Permanent Menstrual Syndrome

Not good. Let me say that again...NOT GOOD. This last week proved to be a steep mental and physical challenge for me as I had a bout of some of the worst cramps and PMS this side of my adult life. There were moments of moaning, groaning, crying, ranting, raving, stewing, brewing, chewing (AB's head off, that is) and overall cranky displays of bad behavior. Still, when we're in that fog we call PMS - we don't always "own" up to these slight disturbances on the radar of life.

When I found AB hiding in the closet with only a flashlight, a bottle of beer, and a "Popular Sci*nce" magazine my first thought was that a tornado was coming and he had forgotten to alert me. Instead, it became clear to me that the "tornado" had already blown in and was hovering about two mili-inches away from AB's every move and word. The last resort in these worst-case scenerios is apparently to seek refuge and duck for cover.

Yes, the husband of my dreams had been ensnared in several days worth of drama, caught in my litany of complaints, mood swings, and random balls of fire projecting out of my eyes at even the slightest infarction. He had taken to the old "stop, drop, and roll" method and was trying to stay out of my line of fire, as much as husbandly possible.

Here was a typical conversation:

AB: Babe, have you seen my red hat?
CB: Am I my husband's hat keeper? Do I look like I am all-knowing of red hats?
AB: (stammering)....well, no, it's just that you had it in your hand the other day - I think you were putting it up...but it's not here now?
CB: OH! So now it's my fault that your precious RED HAT has gone and disappeared. You know what?!?! You know what?!?! (I often repeat myself when I'm irrationally PMS'y) Why don't you just call the Red Hat Police! I'm sure they will be happy to come right on over and pull it out of my #@(*&@(#*&$! Because you know what? That's where I'm hiding it! Right up there where the sun don't shine just to piss you off. Because that's the stuff that makes the marriage world go round, mister man!
AB: Ok...I'll just wear the black hat.

or how about this one -

AB: Dinner is served, my love! (presents me with a beautiful roast and potatoes)
CB: Looks great!
AB: And there is way more where that came from for you!
CB: Really? (lips pursed)
AB: ...yeeahh...(looks a little afraid)
CB: Really? So is that code for "you're butt is big as a barn and GOD KNOWS you'll want seconds - nay - thirds!! Is that code for "my gawd, it sure is tough feeding the hungry, hungry hippo?"
AB: NO! I just wanted you to know there was plenty if you wanted more?!? (Confused and looking like a deer in headlights)
CB: Oh, is that so? So when I walked in the room, are you telling me that shocked look you were giving me after you saw my stretch pants wasn't you saying to yourself "she sure is asking a lot of that material!"
AB: What? I didn't even notice your pants!
CB: Of course you didn't. You never do. You never notice anything I wear.
AB: What is happening here? I made you dinner...there's more...I want to eat dinner. Why? Stop the insanity?
CB: Ohhhhh, so now I'M CRAZY!

and so on...

These are examples, mind you. I can't actually remember any of the events that take place while I'm in extreme Permanent Menstrual Syndrome mode. It's all a blur of raw emotionally draining episodes that span about a week. Only this time was far worse than any I can remember. AB agrees. Like an alien came to dwell in the pod for a week and then went his merry way after toying relentlessly with my poor hubby. Some sort of sick science experiment of how much one married man can take.

But let me tell you - he was a gem. When the pain from the cramps was too much to take, and I was literally crumpled over in pain - when way too many pills had not done their job (so much for even having pms pills) and when even hours with a heating pad had had virtually no affect - this darling man did what any self-perserving husband would do in his situation. He got me drunk. Oh yes, he did. I hate drinking and I'm not a fan of alcohol. I just don't like the taste. But he woo'd me with promises that when nothing else had worked, surely alcohol would numb the pain and I would at least be able to take the edge off. He pleaded with me to "trust" him - and so I did. He presented me with a large glass, full to the top and let's face it, wreaking of nose biting alcohol. I drank the entire thing in desperation.

Let me digress for a moment - I'm a total lightweight. Knowing this about me, my dear hubby truly knew that one glass down would be at least three hours of peace and quiet for him.

And was he ever right. In ten minutes, not only was I feeling no pain (a huge accomplishment after so many hours in misery) but I was downright happy to be alive. He gently coaxed me down the hall toward down-comforter bliss and there I collapsed in a heap on the bed, where I slept off the worst remaining pieces of my PMS. When three hours later, I awoke in more pain - he did what any man in survival mode would do - he brought me another drink of the same size and potency and once again I slipped into happy delirium. I spent the remainder of my night happily existing in a dream-like state and my sweetheart was able to fly under the radar of my wrath for a whole afternoon.

The weekend ended well, with us attending the hilarious broadway show "Spamalot". Truly, I am not a fan of Monty Python at all - but for Father's Day, I surprised AB with tickets because I know he has been wanting to see this show forever. In reality this show was just too funny not to crack up at! I laughed and laughed, but that was nothing compared to AB who sang and quoted right along with the cast. I felt it was only fair that he have a good end to such a ROTTEN week with me.

Tonight, you would not even know that my beloved had spent the last week avoiding death rays and flying objects. You would not know to look at him that he had survived the Tornado of '07 or that he had sucessfully diverted disaster with the cunning use of alcohol. You wouldn't know it, because there he was - snuggling, smooching, and hugging on his wife. There he was presenting an amazing dinner and proudly waiting for her approval of the meal. You wouldn't think this same man almost had his head taken off fourteen times by the same woman only a few short days ago.

No, you wouldn't think it to look at him - but it's definitely why I married him. Because he puts up with my nonsense, and just when I think he couldn't possibly forgive my bad days - he's there forgiving and forgetting and moving on. And that, my friends is love and marriage for ya.

And for those who are wondering if any of this really happened, the answer is yes and no. Was it as bad I as make it sound - yes and no. Some days were worse than others and some days were uneventful. But re-telling it with such embellishment makes it more fun to re-tell! I hate PMS - darn that EVE and her stupid Apple!


**Wish I could tell my secret - but it just has to wait - maybe by Thursday or Friday? Who knows...