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Shedding: Part Five
Every night before firing up an episode of Love Island, I’d stand in front of the mirror and part my hair in five different paths, creating channels for the foam of Minoxidil. Initially, I’d used an expensive serum ordered from one of the semi-helpful, semi-predatory online menopause-product companies that have cropped up to fill the
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Shedding: Part Four
The high was short lived. Even with an increased dose of estrogen, my hair continued to fall. I dreaded showering and hated the hairbrush. Standing up from the chair where I’d been reading became traumatic; all I’d want was to run to the kitchen to grab a square of dark chocolate, but initiating that quest
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Shedding: Part Three
After the appointment with my primary care physician, I messaged my cousin’s wife to report on my experience. As expected, her response was one of exasperation. The hormones available in 2024 were distinctly different from those used in the years of the WHI study, yet the medical establishment, in its conservatism, hadn’t caught up. Complicating
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Shedding: Part Two
Unfortunately, the dramatic reaction to the results of the Women’s Health Initiative study changed the landscape of Menopause Hormone Therapy education, with doctors deciding, often literally overnight, to stop prescribing and medical schools removing instruction from the curriculum. According to Jennifer Roelands, M.D., board-certified OB-GYN, and certified integrative specialist, “We only talked about menopause once
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Shedding: Part One
I ring the buzzer a second time, and once again an automated voice fills the air around shelves of mascaras, protein shakes, eye drops, seasonal chocolates, Scotch tape, and the pharmacy counter: “All available associates: customer service requested in hair care.” All available associates, my brain scoffs. I’ll be surprised if there’s more than the
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All the Little Voice Clips
A voice memo pops into my texts. It’s my friend Zach, and he is teeming with energy.
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Gang of Thieves
Every time he comes into the public library, Marv is mumbling to himself, engaged in an angry conversation with the assholes who live inside his head. Six feet tall, hard faced, his vibe is intimidating, but when he speaks to library staff, Marv’s hissed swearing ceases; unfailingly, he is respectful. Mostly, he’s there to use
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Paved Paradise
Oh, good. There are some open spaces in the lot, so I won’t have to go rogue and park illegally next to the dumpster. With six garbage bags of clothes to donate, I’d been worrying I’d have to hoof them, biceps trembling during multiple trips, for a block or more. I give an appreciative mental
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American Boy
“Get out of the lake right now, or I will fucking shoot you,” he hollers, staring down an invisible sight and into my eyes, his finger threatening to pull the trigger — a notched branch on the stick rifle he has cocked and rested on his shoulder. None of us respond, but if heart rates
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Entropic
Haltingly, I minced my way down the steep hill, head dipped, eyes sweeping the cement for potential hazards. One wrong step could trigger my cranky knee and cause issues for days. Months. Fuck it: years. Before menopause and a sudden rearing of injury, I never understood, in the dark root of me, complaints about joints;
