The Menopause Support Group

By Heather Wardell

Three women, one menopause support group, and a whole lot of hot flashes.

Emily's perfect plan for becoming a mommy in her twenties has just been shattered by a cancer-removing hysterectomy, and her anger is all-consuming.

Michelle's been laser-focused on getting a promotion... until early menopause (at thirty-nine??) hit her hard last year. Now that she can't have a baby, she's obsessed with them. And also with getting that promotion.

Sixty-four-years-young Brenda takes care of everyone, whether they want her to or not. She's actually finished with menopause, but she's faking symptoms so she won't lose the group and the opportunities for "helping" others it provides.

The three of them and their fellow group members work through career crises, marriage disasters, and the world's worst birthday celebration as they learn together what it means to be a woman in menopause and beyond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Wardell
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781988016061

Heather Wardell

Want a free monthly story and updates about Heather's books? Copy bit.ly/HW-NL into your browser's address bar to sign up.Heather is a natural 1200 wpm speed reader and the author of twenty-two novels. She came to writing after careers as a software developer and elementary school computer teacher and can’t imagine ever leaving it. In her spare time, she reads, swims, walks, lifts weights, crochets, changes her hair colour, and plays drums and clarinet.Generally not all at once.

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Author's Note

The Menopause Support Group is the seventeenth book in my Toronto Collection of loosely interconnected novels all set in Toronto. You don't need to have read any of the previous books to understand this one, and there are no spoilers here for the others. sIf you'd like to read them all in order, though, visit my website to download a printable list of all books and where you might find spoilers (http://heatherwardell.com/files/Heather-Wardell-Book-List.pdf).

Whether you've read all of my books (starting with my free novel Life, Love, and a Polar Bear Tattoo) or are just finding me now, thank you so much! If you'd like a free short story every month, please check out my Readers' Group at http://heatherwardell.com/.

Heather

CHAPTER ONE

EMILY

Emily MommySoon, January 16, 3:00 pm

This is it, my friends! Colin and I are in my doctor's waiting room about to start our pre-conception checkup. Once we hear that all clear it'll be baby-dance time. We'll have our first baby by Christmas, I'm sure, and I'll finally be a mommy! #blessed

John Patrick, January 16, 3:01 pm

I am so not the audience for this post.

Liz Smith, January 16, 3:02 pm

John, shut it. Em, I'm so happy for you! You'll have to change that MommySoon name to MommyNow in no time. And you'll adore baby-making sex. It's the best!

John Patrick, January 16, 3:04 pm

Liz, my cousin's never had sex and she never will and you won't convince me otherwise. Gonna log off and bleach my brain now.

Jenny Andrews, January 16, 3:05 pm

Ignore him, Em, and congrats! I'm loving being pregnant and you will too.

Jenny Andrews, January 16, 5:17 pm

Yo, Emily, where's our update? You too busy getting it on with my brother? LOL

Jenny Andrews, January 17, 9:19 am

Hello?

Liz Smith, January 17, 9:49 am

Emily, you okay? I texted you like three times yesterday.

Jenny Andrews, January 18, 2:00 pm

Emily, seriously. Where are you? You haven't been offline this long since we met. And my bro's not answering either. Is something wrong??

CHAPTER TWO

MICHELLE

Got any big plans for Easter this weekend?

I shake my head. Working, mostly. With a huge deadline Tuesday, I don't have a choice, although I gave in to my mom's begging and agreed to come over for dinner Sunday. You?

Doctor Clark shrugs. The kids are coming home from university, so a lot of noise and requests for money, probably.

My smile is forced. Kids. Again, always, the kid thing these days. It's the other reason I don't want to spend tons of time with my family this weekend. I love my nephew and niece, but seeing them is so hard for me now.

He shoots a glance at my chart on his computer screen. And what are we doing today?

Well, I—I guess we're wondering whether I'm in menopause.

Mm. He looks at the chart again. You're only thirty-nine. Seems unlikely.

