I had another doctor’s visit and broke down and got the Premarin cream. It is super low dose and only stays locally where I put it.
I was horrified at the cost, but since it may cure a few things that ail me, I was willing to take the bite and the minimal risks that came with the medicine.
So I was explaining to husband what the cream did and what it helped. I told him it would get rid of the painful intimacy I’d experienced. Let me say that it was beyond painful, it felt like I was being internally ripped and shredded. And indeed because my insides had become so thin and fragile from lack of hormones [thank you Menopause], that I was ripped inside and then suffered a mild infection.
During the last visit with Palliative Care … and actually the first one also, Rich had discussed happiness and that the only time he ever had a glimpse of joy was when he was making love to me and now….he had rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust…said “That is not possible anymore. I can’t get her into it. She says it hurts.” He said this in front of 3 men. I can tell you exactly how big I felt.
His complaint for years has been that I am not into it like him. I was so sick and tired of hearing it over and over and…over. I looked up and around the room, knowing my face was red. “I suppose that having COPD and extreme exertion while making love and running out of air isn’t exactly conducive to … you know…” I shut up.
Anyway, back to last night.
“So this cream will do what?” he asked.
“Well it will help replenish the moisture in my … you know … and the hormone cream will help my body and I won’t feel like you are ripping me apart right?” It was an embarrassing conversation and hell I decided it was time.
“But it won’t make you like when we first met?” he stood by the kitchen sink.
“Um.” My face was probably confused as all hell. I was looking at a man I’d been with for nearly 20 years. Both of us had aged, both of us had gone through some drastic changes over the years. “I’m not sure what you think this is…” I held up the tube of Premarin Cream. “It certainly is not the fountain of youth and I will never be 40 again.”
“Then if it won’t fix you, what’s the bother?”
He turned and headed into the other room.
What? You cannot turn back the hands of time and the wear and tear on a body. Where the hell was he coming from?
The eternal pessimist. Somehow it became my fault that my body has changed. I wonder.
And actually at this point? Making Love, Sex, Rolling in the Sack, it isn’t as important as just plain quiet intimacy. Emotionally my husband is still 19, the age he went to war.
I’ll never be 39 or 40 again. I cannot turn back the clock. Nor do I want to.