Early This pass in the summer, I noticed an ad for cooling sheets on my Instagram feed. No matter how much »Barbie”-related articles I clicked on, I continued to feed on temperature controlled clothing and heating pads as well.
This bizarre combo revealed to me a sad reality: while everyone else was obsessed with a revolutionary film about femininity, mine had taken a hit. So at age 42, I chose to undergo short-term medical menopause – devoting myself to science for the sake of potential motherhood.
A little background first: my relationship with my period has been complicated. It first appeared at Barnes & Noble when I was 11 years old. After that, my cycle was rather predictable and not particularly painful. I spent the next two decades ignorant of the complex inner workings of my reproductive system. But that changed quite abruptly and painfully. Once or twice in my late 20s, I prayed for my period to come. About a decade later, I would give anything for this not to appear in any given month because that would mean pregnancy.
My first pregnancy at 37 happened naturally and easily, but ended at 18 weeks. After another equally traumatic loss, we moved on to IVF. During my three years of fertility treatments, I had poor results, an embryo transfer that was unsuccessful and did not result in pregnancy, chronic endometritis, biopsies and surgeries exploratory tests, including a laparoscopy in March 2022 for a blocked fallopian tube.
I was taught in life that hard work and perseverance in life are rewarded – but when it came to fertility, there was no guarantee of return on investment. Each obstacle was like a blow to my femininity, even to my femininity. My mind and heart were my own, but my body was beholden to a biology over which I had no control.
Another recent biopsy revealed inflammation, which, my doctor told me, was an indication of silent endometriosis. It is a version of the already misunderstood vscondition that affects 20% to 25% women of childbearing age, often with few or no symptoms, and may contribute to IVF failures.
According to this same 2019 study, an an estimated 60-80% of cases of unexplained infertility are associated with undiagnosed endometriosis – a quiet, invisible enemy that terrorizes beneath the surface and can take up to seven years diagnose. It is a mysterious disease that can only be fully detectable through invasive surgery.
And that’s where my little menopause adventure comes in. Another treatment option, aside from surgery, is to take two to three monthly doses of a hormone suppressing treatment called Lupron Depot, or leuprorelin. It is a medicine that removes inflammation outside the uterus that has expanded due to endometriosis – and provides a more stable environment for a viable pregnancy. Some researchers believe that the treatment (especially when used in combination with another drug called letrozole) can increase the chances of successful embryo implantation. But while medically induced menopause has been shown to increase success, it’s also not a decision to be taken lightly.
It’s a brief but exhausting process, with potentially long-term effects or difficult symptoms, including calcium and bone loss – and feelings of depression or even psychosis, I’ve been told. warned. There is also a possibility, although rare, that a period may not return. The icing on the cake is that it is also not always approved by insurance companies, despite its necessity for many people likely to give birth.
I had lamented the loss of time, embryos and pregnancies, and for me, there was only one choice to make before another precious embryo transfer.
Although I was fortunate to not suffer from depression thanks to therapy, my mental health was affected. My identity became tied to my body in a way never before seen, and the more physical blows I took, the more my self-esteem diminished. In brief moments of discomfort, I questioned the process I had entered into, but these intrusive thoughts always ended with gratitude for the science that kept me going.
Fertility psychologist Julie Bindeman advises that when evaluating this decision, “always be sure to get a second opinion and consult your doctor carefully.” It is important to take everything into consideration, both the pros and cons. Especially for women in their 20s, who are further removed from certain symptoms than those in their 40s.
But I had lamented the loss of time, embryos and pregnancies, and for me, there was only one choice to make before another precious embryo transfer. The one that turned my summer into a season filled with endless, steamy moments at home. Hot flashes – which came and went as they pleased – rushed through my body like a roller coaster, pumping out heat, then ice. Random mood swings. An even more random libido.
Physical intimacy suddenly required a choice between desire and discomfort. I wanted to be physically close to my husband, but because being with him caused me to wilt in pain afterward, we decided to end our sex life during treatment. Painful sex is a potential symptom experienced by some people. 190 million women worldwide with endometriosis. I had never taken care of it until then. But it was also a symptom of menopause (due to dryness from a lack of estrogen) and created a dilemma that no woman, regardless of age, should have to face.
I had congratulated myself on how easily I had adapted to IVF medications over the years. But medically induced menopause was different. All physical reactions were visceral and changes rapid. Luckily, I hadn’t suffered from depression, or worse. But dealing with my manufactured hot flashes still had its challenges.
Dr. Aimee Eyvazzadeh, a fertility specialist and reproductive endocrinologist who calls herself the “Egg Whisperer“, said that “surviving leuprorelin comes down to a few simple tips, like a heating pad, access to air conditioning or fans, an acupuncturist, sleeping pills if needed, and support. » She destroys it even more survival guide here.
But self-care and support are more important than tangible essentials. Although it’s less talked about, having an ally is vital, even if you only have one. Beyond the peer group, partner support is crucial for mental health.
This support can manifest itself in various ways. To me, it looked like a partner putting on a sweatshirt when I turned on the air conditioning. As Bindeman says, “They don’t need to be sitting on the roller coaster with you, but they should be standing near the entrance.” My husband endured my most frequent discomforts with greater endurance than usual. Its typically strong-willed nature was replaced with a hug or a silent understanding that these momentary storms of emotion were mostly out of my control.
I didn’t feel like myself last summer, but I gained a better understanding — not just of the importance of layers or hydration — but of something deeper. For the first time ever, I stopped trying to get a “summer body” (whatever that means) and somehow found acceptance in a new evolving body. I had spent so much time during fertility treatments in anxious suspense, but for once I was more focused on each day ahead of me.
Eyvazzadeh also emphasized the importance of mindfulness. She tells fertility patients: “The journey is a marathon, not a sprint, and in this personal race, one day, the finish line will be in sight. »
I am grateful and while continuing to undergo IVF treatments, I am still hopeful for a positive outcome. It hasn’t been easy, but my perseverance and faith in becoming a mother remains strong. It is the driving force that allows me to follow every pill, protocol, and hormone injection.
On the other hand, when the time of natural menopause comes, I will be at least a little prepared. Most women enter this phase without any idea, as it is unfortunately still a taboo subject. But I’ll be ready because of this strange and sudden window into the future…with a set of cooling sheets.
