I know you’re blue. Many years ago your buddy uterus was taken away and left you floating in a sea of the unknown. Sure, you’ve tried to make new friends. But bladder is always leaking your secrets and really, no one wants to hang out with bowels. I get it.
I’m only forty years old. Not even quite, if you’re taking stock, and its too soon to say goodbye. I understand. You worked overtime for years. Proving your potency five times. I appreciate you, I really do, even if I didn’t say it enough.
So you’re tired of your job. You don’t want to keep on providing fresh eggs only to have them fall into the abyss that was once my reproductive organs. It’s okay. Hormones are making you cranky. It’s only right that you’d want to walk. You’re hot, you’re tired and if there won’t ever be more babies, what’s the point in keeping active.
I promise to take care of you in your twilight. I will feed you healthy, wonderful foods and sneak you chocolate once in a while. I will open the window at night when you’re so hot and sweaty you wonder if you’ll ever remember what cool felt like. I promise to help you sleep by thinking beautiful thoughts and filling your dreams with such splendors that you won’t *want* to wake up two or three times a night. I’ll buy you funky earrings to make you feel pretty.
Our time is slowly, slllooooowwwlly coming to an end. I hear it will take 2-10 years for us to truly part. How fortunate we are that we had such a relationship for a time. But like all good things, it must eventually end.
Try not to be so sad as you fade away. Menopause is just a word, but you created life and to me you are magnificent.
Dear half ovary:
You were filled with cysts and caused me great pain. You suck. Don’t let the small intestines hit you in the ass on the way out.