Hearing my actual age out loud feels strange. True, but... I still think... I think maybe.... Why is this so hard? At work I never stumble over my words, never hedge or sound like I have any doubts.

But I know why. Again, always, it's the kid thing.

He lays his hands on the keyboard and says, When was your last period?

I last remember one at Halloween.

He raises one eyebrow at me, something I've long wished I could do. That's almost six months ago. And you're just coming in now? No chance you're pregnant, right?

I swallow hard, feeling judged. I've been so busy at work I honestly didn't notice how long it had been. And no, definitely not pregnant. I haven't had sex in longer than I haven't had my period. A lot longer. A lot.

So why get checked now? I mean, it's good you are, but... has anything changed? How are you feeling other than that?

Well, I'm getting hot flashes, seventeen a day, and I'm forgetting things.

Seventeen? That's precise.

I reach for my phone to prove it then stop myself, annoyed that I didn't get it open to the right app before he came in. I meant to but I forgot. I have a spreadsheet I can show you if you want it. I've been tracking since I first noticed them a month ago. And I think they're still increasing but on average it's been seventeen daily.

Both of his gray eyebrows go up now. That's a lot. I can see that'd be challenging.

It's more like seventeen trips to Hell a day, but sure, let's call it challenging.

We can treat the flashes, he says. But if you're actually... He begins typing.

I'm used to him trailing off mid-sentence once he figures out what he wants to do with me, so I sit quietly and hope he doesn't ask—

Are you wanting to have kids, Michelle?

Yeah. That.

I... well, I didn't, I say, but... I feel tears prickling behind my eyes and blink hard. I'm not a crier and I won't start now. But now that it looks like I can't... I shrug.

Now you think you'd like one.

There's no judgment in his tone but somehow it angers me. No, now I'm sure I want one. I dream about babies, I stare at every one I see until their mothers get creeped out, I can't imagine spending my whole life without— Clenching my fists helps me stop talking. Sorry. Yes. The short version is, I never wanted them before but now they're all I can think about. Well, them and work.

He gives a slow blink. And how is work going?

Oh, it's going, I say, wondering why he's switching topics. I'm up for a promotion, which I should hear about in the next few days, which'll be a lot more money.

But more responsibility too, I assume.

Well, yeah.

He nods, but I feel like his mind is elsewhere, then he goes back to typing.

All right, he says after a moment. I've ordered a blood panel to see what's happening. Some of the tests will show whether you're in or nearing menopause, and one'll make sure it's not that your thyroid is underactive. But I suspect you're right and it's menopause. Okay?

I nod. And I should do those now?

Whenever works for you. I think the lab here at the hospital's open until six. You get those done, and I'll call you with the results.

* * * * *

The lab is indeed open until six. However, they're booked solid until five.

Decisions, decisions. Return to my office and find some other time to get back here, or sit and wait for over two hours? I have my laptop, of course, but I'm not really feeling like working.

Not on my current work, at least. Once I get the promotion, I'll be thrilled to work on planning who'll do which upcoming marketing campaign. But creating a campaign myself, especially since Stephen assigned me a diaper client... Nope, not in the mood.

I give Facebook a cursory glance on my phone, but there's nothing interesting, and since my Twitter feed is all work-related I don't even bother looking there.

Nothing for it but to work, I guess. With a sigh, I haul out my laptop and try to get it balanced comfortably on my knees, then nearly drop it when my phone rings.

Hello, Michelle, it's Tara calling from Doctor Clark's office. He wanted me to let you know that the lab here might be somewhat busy.

It is indeed.

And he realized he didn't tell you about the menopause support group. It's actually starting in ten minutes, just down the hall from the lab. Third room on the right. It's free to attend, once a week for an hour on Tuesdays. Several doctors here fund it together and ensure the content provided is accurate, so don't be concerned about that. He's not requiring you to go, of course, but he does think it might be helpful for you.

