Ever heard of sympto-thermal?

Not a kind of underwear, no. Birth control, you know — pregnancy avoidance. Back in the day, when I was tired of polluting my body with fake hormones, wearied by the diaphragm and the goo and too cheap to buy condoms — and, let it be said, when a pregnancy would not have been a disaster — back then, I used it for a couple of years.

It involves thermometers and mucous and charting. (And, for us, condoms or diaphragm when I was fertile. Purists just abstain.) If the thought of charting brings back chills of remembered math phobia from grade seven, this method is not for you. Me, I rather enjoyed the charting. In fact, once I had gotten comfortable with the basics I started jotting all sorts of other things onto that chart.

What a revelation.

You want to believe you are an autonomous, independent adult, in control of your mind, your psyche, your response to your surroundings?

Don’t do this.

It was astonishing what was cycle-dependent, or at least cycle-related. Not just the obvious temperature fluctuations and mucous variations. Not just sex drive and pre-menstrual emotional flare-ups. (Back at that age, I was pretty much horny all the time, anyway, and PMS was mild to non-existant. Lucky me.)

Days 1 - 5? Not-hungry days. I could go the whole day and have it occur to me only about 4 in the afternoon that “Oh. I guess I haven’t eaten yet, have I?”

Days 11- 14? Lots of dreaming, and all of them pleasant. (These were also my fertile, ovulatory days: clearly nature was doing its damdest to keep my mood relaxed and compliant.)

Days 21 - 26: STARVING. Could not eat enough. Hungry, hungry, hungry all the live-long day. These were also the days when, if I dreamt, they were nasty. Often with some male coming to a bad end.

Headaches, energy levels, sociability, dreams, what foods I enjoyed, the music I listened to (very mood-dependent, for me), ability to concentrate … For two years, I charted how they all ebbed and flowed as my blood ebbed and flowed.

Fascinating.

And, at the time, a little unnerving. Back then I staunchly asserted my superiority over my biology. I was the master of my fate, not my genes and hormones. I was not prisoner to my body, captive to my hormones, dictated by my DNA.

Life has buffeted those ideas some. I still hold firm to the belief that we virtually always have a choice, that hormones and genes and DNA influence behaviour, but do not, if we are conscious and self-aware, determine it. Now, however, I afford a much larger scope of influence to the hormones and genes and DNA; at the same time, life has shown me that most people are not conscious and self-aware. Which means that most people are, indeed, helpless, hapless pawns of their biology. They don’t have to be, but they are.

The charting was a revelation. Certainly it started the change in my thinking. The funny, quirky odd little bits and pieces of my life that I’d thought were random, turning out, (with remarkable consistency, over a period of two years) to be measured, patterned, cyclical — hard to avoid the implications of that.

I’m curious: Has anyone ever done anything like this? What did you unearth?