The M word and the poison apple
Ma, you should go ahead and talk to your doctor about that.” My son says and then turns away.
I am Dr. Jekyll turning into Mr. Hyde. I am Dr. Banner turning into the Hulk. I watch my pale winter skin morph, splattered red creeping into my ears, across my cheeks, my chest and my arms. I look like I have a severe sunburn and I feel like it too. I’m a woman on the verge. It’s hit me. Menopause.
“Are you going to be going all crazy?” my son asks only half joking.
“Not any crazier than usual,” I reply. “It’s just a drop in estrogen levels; it’s natural, nothing to worry about,” I say to his quizzical look hoping to allay his fears. But I’ve misinterpreted the expression. This is not an Oh my God, are you okay? look. This is an Oh, my God, why are you telling me this? look. My son is, after all, a man.