We’ve all seen the exercise bike commercial by now, right? The one where a smug-looking guy gives his rail-thin, fit-looking wife a Peloton. The one where she documents the struggles on a bike during the 30-second commercial. The one that made us want to barf.
Dear Uterus,
The time has come for you to go. And, I’d really like for you to take all your little friends with you. You’ve been a good companion for some of our 54 years together. But the thing is you’ve really outstayed your welcome. To put it bluntly, Uterus, you’ve wreaked havoc on my life right around the time AARP fliers started arriving in the mailbox.
Sure, we’ve been through a lot together, Uterus. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you with all my heart for the early 1990s. You cradled my two babies for nearly 19 months. Healthy, beautiful babies, who have grown into two of my favorite people in the world.
Women going through menopause have questions, so CoolRevolution helped get some answers during a World Menopause Day celebration at Books & Brews in Indianapolis. See the questions from attendees and answers from menopause expert Janet Carpenter, a researcher at Indiana University School of Nursing. IndyStar reporter Dana Benbow moderated the questions and answers. You also can see videos from Facebook Live.
Never heard of period poverty? Count yourself lucky. Because, all over the country, low-income girls and women are suffering through their periods without tampons or pads. Imagine having to figure out how to get through a work day or school day without any supplies. Girls are rushing to the school bathroom using swaths of toilet paper. Or, they aren’t going to school at all knowing there’s little they can do to stop the bleeding and preventing breakthroughs. It’s embarrassing for them. It’s heart-wrenching for those of us who think we can do better. Friday is World Menopause Day, and CoolRevolution wants to do something to help. We’ve teamed up with Family Promise of Hamilton County, an Affiliate of Family Promise,...
I heard the “C” word, but little else. It was June 14, 2012. I stared at a box of tissues in the middle of the doctor’s office thinking, some people probably really need those. I will never need those. I had breast cancer. My doctor was talking. I couldn’t take it all in. I remember my doctor saying: “If you have to have breast cancer, this is the type to have.” That’s really all I needed to hear. It would mean surgery and then seven weeks of radiation, five days a week. I didn’t like the thought of radiation but was glad I hadn’t heard the words mastectomy or chemotherapy. I could do 35 radiation appointments. I had cancer. I...
