Two months ago I had to make an emergency visit to my gynecologist's office. The reason? Well, it was hard to explain. Actually, it had to do with--well--you know, the intimacy thing. More precisely? Uh---pain. Like uncomfortable, sandpaper grating my insides, trying to pass a watermelon back through the keyhole. Yeah, that kind of pain. Fortunately, my NP, Angela, had hear this complaint from more than one post-menopausal woman. Apparently, vaginal atrophy (shrinking of the vaginal tissues) and dryness (self-explanatory) are common results of a decrease in estrogen levels. I knew something about the dryness; not so much about the shrinking vah-jay-jay. Angela prescribed a low estrogen cream. I was so excited, I ran right over to Rite Aid to get the prescription filled. The problem was, my insurance company doesn't cover brand names, and low estrogen creams don't come in generic form. However, if I wanted to pay $150, the pharmacist would be happy to ease my pain. Sorry, what? And, like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
This little episode had me seriously considering whether sex after fifty was even worth the effort, not to mention the hours wasted running to the gyno office before work, two different drugstores only to be told there were no generics available for any of the meds my practitioner had suggested, and the lost sleep from sitting up Googling affordable alternatives (Replens, by the way, is a winner.) Why the heck was I bothering? Didn't I have enough sex to last me a lifetime?
Well, for one thing, there was the significant other. He's actually a long distance S.O. making the whole issue of intimacy less bothersome than if I had a live-in. On the flip side, on the rare chances we do get together, the experience I'm hoping for isn't one of excruciating pain. A mood killer if there ever was one. The second thing is that--unexpectedly and surprisingly--I discovered that menopause not only doesn't destroy the libido, but there is a resurgence of lust and desire as powerful as any teenage boy's.
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