Disclaimer: My male readers are going to hate this blog post. Dear husband, you still don’t get out of editing today.
My fifteen-year-old daughter had a dermatologist appointment earlier this week. We adore her dermatologist. He is a man, probably in his late fifties/early sixties, who wears bow ties and preppy horn-rimmed glasses. He has a fun, confident, funny, yet kind, bedside manner. Her dermatologist always puts everyone at ease and makes you actually look forward to the appointments. This is a special quality that many doctors do not share, in my experience.
My daughter has been having some acne breakouts, and so we have been in the process of elimination, trying to figure out what combination of medicines and creams will work best for her skin. Her doctor seems convinced that there is a hormonal connection to her breakouts and so they had a frank discussion about her periods. Now, I was in the room and so was a female nurse and I happily observed how confident, and straightforward the conversations about my daughter’s menstruation occurred between she and her dermatologist. I did not sense any level of uncomfortableness or embarrassment from my daughter nor any inappropriateness or creepiness from her doctor. It was a proud moment for me and I realized that perhaps I was the ridiculously immature one in the room, worrying or assuming that it would go any other way. I guess if I’m honest, I was the most likely Beavis or Butthead in the room, out of everyone in there, trying to stifle nervous giggling and red face. (It’s always fun to get a less than flattering “aha moment” about yourself – not.)
Anyway, my daughter’s new medicine has to be taken at a certain point in her cycle, so she whipped out her phone, and opened up an app that told her exactly when her next period was likely to start. She told me that the app is 99 percent accurate. She said that the app keeps a calendar of her moods, her physical symptoms and gives her helpful hints along the way. I was so impressed and I was also a little bit bummed that this app would no longer be apropos for me. So, this morning, I got the bright idea that there might be a magic phone app for menopausal women, which would give me an idea of “Red Alert” days when I might be more apt to want to rip someone’s head off or cry a river over watching, self-induced repeat viewings of Humane Society commercials. I expected that I would find something really good for one of my Favorite Things Friday blog posts.
So here are some of the “goodies” that popped up first, on my menopause app search:
Hormone Horoscope Lite
Menopauze (This one got the highest rating, but it was all in German)
The Hot Years
Easy Psychiatry
Female Forecaster for Men (I kid you, not)
A Walk Through Dementia
Migraine Buddy
So depressing! I’ve never clicked out of an app search, so fast in my life. I don’t know what I was expecting exactly, but that list wasn’t “it.”
So now, I’ve decided that I’m an old-fashioned kind of a gal. My paper calendar and journals, give me enough insight about myself. (and sometimes more than I want to know) Anyway, in today’s world, I sometimes think that there’s not enough mystery left in anything. That’s why TV shows like Stranger Things are so popular. We are craving the “unknown” so much, that the idea of disgusting things, with slimy teeth, from another dimension, popping out of our walls, is strangely appealing. I’ve decided that I’m going to keep the approach to my menopause experience, like it’s Stranger Things. You just don’t know what is going to pop out next, so you just take it as it comes. And dear husband, my paper diaries are suggesting that this could be a Red Alert Day, so don’t you dare download the “Female Forecaster for Men.”