To sit around and listen to a bunch of old ladies bitch about their hot flashes while trying to ignore my own?

I don't share that thought with her, but once I'm off the phone I find myself packing up my things. I don't know anyone else going through menopause right now. Of course, I don't know that many women at all; at work everyone else in the creative department is a man. I don't interact much with the women in the other departments of my marketing agency and certainly not enough to ask about their periods or lack thereof. The group probably will be all old ladies, but going once won't hurt and it'd certainly be better than sitting here trying to figure out how to say this diaper'll keep your baby's poop in better without actually acknowledging the existence of poop.

The clack of high heels that somehow sound expensive catches my attention, and I look up to see an Asian woman of about my age with short hair of such a bright red a fire truck would be jealous, wearing a sleek black dress and leopard-print high heels. She walks past me as I get to my feet, and to my surprise I end up following her down the hall and into the third room on the right.

She turns back and smiles at me, and I see perfectly applied black wing eyeliner and red lipstick that matches her hair before she says, New here?

I nod. I'm Michelle.

Lisa. Nice to meet you. She waves her hand at the several women already in the room. This is Michelle, everyone.

'Everyone' choruses a greeting to me, and I say, Are you the group leader?

She shakes her head. Just another menopausal broad.

She might be that, but she looks nothing like what I'd expected. Maybe the group won't just be old ladies after all.

Our leader Maria and the rest of the members will be here in a minute, Lisa says. Grab a drink and find a chair. And welcome!

I thank her and head over to the snack table and get myself a coffee, which is good since I didn't sleep well last night and could use the energy, but bad because caffeine seems to give me even more hot flashes. As I take a long sip and hope for the best, I hear two women talking behind me.

No, you absolutely have to, one says in the kind of tone my mother used on me when I was a kid. I won't take no for an answer.

It's so nice of you but I really—

I insist, the first one says in that same tone. I own three of these and I don't get enough hot flashes for that. She chuckles. I get a lot, of course, but not that many. Now, take the fan, Renee. Take it and say thank you and that's that.

Thanks, Renee says, sounding both a little pleased and a little annoyed. It'll help.

"Of course it will, dear, that's why I'm giving it to you. I—well, hello, who are you?"

She's stepped up to my side as she's speaking, and out of the corner of my eye I see a black woman of about my age, who must be Renee, take the opportunity to hurry away.

I'm Michelle, I say to the older white woman looking up at me with blue eyes beneath overly-penciled brows. I'm new.

Of course you are, dear, I know everyone here. She pushes a piece of her thin blondish hair back into place, briefly revealing its gray roots. I've been a member for seven years now.

"I—seven?"

She smiles at me, her lips bare of makeup and a little dry-looking. Didn't know menopause could last that long?

I don't know much about it at all, I admit.

Then how do you know you should be here?

I'm not going to discuss my periods with—wait. Are you the group leader?

She gives me a wry smile. I'm not, dear, she's about your age. She peers at me. A bit younger, probably. Looks younger, anyhow.

Vowing to actually apply eye cream every night instead of just considering it then deciding I'm too tired, I say, Well. My doctor suggested I come here.

Clark? Stanley? Jameson?

Clark.

She nods slowly. He's not bad. Jameson might be better, though.

It's becoming clear to me why Renee took off the second she had a chance. I'd do the same if I could figure out—

Good afternoon, ladies, a voice calls from behind me, and I turn with relief.

That's the leader, my 'friend' informs me quietly. She's not even in menopause so I think—

You're new, the leader says, walking toward me past the circle of women in their chairs. I think she is in fact younger than me, but with her long dark hair in a bun and only a little makeup on her mid-brown skin she looks cozy and motherly. I... don't. I've never wanted to. I can dress how I choose at work since I'm a creative, but I take my style inspiration from the female lawyers on TV, albeit with longer skirts when I wear them and less cleavage. Not none, though; it's helpful sometimes even though I can't decide whether I like using my body that way.

Welcome. I'm Maria.

Michelle.

