Theloopylululog

Welcome to Lulu’s Pause. A series of posts; musings, rants and insights – stitching together the discomfort, the disarray and the complete lack of clarity, during the most difficult and painful chapter of my life. Am I perimenopausal, menopausal or somewhere in between in this life changing journey of transitioning through menopause? I frankly do not know anymore.

If you just landed here you might want to check the introductory post of this series And…thus it begins first.

Other posts of the series appear under the category Lulu’s Pause which you can check out from the main menu.

That said, let’s dive in.

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If you thought dry flaky scalp was a weird one, this one goes a step further. Quite literally.

Dry eye.

Yes. One eye only. In my case, the right.

My right side, despite being the dominant side is prone to multiple injuries. Maybe that’s exactly why it is so attached to throwing tantrums.

Overuse. Overly dependent on what naturally functions well. So obviously I take it for granted. Don’t you?

When has a doctor warned us to go a bit easy on our naturally dominant side, eh?

So to no’s surprise my right eye promptly decided to go on a whim and take some acting classes. Acting chops it was not blessed with. This much I knew. It could barely even move, let alone wink without the left one following it’s lead.

But no…it wasn’t keen on keeping it’s limited talents zipped up. It needed a screen. An audience. Some validation and a lot of main character energy.

To make matters even worse, it chose a time slot to practice it’s skills when I am not at my best. Every afternoon, it went dry as a desert.

Forcing me in my tracks. Compelling me to stop doing whatever I was doing – writing, reading, catching up on my main character entertainment – and take a break.

I was helpless. Closing my eyes, resting for a while sometimes falling into a short nap were the only options.

Wham! On waking up, the eye went all rogue on me. Like a newly minted zombie.

The feeling like there was something in my eye never ceased. Was it gunk or discharge or just my hallucination? Trying to fish for that string like thing hurt my already dry eye more. Making me look like I had visited the bar at noon and probably even had plans to spend the night there.

Like an atrociously bad television actress, my eye kept up with shining it’s new discipline. Arriving every noon much to my chagrin.

Nothing helped. Numerous visits to the ophthalmologist left quite a few bottles of faux tears in my hand. None of them were of use.

Have you noticed that the faux tears they give us to help with our dry eyes actually make the eyes… drier? You keep using those drops, hoping the eyes would magically transmute from a dry parched desert into the Amazon rain forest. Only to make the problem more complicated than solving it.

Misplaced hope seated on your lap, with a sly smile that could only mean I told you so!

The ophthalmologist got bored of my face and suggested a neurologist. Words like brain, neuropathy, scan and surgery were enough to never go back to her.

Faux tears landed in the trash can and I simply promised myself I would see this through my way.

Had I any other choice, I would have given them all a shot.

Back to trying to fix a round peg on a square hole.

I couldn’t read or write or focus on anything. My eye was very committed on honing it’s appalling skills that I wished had lain dormant forever. A mild headache usually followed the dryness.

What can one do except be seated in a corner, eyes closed, holding one’s head in the palm like you hold a baby, preferably with the lights dimmed in the middle of the day?

It ruined many a plan, many a blog post and many an outing. But there was literally nothing I could do. Except wait it out for the eye to feel better or the night to arrive sooner, whichever happened first.

The dry eye and that inexplicable feeling of a foreign body in the eye leading to a headache that scattered a well planned day into shards of unproductivity was my symptom no: 2.

Don’t even ask about the guilt and the shame, crushing me. Making me feel like I was wasting my days and hence my life, spending a better part of my day curled into a ball in a dim lit corner of my home.

Did I mention the dryness got worse during PMS?

Lucky for me, the left eye didn’t fall for the charms of the right. It remained as talentless as ever. Just doing it’s job and staying committed to see, no questions asked.

A decade later, I still face the issue. Though not every noon. Only now I am aware, it’s not medical. It’s menopausal. No more mysteries to solve or surgeries to schedule.

Unfortunately, there is no remedy. I am sorry, I can’t call faux tears a remedy because it doesn’t work for everyone. I know quite a few who find their usage more painful than helpful.

So what works Lulu? Nothing tangible if you ask me.

Just ride it out Lulu is what I say to keep myself above the water, motivated and ready to take on another day. That is the only thing that has worked for me.

Yes, it demands you to be almost superhuman but I guess that wasn’t a problem to me because I have grown up believing I am the next Wonder Woman.

I won’t deny the fact that it is exhausting to keep showing up everyday, fighting the invisible grit in the eye with little else but my own grit and gumption!

But was there any thing else to do except show up for myself, tiara et al? As women we are expected by the world to put up with pain and run the show. Most times, we have zero choice but to get on with life, no matter how fatigued or depressed we are.

I am no different. I did what I could and left the rest to God. Still do. The eye continues to host it’s talent show. I resolutely commit to never fall for it’s theatrics.

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Have any of you experienced the same? How did your menopause journey begin? What was your first symptom? Let me know if you would like to share.

My menopause journey has been long and dry eye awareness is just the beginning.

The Alice in me continues to tumble down the rabbit hole.