My Date With Mrs. Ed: A Premarin Horror Story
Look, I wasn't asking for much. I just wanted to regain a little elasticity, a little "spring back" in my lady bits, if you catch my drift. Nobody tells you that menopause doesn't just show up waving hot flashes around like glow sticks at a rave. No, it shows up with a wrecking ball and a "good luck, bitch" smirk. So when my doctor suggested a little estrogen cream to "freshen things up," I said, sure. Why not? Sprinkle a little hormone magic down there. What's the worst that could happen?
Oh, honey.
The worst galloped into my life wearing horseshoes and bad intentions.
Enter: Premarin.
I didn't know then what I know now — that Premarin is literally made from pregnant horse urine. Not "inspired by," not "lightly influenced by," but straight-up "siphoned out of a mare who's busy growing a baby and wondering why humans suck."
But ignorance is bliss, right?
Until about six hours after application.
It started subtle. A weird twinge of moodiness. You know, like "aww, that commercial about paper towels made me cry" kind of moodiness. I figured, "Okay, hormones are kicking in. No big deal."
Fast-forward to me finding absolutely everything annoying and seriously contemplating burning my entire life to the ground because my husband smudged my glasses while giving me a gentle kiss.
I wasn't just moody. I was riding a hormonal tornado straight into hell…while dealing with bloating and mild cramps. Like PMS on meth.
In between emotional earthquakes, I did what any reasonable person would do: I Googled. And that's when I discovered — with the slow horror of someone realizing the call is coming from inside the house — that Premarin stands for PREgnant MARes' urINe.
Awesome. I was being emotionally waterboarded by horse piss.
I sat there, blinking at the screen, feeling personally victimized by both the horse and whoever decided this was a solid business plan. Like, was there a meeting?
"Hey, ladies are struggling with menopause."
"Cool, let's collect some pregnant horse pee and see if that helps."
"Genius. Larry, get the buckets."
I felt betrayed. I felt disgusted. I felt...weirdly guilty. Like I should go find a horse and apologize.
By day two, I decided I would rather go full cryptkeeper than spend one more second emotionally possessed by a pissed-off mare.
I messaged my doctor and said (paraphrasing here): "Yeah, so, I'm reverting into a toxic basket case and I'm about to start flipping tables. Also, I just learned I'm marinating in horse urine. Thoughts?"
We're working on finding a non-hormonal option now. Preferably one that doesn't involve traumatized animals or me contemplating arson because someone breathes too loudly near me.
Moral of the story? Always do your research about what your meds are made from, and the possible side effects. Especially when the answer might be "sad horse pee."
Stay weird. Stay curious. Read the fine print.