First draft. Room 212.
She’s been feeling out of sorts for some time now. Neither here nor there, her life a series of procrastinations while she waits for the good stuff to happen. She’s been taught to wait all her life anyways. But/
Something is off. She is suffocating.
Her gynaecologist talks about his kids and about him being single again, his head is still between her legs, his movable lamp is still switched on and on target. When he moves to his desk,( his chair has wheels) he adds “I wonder if it is time, I wonder if you should start treatment. Statistically, you could. You are getting to be that age. Do you have any symptoms?
Symptoms?
She has chaos. Desire and hunger. So much anger too. There is a coup somewhere inside her, an imbalance of power. Some opportunistic organism taking over, either virus or bacteria, or parasite, who knows, she is no doctor, something rubbing her the wrong way. Some kind of infection she needs to overthrow..
An infection, or a virus called life you mean? Hitting you head on? He smiles. I’m pretty sure of my diagnosis, he says. You can’t cheat nature- or M- - - - - for that matter. His tone is a little authoritative now, especially on that last part, it's almost victorious, as if there is a kind of justice after all. It’s inevitable, he says, scribbling on his notepad: Menopause.
Life goes on, that’s pretty inevitable too. She thinks. You are always desirable, always, even as a dead body. The earth will eat you up, insect and beasts with feast on you, nothing of you will be left behind. Springing back with force and beauty. You are always fertile for someone or something.
She notices the doctor must be her age, more or less.
She is unusually quiet.
You didn’t want kids anyways, did you? He asks.
Hormones are communicators, he explains. What you may have is a shortage. A shortage of female hormones?
So/He explains again that/ Hormones are communicators. Communicators. yes. What he can do/ what he will be doing/All he will be doing is replace what is missing. Replete was is depleted. He searches for equivalents…A missing tooth? a missing limb?. Well/in other words: He will provide a pill that will complete/restore/ her womanhood- How about that?
The treatment he prescribes is old. “But if it has worked for decades with no lawsuit attached, then it is safe. You take a pill a day, without a break, and we meet once a year to renew the prescription. Your body will adapt.”…. What if/ She only ever existed in/within breaks?
The pharmacist raised an eyebrow when she showed him the prescription.. “Never heard of that brand” she said. “Once you start replacement therapy, you can t go back you know”
Replacement therapy. Replacing what? Exactly?
She goes home.
Every morning she cooked breakfast for her husband and sat across him to watch him eat. Sometimes he d have a second cup of coffee. It was a small kitchen and it was an understanding between them that she was to make him breakfast lunch and dinner and she apologized almost every morning too as a form of respect or it was just automatic by then, she apologized as a figure of speech perhaps, because there was an understanding between them that it was always a little bit her fault. She was the guilty one at the end of the day. The mornings were quiet. Sometimes the radio was on. Outside, it was either dark or early morning. They had worked out elementary truths between them, and in many ways, she owed him. Or so it had been established. Plus he was the only one working now. She cared for him and about him, and he loved her for it. Or did he? At the beginning of their relationship he would get her breakfast in bed every morning, no matter what.
She watches him eat. She’s been tormented lately.
Are you okay? He asks, annoyed. Yes. She answers.
Every morning, one pill, and that first morning, she leaves the pill on the counter to get him another cup of coffee, and when she turns back around, he has swallowed it.
She gasps
What? He says
She is speechless.
Was it your vitamin?
She shakes her head no.
So???
The next day, he swallows her pill again.
And the day after and the one after that too.
It’s like a magic trick. She places the pill on the table before he arrives, she goes to get him coffee and when she gets back to the table, he’s already sitting down and the pill is gone.
She slowly sits across from him, transfixed.
One morning, he looks at her with unusual intensity, he grabs her hand, his eyes are moist. He has repetitive headaches too. He sleeps a lot more now.
He thinks he's caught something. He says : maybe it is covid. She acquiesces silently.
Another morning, the radio is on, he is getting worked up about something, when suddenly, he breaks into a massive sweat.
What the??? He says in shock. “I don’t even think I have a fever? The match hasn’t even started yet! "
She checks his forehead. All good. He has to peel his clothes off in order to change. He is a little shaky. They hug. He goes to work.
He looks at her as if she is all he has. As if no one exists but her. It’s a roller coaster.
What happened to us? He asks, suddenly full of despair.Then he goes to work, then he comes back, back from his car, before going to work, and kisses her with passion.
The next day he slaps her bottom at the most awkward moment and says: let me get me some of that!
She laughs at first but he looks so hurt, she stops.
He s feeling very vulnerable. He looks lost. They fall asleep like children, holding each other tight.
Do you love me? He asks one night, in the dark.
Yes,
What do you want from me?
Everything?
He has a knot in his throat.
It has to stop, but it doesn’t. It would be dangerous to stop cold turkey. When the pill is not on the counter, he asks for it. To strengthen his immune system he says.
It’s been cold and raining all night, outside the wind is blowing with some force, it is still dark and chilly, when suddenly, he breaks into another sweat. He is soaked again. There s a look of panic in his eyes…I am dying, he says under his breath.
Rage is beating in his veins at time, anger turning into frustration, pain, and love. And affection. And love. And kindness. It’s a roller coaster. He needs her.
He talks about sex a lot. What he is going to do to her, what she is going to do him. He makes sexual innuendos about everything.
He rubs his tears away harshly with his thumb, talks to her about his desperation. This life. The world they live in, what is happening to the world? The outrage. He walks out the door like a cowboy, until his clothes are/get too tight and make him walk different. He s gained a lot of weight.
One morning he doesn’t come down. He doesn’t want to go to work. He won’t get out of bed. Then he calls for her. He looks at her with hatred when she enters the room:
What s happened to you? Why are you so numb? He shouts. Are you taking something? Anti depressant? You’re so distant! I don’t recognise you!
She s looked up the symptoms online. Hot flashes. No libido. Mood swings. No major risks. The heart has to be checked on.
The heart. Yes. Susceptible to hormones we all were, individually, differently, natural or synthetic. A delicate balance. She won’t be taking the pill.
Lana, he calls
His face is all cut. He cuts himself shaving almost every day, It’s thin duvet he has to shave now and his skin gets raw. Do you have any cream I could borrow?
One day, she catches him blankly staring at his breasts in front of the mirror. They lock eyes. "I feel so bloated", he moans on the verge of tears. “I need to go on a diet”. He covers himself.
He’s become so vulnerable..She holds him, comforts him, tells him he is beautiful. They laugh. Do you like what you see? He says with a macho voice.
“ I do”.
He stares at the ceiling absentmindedly.
One morning, he anchors his gaze so deeply into hers, to the very chore of her, as if he is reaching for her soul, as if he is about to sink, reaching for her love, for it all, asking everything at once.
Larry
Yes,
I love you. She says.
I love you too he answers, but then, unusually grave: I think I am going through some kind of mid life crisis, I think I need to see a doctor..