I’m feeling old and ugly and I want new young, firm breast. Yes, I know that God loves me just like I am but that’s beside the point. Do you have a layaway plan?” After healing my desperate pleas, he handed me the pamphlet that contained the surgery info and changed the subject to talk about his own recommendations. “Mrs. Sieweke”, he says, “from the questions you answered on the intake form it seems to me that you could benefit from a bladdertact.” Alright girls, let’s talk about leaky bladders. More specific, lets talk about leaky bladders in the workplace.
Those of you who have a weak bladder and hold down a full-time job outside the home know exactly what I mean. You’re in the middle of a staff meeting and your boss cracks a joke about giving you the raise you never had- and there it goes – a stream of urine down your slacks. Each time it happens you think it won’t happen again because you’re just too young to be dealing with this middle-aged stuff. And then you remember. You’re over forty! Should you make some lame excuse and go home and change underwear or should you just pray to God that no one notices that you’ve just wet your pants? And when you finally get up the nerve to tell your best girl friend at the office what has happened to you she has the gall to recommend that you slip out on your lunch hour and buy some DEPENDS! Is she crazy? Of course you are not going to do that! It would be like admitting the truth about being incontinent! And you might have a wreck on the way to the store and the whole world would find out that you had on dirty underwear.
Pardon me while I digress. It’s unfinished business with my mother – the underwear issue. A religious woman, Mom taught me about modesty from an early age and about the virtue of always wearing clean underwear. Why? So that in the tragic chance I’d be in a car accident or a victim of a natural disaster and out of my right mind, the paramedics would not find me in “grungy undies”.
Back to PMS. If you want to know the truth (I haven’t held anything back from you yet) I blame the whole PMS thing on God. He could have gone a little easier on us women after the fall, don’t you think? I my opinion, He shouldn’t have been so hard on Eve for eating the apple. The truth as I see it is this: Eve was nearing her “time of the month” and was out of her mind with sugar cravings! This was her main motive for eating the apple. The poor girl was having the munchies and the serpent knew it! She was craving carbs when the serpent offered her the apple. Everyone knows that they didn’t have M&M’s back then and she was doing the best she could to keep her serotonin level up! It was low down and dirty for that snake to approach her with food right before she started. Satan knew that during that time of the month there was no way that she’d day “NO”. He knew the weakness of a woman. He knew that when a woman’s cravings for carbs set in, her will power and obedience fly out the window.
Much to the detriment of womankind. – she did eat. She did eat! She did eat! Mercy me. As a woman you know the feelings. Those few days before your period when your appetite peaks. Most women will eat anything remotely sweet that is hanging around – even if it’s a forbidden apple.
As a consequence of disobeying God and eating the “Golden Delicious”, I’m sure God decided that Eve was going to have a little bit more to dealwith than sugar cravings. He was going to pronounce the BIGGEST CURSE on her ever … PMS. PRE-MENSTRAL SIN-DROME! So now, because of Eve and her carbohydrate addiction, women throughout history have been SIN-DROMING for centuries!
So there I was in my gynecologist office begging him to prescribe something, anything that would “Reverse the Curse!” Thank God I have a doctor who cares about PMS’ing women. Whipping out his trusty pen he wrote the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read in my life – a prescription for progesterone drops. Doc told me that just three tiny drops of this liquid on the skin on my tummy would put my hormones back into balance and help reverse the curse! Yippee! I thought. No more mood swings! No more night sweats. No more tears! Free at last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, I’m Free at last! I was sure that he could hear me singing this victory song in the privacy of my heart.
But wait, it wasn’t over. By the look on his face, I could tell that the good doctor was about to lay another recommendation on me. Just when I felt hopeful and secure, he looked up from his bifocals and asked, “How long has it been since you’ve had a mammogram?”
Shuckins! There it was. The dreaded question just when I thought I was safe.
“Five years”, I answer reluctantly.
“Five years?” he said with a tone of disapproval and adds a mammogram recommendation to my treatment plan. O.K. Who invented those breast mashing machines anyway? Nazis? Serial killers? Five years ago I wrote a song after a mammogram that helps to express my feelings about the torturous procedure. It’s called “Thanks for the Mammogram” and it’s supposed to be sung to the tune of “Thanks for the Memories.” The doctor was fortunate that I did not sing it to him…
Thanks for the mammogram!
My breasts are cancer free
There are no lumps in meIt wasn’t nice, felt like a vice
Was squeezing my boo – bies
Ouch! Thank you so much!
Thanks for the mammogram
My doctor I will pay
So I can proudly say
I helped to buy that wealthy guy
A mansion and a maid!Oh thank you so much!
What do you think? Doesn’t this tell it like it is? I’m sure you’ll agree that after a mammogram, it stands to reason that a woman might need reconstructive surgery on her breast!
It was clear as crystal to me. First the mammogram, then the plastic surgery to repair the damage! I had an excuse for mortgaging our house to fix my sorely mashed bosoms! I’ve never thought of it like this before. After a mammogram, a boob job is a medical necessity for a woman my age even if the insurance company doesn’t agree!
All in all, PMS, leaky bladder and sagging boobs not withstanding, I’d rather be forty-something and in need of repair than the alternative! Like King David said, “The dead praise not the Lord”. I still have a lot of living to do to fulfill God’s plan for my life! All of a sudden I’m cheering up; it’s not so bad to be a “ Church Girl” over forty!
And by the way, you can’t put a breast job on lay-a-way but some plastic surgeons let you put them on your charge card! Halleluiah!