Dr. Clark sent her.

Maria's smile is tiny. Thanks, Brenda. Why don't you go take your seat and I'll talk to Michelle for a minute?

Brenda clearly doesn't want to go, but she gives my shoulder a squeeze and says, Of course. Let me know if you need anything, Michelle.

Once she's moved away, Maria asks for my current menopause status and I share it. Lisa's in early menopause as well, she says. She's the one with the red hair and nails and lipstick. Renee also, over there. Oh, and Diana too, although I don't think she's here yet. She always shows up a few minutes late. You'll have company.

I return her smile, which is much less frustrated this time, although I'm not sure I want company. I'm not used to it.

Maria leads me to the circle of chairs, where I end up sitting next to her as she introduces me to the group then says, Michelle, what's your story? As much or as little as you want to tell us.

I'm... I'm thirty-nine, I say, and I think I've been in menopause for about half a year now. I get on average seventeen hot flashes a day, I track them, and—

That's good, Brenda puts in, it'll help you figure out what causes them. I track mine too, and—

Yes, thank you, Brenda, Maria says firmly. Michelle's speaking.

Brenda mumbles something and I say over her, I don't have any kids, and... well, I'm not sure I'm happy with that. Understatement, but enough for this group. And that's about it.

Everyone murmurs some version of Nice to meet you, and Maria says it more clearly then adds, And you've picked a good week to start, as today's topic is hot flashes. This week we have an official topic, next week we'll just talk about whatever interests the group, and so on back and forth. As we always do when it's a topic week, I'll present some information from the doctors and then we'll discuss it and give our own tips and tricks. So...

She picks up a binder from the floor beside her and begins. She doesn't just read it, which is great because that annoys me, but looks back regularly to keep herself on topic.

Hot flashes are the most common symptom of menopause, affecting three out of every four people going through it. They're caused by a lack of estrogen, which in turn is caused by the ovaries shutting down or beginning to shut down. It's thought that the body's temperature regulation uses estrogen to some extent, and so without it the body thinks you're in hot conditions and so acts accordingly. With the symptoms we know. Which are?

Sweating.

Red face.

Red chest.

Red everything.

Everyone looks at Lisa who laughs. I figure the red hair and lipstick distract the eye from the red skin and the sweat. Worth a shot, right?

Maria smiles and nods as several more symptoms are thrown out, all of which I have during my flashes.

It's the racing heart I find really difficult, I say, surprised I want to be involved right away. Makes me feel like I'm panicking.

Maria nods and so do several of the others, including Brenda. We'll talk about ways to help with that, Maria says, then adds, Shortly, over Brenda's attempt to talk about it right now.

Brenda subsides; Maria continues to explain the biology of hot flashes for another few minutes, then ends with, But understanding why they happen doesn't necessarily help us control them. What have you found to work for you?

The usual things I've seen online, like deep breathing and wearing layers, come up first, and someone suggests a few essential oils that might help, then Lisa says, Green primer.

The other ladies, none of whom are wearing much makeup, look confused, but I turn to her and say, Really?

She nods and holds both hands up to her face as if framing it. Having a flash right this second. Can you tell?

We all peer at her and shake our heads.

It's a pale green primer, under my foundation, she says, mostly to me since I think she realizes I'm the only other one as into makeup as her. Hides the redness. It's my real secret, not the red hair and lipstick. With a super bad flash the primer doesn't hide every bit of the color change, and you can still see the sweat if you look closely, but for an average one it makes a huge difference. It looks a bit weird on its own, at least this one does, but under my makeup it's a godsend.

I'd never know she was having a flash right now if she hadn't said so. I need this primer. I've had a few fake-caring Are you okay, Michelle, you look awfully upset about this project? questions at work when my skin flushes, and I hate them. I've been wearing heavier and heavier foundation to try to look normal, but the sweat tends to ruin it.

And yoga, Brenda says. Yoga and relaxation and meditation. All of them help calm you.

