It seems there’s this little monster Mother Nature has been holding back on. It’s called Menopause. For the sake of making it sound better than it is, let’s call it The Journey. By the way, since ladies have been dumped on with everything from PMS, periods, child bearing and childbirth I will offer my opinion on the Grande Dame. She’s a bitch.
With that said, I’d like to vent a little about this ‘hot flash’ issue. That is actually a misnomer. It isn’t a flash of heat. It’s an overall feeling of dread, as if something bad is about to happen. Like a panic attack aimed at the internal organs. Which it is. The body is gearing up to slam 100 thousand therms at you in a matter of 2.3 seconds. Maybe it’s joules or maybe I’m making this up just to make my point. The meaning is clear. One second you’re fine and the next you can’t understand why you’re wearing clothes in the first place.
These hot flashes are, I believe, actually incinerating your baby making parts, as if using them (or not using them) was a punishable offense. Unlike the ability to be discreet like the monthly visitor, these are on display for all to see. As the red blush creeps from the neck up and you break out in a shiny, drippy mess, the cashier now thinks you’re trying to pass a counterfeit ten, the boss wonders if you’ve been padding your expense report, and the grocery clerk suspects you may be stealing a hidden melon under your shirt (no, that’s just random weight gain in the gut). Every few minutes I wear a sweater at work, sometimes two. On and off they go. It gives the illusion I’m some sort of deranged Mister Rogers who will bark complaints about life instead of asking to be your neighbor. You heard me King Friday.
These lovely experiences will wake me out of a deep sleep at night, causing the blankets to be catapulted to the end of the bed. Husbands everywhere are getting whiplash in agreement. They don’t understand…we’re DYING here. And as soon as I’ve adjusted to the lack of cool air flow (even when there is some) I wonder what the hell I was thinking because it’s COLD in here. The blankets are ratcheted up to my necks while I shiver. Now the perspiration has seeped into the bed linen making everything soggy and damp. In another quarter hour the cycle will repeat. In the meantime the hamster that resides in my brain awakens and jumps on his wheel, “Oh boy, oh boy, what can we obsess about for the next hour and a half?”
After about 7 hours of tossing and turning with blankets and sans blankets I give up on the whole idea of sleep. Kinda like the newborn years but without the reward of the intoxicating baby smell that assures you having children was a good idea. This leads to what is known as the mood swing issue. It’s not really. It’s sleep deprivation. Forgetfulness, stress and general crankiness can be chalked up to this unfair decade (yeah, ladies, I know) of life.
I’m sorry, but abstaining from caffeine and alcohol while exercising more is just not going to cut it. Plus, I tried it already and wouldn’t suggest it to others. It’s a miserable way to live even when not taking The Journey. My advice: invest in a sexy and expensive bra. This way you’ll get your monies worth as it will be viewed at home, at work, in the library and on your mug shot.