Hello, Menopause, Can You Hear Me?

Suzanna Parpos

I officially became a woman during computer technology class. Thirty-three years later, not much has changed since I got my first period – I’m still in 7th grade and at the same middle school where I once rocked my Aqua Netted bangs. Okay, so maybe some things have changed – I left those bangs in the early 90s, and the first time around in 7th grade, I had yet to experience childbirth. 

Middle school, the second time around has me at the same height, although the circumference of multiple body parts (thighs and such) has expanded – thank you perimenopause. Ah, yes, perimenopause – the reason for my multiple break-ups: the probability of ever getting my thighs, hips (and such) to bunny hop their way back into the size 0s or 2s was just too damn high to justify keeping the denim in my closet. 

The first time I was a Wildcat, the chestnut color of my hair was natural, cellphones weren’t a thing and single motherhood wasn’t how I envisioned my future in parenthood. In life’s sometimes quirky ways, or more so, in God’s intentional grace, I found myself coming full circle. Three years ago, after COVID shifted the way special education paperwork was processed, my position in a local school district was eliminated. My job search led me “home” and the middle school where twelve-year-old-me officially entered into womanhood is now the middle school that forty-something-year-old-me is coping with perimenopause’s pandemonium. (P.S. This full-time working single mom left her mom-side part in her 30s, and her most happy-filled memories from middle school (and the ones she misses the most) are the ones shared when her son was a Wildcat, too.)

In my youth, the vision for my future didn’t include me working in the school my child attended, let alone it being the same school of my preteen years. But for much of adulthood, the pitches I’ve seen at the plate have been curveballs…

Relocation from the Northeast to the mid-Atlantic and then back, again, to the Northeast. 

Emergency c-section and preeclampsia three days after delivery; every day I live with a heart full of gratitude that my son and I survived our respective childbirth complications.

Every day, I carry that same gratitude for the other hard things my child and I have made it through..

Life’s curveballs have been many—and at times, bittersweet. On the blindside, divorce was simultaneous with motherhood; I received my life’s greatest blessing (my son) while navigating the sudden ending of a fifteen-year relationship.

Many years later, another blindside came, following another long-term relationship. What relationship is that? The one I have with migraines. 

For twenty years, my migraines were cruel, but they were manageable and graciously predictable. In my twenties and thirties, I experienced migraines in sprint-form—a defined duration of torture lasting a day or two before my period. Then one day in my forties, in the middle of a work day, perimenopause changed the terms and conditions of my migraines during 8th Grade Civics & Government class. 

Perimenopause was an all-around, legit blindside. No one ever talked about this phase of womanhood—or maybe I was living under a rock and didn’t know it.

All I knew was that one day, in computer technology class, I got my first period. My understanding of that significant life event was:

• I’m officially a woman.

• My body is now able to reproduce.

• With the exception of pregnancy, I’ll have a monthly period until one day, in my fifties, my period will stop when I’ve reached menopause. 

• P.S. There will be hot flashes, night sweats and weight gain.

I didn’t know there was such a thing as a perfect perimenopause outfit, but at a routine visit, my gynecologist told me I was wearing “the perfect perimenopause outfit.” 

With layers (i.e., a tank top worn under a cardigan), I conquered the rapid fluctuation between hot and cold flashes. I got over the breakups with my favorite pairs of jeans. But the new form of migraines that perimenopause brought? Damn. The “sprint” became a marathon, with durations of migraines running two to three weeks strong. 

Perimenopause has schooled me in the sinful complexity of migraines. Isn’t it ironic that I worked in a school when that lesson was learned? 

The inability to retrieve and speak words, the loss of mobility on one side of the body – it’s all fair in migraine and aura.

I never thought I’d miss my migraine days of yore. I miss the simplicity of how my migraines used to be before the secret stage of womanhood [perimenopause], that no one ever talked about, took the migraines from mean girl to straight up bitch. 

I like simplicity – I always have, and it’s not just with migraines that I like low-key; it’s how I celebrate special occasions. The complexity of perimenopause migraines has me begging for menopause. And with that, I have this to say (or sing) to menopause…

Hello, it’s me.

I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.

To go over everything

They say that times supposed to bring ‘ya but I’m still waiting.

Hello, can you hear me?

I’m in perimenopause dreaming of being migraine-free.

When I was younger and didn’t know how it’d be

I was clueless how it’d feel before you ended completely.

There’s such a difference in perimenopausing me

It’s been a million days.

Hello, menopause

I’ve migrained a thousand times

And I’ll tell you I’m sorry for ever complaining about you before

And now I call, but you never seem to be home.

Hello from perimenopause

At least I can say that I’ve tried

To find the humor in you taking my words

But you don’t care, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart to be complex.

Hello, how are you?

It’s so typical of me to talk about myself, I’m sorry

I hope that you’re well

Did you ever make it easy on anyone or is it always hell?

It’s no secret that the both of us

Are in need of this break.

So hello from perimenopause

I must’ve called a thousand times

To tell you I’m ready for everything that you bring

But when I call, you never seem to be home. 

Hello from perimenopause

At least I can say that I’ve tried

To find the humor in you taking my words

But you don’t care, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart to be complex.

Suzanna Parpos is a single mom and writer who works in the field of special education. For ten years, she wrote a biweekly newspaper column in the Framingham TAB. Suzanna’s work has also appeared in The Boston Globe Magazine, MetroWest Daily News and Worcester Magazine, among several other publications. When she isn’t rewriting lyrics to Adele songs, Suzanna is in her very broken-in, faded blue FFD baseball hat baking traditional Greek cookies. Find her at: www.suzannaparpos.com.