After a harrowing, sleepless night, I have thoughts.
I only seek solutions in the desperate, crisis moments. Give me all the meditations; an appointment with the therapist I stopped seeing 5 years ago because I was totally fine; the book he suggested back then but I didn’t read because, totally fine. I chased all of these things immediately after getting out of bed (not after waking, that is — there’s no waking if no sleeping).
Perimenopause symptoms were not confined to that inferno chapter, as I assumed. OH NO, they are just tricks in a bag that you carry with you forever (maybe? I trust nothing now) and they may jump out and breathe madness all over you when you’re in the dentist’s chair and she’s chattering about her college days and her kids and the panic winds its way around your limbs and settles in the center of your body. You will shiver and not sleep and you won’t be able to blame it on peri, if it’s supposedly over. I had a full week of vertigo this month and WTF? Post-menopause? Oldish lady? World aflame?
The grinding of teeth is a real thing and I do it, just like they said a few years back and maybe I should have taken it more seriously. Stress grinding? Let’s recap: I spent the morning frantically writing postcards to voters in a desperate, grassroots attempt to save the republic (they look very third grade, but went into the PO box with a flourish). Then, I went to the dentist (driven by Steven because my anxiety won’t let me drive that far alone, totally fine), where I got the very bad news about the grinding and the need for NOT ONE but TWO crowns, one on the tooth that she filled A MONTH AGO because I broke it grinding (or she’s a bad dentist, which I’ll never know because they’re like mechanics, you just have to trust and suffer). She wants to make me a very expensive mouth guard now and has me sufficiently terrified of the outcome if I don’t do all of these things. I went home and bloomed into FULL BODY PANIC, a thing I haven’t experienced since the worst days of perimenopause and had relegated to the past because, as you’ve read, I’m TOTALLY FUCKING FINE. I didn’t sleep, tossed and shivered and pushed down panic nausea all night, freaking all the way out about the inevitable dentist appointments, worried about my aunt (like a sister) who is getting her second breast cancer surgery today, and my uncle, who is tipping rapidly into the final stages of Alzheimer’s, and my father who is recovering from recent surgery a little too slowly for my taste, and my dear old friend who has just started chemo, and my brother whose recent accident has shattered my heart, and my other friend whose husband is struggling, AND I have a noon appointment to get the Covid booster.
The dentist is a nice Russian lady who told me I need to relax. Everyone is afraid of the dentist, right? Is anyone actually RELAXED?
I got a crown from a different dentist a few years ago (post meno) and there was little to no panic. What’s going on? (I also got a few crowns during peri and the panic was high crisis. Different story, the hormones wrote that one.)
Why is the search for a dentist like Russian roulette? I have a very expensive literal Russian and I have no idea if she’s good. My favorite dentist retired years ago and I still haven’t forgiven him.
My husband keeps asking me if I’m watching the polls and NO I’M NOT WATCHING THE POLLS. I’m scribbling on postcards with a fist of rainbow sharpies, saying silent prayers to gods who are unacquainted with me. Watching the polls, indeed — does he not smell the panic?
I’m desperate for the therapist to email me back. I’m using the word desperate a lot. A dentist has ruined my autumn. Or is it the stress?
I know, perspective. I don’t have cancer or Alzheimer’s. I’m lucky to be able to access dental care. I know. It’s still hard. I’m still a (hopefully temporary) mess.
Welcome to all my new subscribers! It isn’t always like this, I promise, I’m not usually running on sleep-deprived panic. Shit happens! Tell me about your shit and we can commiserate (and please drop any dentist survival tips).
“I will never, ever, in all my life get over how much beauty is revealed when we share our deepest suffering.” Cheryl Strayed
Things to share, including more writing about my midlife dance with panic:
“Panic at the Grocery” is about, well, panic at the grocery.
“Grace on a Bad Day,” about how two small girls saved me from myself.
Reading some surprisingly dark and unsettling short stories by Hilary Mantel, and a very good memoir about a dying mother. Probably not the best material for anxiety nights.
James Clear slid into my mail while I was writing this regrettably unhinged missive. His short, sharp newsletter is thought-provoking and often helpful. This quote stopped me, it’s like he knows about my dentist situation.
“Without altering the facts of the situation I am facing and without ignoring the reality of what must be done, what is the most useful and empowering story I can tell myself about what is happening and what I need to do next?” - James Clear
Okay, enough madness for one newsletter. I have more postcards to scribble on and I need to keep refreshing my email because the therapist may respond. Maybe I should also call, or does that telegraph desperation? Do I care?
Hope you’re all doing better than me today, and hope next week finds me all put back together, even if it’s just with twine and sharpies.
Lisa
Still, look at what you created! Great.
I often feel like I start each day held together, as you aptly described, by “twine and sharpies.” Loved this essay!