What men think about the menopause
Men and menopause: "Hot flash - I can not hear that anymore!"
I'm not a man who shies away from female abdominal issues, on the contrary. For Petra, the woman I've been married to for 22 years, I've been buying sanitary napkins, panty liners, and tampons. I've been present at the birth of our two daughters, and I even know what damn cuts and cakes are. So, from an estrogen point of view, I would call myself a hardened one, a man who knows how to deal with the often complicated abdominal well-being of one's own wife knowledgeably and calmly. Normally I relaxed my breakfast roll when Petra told me about her "spotting, fortunately nothing serious", also a discussion with her pregnant sister, whether she should give birth to her placenta after birth or not, could not stop me bring the version.
Especially since I'm not asked anyway for my opinion, but in these talks, the silent listener on the wall, whose presence you completely forget. But so I'm probably one of the few men who knows what Kindspech is - the green-black intestinal contents that the baby makes in the womb.
As I said, as far as the inner workings of women are concerned, I am tougher. That's why I found Petras hot flash, which she caught in the finest restaurant in our city, even weird. There she sat, my otherwise cool and controlled wife, deep red like a lobster, sweat-drenched, and waving coolly with the menu. "What's up with you?" I laughed. "Was the soup too hot?" - "It would be nice," her smile was tedious, "but these are my hot flashes, I've been around for some time."
Honestly, I was quite happy not to have been privy to her menopausal symptoms from the beginning, and sometimes I wish it stayed that way. I love Petra wholeheartedly, but her now three (felt 30) years lasting climacteric, which seems to have no end, is also very exhausting for me. Especially since she has many friends of the same age who are either before, in the middle or shortly afterwards. And nothing seems to inspire the very welcome openness of this emancipated generation of women as the menopause, whose horror facets I am now more familiar than I ever wanted to be.
Dry labia, weight loss, hair loss, loss of libido, osteoporosis are so for years discussed in all the unexplained details of conversation at our kitchen table when I'm tired from the job and just want to drink my beer in peace. Slowly it annoys me how long these menopause drag on. There is a lot more fun than being woken up three times a night, because the wife just had a hot flash and bed linen has to be changed. Sure, I'm not sweaty right through to my shirt, but I still have to get up and get fresh sheets. Best cheering "La Paloma" whistling, because Petra is then always ready.
In the meantime, I can no longer smell patchouli, jasmine or sandalwood - these are the bath salts recommended by experts for the climacteric-afflicted woman. At the moment, unfortunately, she almost never feels like having sex. The world regrets the women, but who really regrets their men? On the one hand, I envy Petra and her friends for this merciless openness, which knows absolutely no taboos. Certainly great, if one exchanges on tips and trends, unimaginable to talk at the men's table about whether you prefer "pumping" with enlarged prostate pumpkin seed or familiar medicine. Nevertheless I would like to be able to shout loudly at this point: "I can not hear the word hot flush anymore !!!!"