Not hot yoga, though, right? Renee says.

All yoga is hot yoga when you're having flashes, someone else says, and the meeting dissolves into laughter.

Maria gets us back on track quickly, though, and when she says, Well, we've only got ten minutes left so does anyone have something they'd like to share? I'm surprised that the hour's nearly gone by. I'd expected to hate every minute but it's actually been fun.

I do, actually, Diana says, and as we all turn to her Brenda mutters, Hot flash, and pulls out a fan which she turns on and directs onto her neck and face. I didn't know they made little battery-powered fans, and I'm tempted to get one to help with my hot flashes, but of course I'd never use it at work and I spend most of my time there so why bother?

I'm, well, I'm leaving the group, Diana tells us, over the sound of Brenda's fan, then she grins at me and adds, Nothing personal, of course.

I smile back, appreciating her joking with me when I'm so new. It usually takes two meetings with me for people to run away.

Everyone chuckles, and Maria says, What's brought you to that decision, Diana?

She shrugs. Honestly, I think I'm basically done with menopause. I still have the occasional hot flash but they're once a week if that, and... She shrugs again. I just feel like I'm ready to move on. Live my life and not focus on my remaining symptoms. But I've really enjoyed being here and I hope you all have a great menopause.

We clap for her, and as the applause dies down Brenda says, Well, I hope mine lasts for ever so I never have to leave you guys.

Brenda and I are very different people. While I am happy for Diana I'm jealous too. I'd love to be done with all of this.

The group won't make me be done, but even so, I want to come back. I feel... understood here, which is rare for me. Non-existent, actually.

Maybe a group of old ladies bitching about their hot flashes is exactly what I need.

If I can find a way to fit it into my schedule. Leaving work once a week before three o'clock? That's more unlikely than me having a baby tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE

BRENDA

Good afternoon, Brenda, Doctor Stanley says as he enters the examination room where I've been awaiting him and settles into his chair. And how was the group today?

We had one new member and... four returning? Four or five. And one's leaving. Apparently she's nearly done with menopause and doesn't feel she needs support any more. I made sure she had my phone number, though, in case she has any questions later. I smile at him. I don't want someone to need help and not be able to get it.

He smiles back and pulls his computer's keyboard toward him. That's great. I'm glad you're able to help out a bit there.

My smile wavers but I force it back into place. I don't just help out a bit. Maria would be lost without me. But he doesn't attend the group and so doesn't know that, and I wouldn't want to get her fired just because she can't do it alone.

Now, then, he says, squinting at his computer, how have your symptoms—

Doctor, did you not get those new glasses yet?

His eyebrows go up above the glasses he said at my last appointment he'd be replacing. I don't—did we talk about that?

Last time I was here, six months ago, I confirm. But you're still squinting.

Mmm. He takes a slow deep breath and sighs it out. I think he's got some respiratory issues because he does this often when I see him, but of course I couldn't ask something so personal. Well, I will get them soon. Now, about you. Your menopause symptoms? How have they been lately?

I consider for a moment telling him the truth, as I was planning to, but after Diana today, I can't. Much the same, I say instead. Nothing's really changed. Still no periods, but the other stuff continues.

He nods slowly. It's lasting quite a while for you, isn't it? But that's not abnormal. He peers at the computer again. At your age, which is—

Sixty-three years young. Sixty-four in about a month.

He twitches a little at my use of young, but I'm used to that. I just can't bear to call myself old.

Well, anyhow, still having symptoms at this point is not a concern. Medically, anyhow. You haven't changed your mind on hormone replacement therapy, I assume?

When my periods first became irregular and brutally heavy in my mid-fifties I did think about going that route, but after my online research told me about the cancer and blood clot risks of the stuff I decided to tough it out. Now, of course, it'd be ridiculous to start taking it.

Since all of my symptoms are gone.

I haven't had a hot flash in three months, I don't forget words or get distracted any more, and I'm sleeping much better.

I'm finished with menopause.

