Playing the Hormone Card

by Karen Hamilton

I can't say I had never intended to use it but I had planned on saving it for just the right moment.

Like good dishes or giving up my virginity, I always believed it was something you held on to and used only when the situation absolutely demanded it.

That situation arose one day last month but now that it's been played, I'm questioning if I did the right thing.

I'm talking about, The Hormone Card.

It was an ordinary Saturday morning. I had just come down from the shower where I'd accidentally conditioned my hair with toilet bowl cleaner because my husband hadn't bothered putting away the cleaning supplies after his tour of duty as bathroom janitor. That same husband was now enjoying the morning paper while I proceeded to cook breakfast and dispose of the pizza boxes left out from the previous evening.

My youngest was engrossed in cutting up tiny scraps of paper like a crazed gerbil on Speed all in the name of "doing a craft" while the eldest demanded to be driven to the mall.

And the dog? She was busy coughing up unidentified foreign objects and coordinating phlegm on the recently cleaned living room carpet.

I cracked.

Suddenly I began hurling reprimands and demands like a tornado that springs up out of nowhere and takes no prisoners as it winds along on its path of destruction.

My family stared at me wide-eyed as I launched into a diatribe about being the only one who ever lifts a finger around this place. They were positively guilt-stricken as I issued my laundry list of all I do for them. And they appeared to be filled with remorse as I told them to count on me going to an early grave if they didn't start pulling their weight.

Once I had my say, I felt vindicated and calm. As quickly as the storm came up, it blew over. They, on the other hand, were left stricken and scared.

Nobody moved and in that awkward stillness I realized that maybe I had crossed the line. Chagrined, I decided there were only two options - beg their forgiveness for flying off the handle or play The Hormone Card.

I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry everyone," I apologized. "It must be my hormones. You see, Mommy is perimenopausal."

Now, between you and me, at 46 I probably am perimenopausal but that didn't have anything to do with why I blew up that day. I live with slobs. They pissed me off!

But given the choice between coming off as a harsh and raving lunatic or a sad and pitiful middle-aged woman, on this particular day, Option B seemed the way to go.

And it appeared to be a good choice. Their relief was palatable. They could accept my explanation because surely there was nothing wrong with them. I saved a modicum of my dignity and my slovenly clan promised to try harder next time.

Sipping a glass of Merlot later that day, I began to wonder just how much I could get away with by blaming everything on menopause. I decided to embark on a little experiment.

The next day I went shopping. "Yes, I bought expensive new shoes," I told my husband. "You would too if your hormones were like mine. Want to make something of it?" He backed off.

I tried it with my children. "Kids, one day you'll have hormones of your own and understand what Mommy's going through. For now, just bring me another glass of wine. Oprah is on and I don't want to get up." Everything was going swimmingly. I felt like I had discovered some super-powerful secret weapon that would serve my every purpose. That is, until the others began using it against me.

"Hey mom" queried my youngest one day, "do you think you have a big rear end because of your hormones?"

"Calm down honey. Don't you see you're not really mad about me watching golf instead of taking the garbage out and fixing the washing machine? It's just your hormones talking."

Things were going south quickly and I had to think fast. I made a quick trip to the drugstore and returned with a large bottle of Vitamin B complex. Explaining to my family that these would be just the ticket to keep my mood swings at bay, I downed a couple of the capsules. "There. All better!" I pronounced.

They looked doubtful but took me at my word.

For my part, I learned to be more discriminating about when to blame my behaviour on hormones. I resolved to play The Hormone Card only when it was absolutely necessary. And when situations required that I trot out this most powerful tool, I'd simply tell me family I had gone off my meds.

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