But I can't bear to be finished with the group. Since the girls moved out and David got so involved with his work, I haven't had much else going on.

Far more importantly, the group members need me. Look at Renee today, so happy to receive a fan from me, and that new Michelle, learning from me. And from the others too, of course, but I've been there the longest, I've heard all the official topic lectures multiple times and I've done lots of research and reading on my own, so I can help the most.

Not telling my doctor the truth about my health feels wrong, but after Diana quit the group today it occurred to me that he might force me to leave so someone else could have my spot. Someone who's actually still dealing with menopause.

But then who would I help?

I look down at my hands, at their neatly buffed plain nails, and my mind fills with an image of Lisa's bright-red talons earlier today. I'd never do mine that way, so showy and unnecessary, but I couldn't stop looking at them during the meeting for some reason.

Brenda?

I look up, startled. I—sorry. I force a laugh. Hot flash coming on, it makes me distracted. I pull out my fan and let it blow unnecessary air at my face. What did you ask me? Oh, right, about the hormones. No, I don't want to. I can handle this on my own.

He smiles. And I think you're doing a great job at that.

Relief at my choice not to tell and happiness at his assessment of me rush through me like hot flashes used to.

* * * * *

Happy Easter, Chrises! I say that Sunday as I open the front door to Christal and her boyfriend Christian.

Mom, ugh. Christal rolls her eyes. You know I hate that.

I know, but it's cute. I pull her into a hug. Lovely to see you, I whisper into her ear.

She squeezes me back then steps away which lets me smile at Christian. They've only been together a few months, and I frankly don't like him that much, but then who would be good enough for my beautiful younger daughter?

I don't hug him and he doesn't look like he wants me to, and I think that level of relationship suits us both just fine. I'm polite to him and he's polite to me, and that's enough.

But it does make it awkward when Tiffany and her girlfriend arrive, because I adore that young woman.

Samantha! I open my arms to her, but our hug is cut short by laughter.

What? I say, wounded, as I withdraw.

Hug her before your own daughter, why don't you?

I did already, I retort. She's nicer to me.

She has to be.

"She wants to be," Samantha corrects, smiling at me. She's such a sweet girl, always helping with the dishes and encouraging me to go sit down and rest. I don't, of course, because there's always so much to be done when everyone's over, but it's nice that she suggests it.

Tiffany folds her arms. Maybe I just won't hug you then.

What about me? I hear from behind me before I can respond.

You, Tiffany says, stepping around me, I'll hug.

I turn to watch her bend her knees so she can wrap her arms around her dad, who reaches up and hugs her tightly. When David and I decided to have kids, I was honestly not sure whether I wanted them to be little people like him so they wouldn't feel strange with their father or average height like me so they wouldn't feel strange in the world. But both of our daughters are almost exactly my height and I don't think they've ever felt strange with him at all. They're more awkward with me, in fact.

Tiffany straightens up and says, How're you doing, Dad?

David uses both hands to tug down his green tweed sweater, which rode up while he was stretching to hug her, and they laugh and say, Picard maneuver, at the same time.

What?

Never mind, Brenda, David says, shooting me that half-affectionate half-dismissive smile that's his signature move with me these days. It's a Star Trek thing.

Ah, I say, not caring anymore. Well, come on in, all of you, and have some tea before the hunt.

The—Mom, no. You didn't.

Christal's the one who spoke, but even Samantha seems to agree with her. Well, of course I did, I say, surprised and a little annoyed too. It's tradition.

Mom, we're all in our thirties. Hell, Tiffany's nearly forty. Do you really—

Don't swear, dear, I say automatically.

Christal bites her lip and though she doesn't speak again I can almost see swear words passing through her mind.

I set up the hunt, I tell them all, even David who as usual hasn't said a word to support me, but if you're all too mature to do it I guess that's fine. I can just clear it away later.

No, we'll do it, Samantha says firmly. Of course we will. Won't we?

The others mumble their