Flashin'

A few years ago,
my friends Nan, Kelly, Marilyn and I
went to Denver to see Time Out for Women.
We stayed the night in a hotel up there too
and had such a great time together--
enjoying the conference and each other's company.
When it came time for bed though,
that's when I first learned that some of us were
experiencing menopause.
There were two beds in the bedroom,
and a sofa bed in the front room.
Marilyn had her own room.
SO I shared the bedroom with one of my friends,
who shall remain nameless,
and the other friend got the sofa bed, her choice.

The one in the front room had the a/c going,
while the one in my room was having a heat stroke
in the middle of the night,
as she sat on the edge of the bed sweating like popsicle in July.
I was alternately hot and cold and thought
there must be something wrong with the hotel's thermostat.

It's been three years since that night...
and I've learned it's not the thermostat on the wall that's calling the shots,
but my own internal thermostat that's ruled by my hormones.
My bedtime routine has become comical.
The other night,
as I put my cotton pj top on over my fleece pj bottoms--
(I can't wear the fleece top because it gets too warm)
then put on fuzzy socks,
then turned on a little fan next to my bed
that has a sheet, a matelasse cover, and a quilt,
as I was doing all of the this--
I looked over to my husband, Mr. Wonderful,
to see only his face from the nose up, was uncovered.
He looked like he was sleeping in the arctic wind tunnel.
I let out a chuckle,
and he said,
"You flashin' tonight?"
I knew he meant "hot flashes" and said with a laugh,
"Yeah, I guess I am."


Truth is, I'm like a bad Katy Perry song,
"I'm flashin' hot then I'm flashin' cold" all night long.
Some nights, I end up shedding the fleece pants;
others they're on 'til daylight.
The socks also come and go--
I mostly end up keeping one foot out side of the covers,
and one sock ends up on the floor,
but not the foot that's in the open air.
No, that foot has to keep a sock on it.
The covers themselves are ruled by my flashin' schizophrenia
all night long, travelling up and down my body hourly.
On
Off
On
Off.
My poor husband ends up with whatever is left.
And he doesn't complain about it.
No kidding.
I have to keep the fan on,
for two reasons:
first, it keeps the flashin' night sweats (ew!) under control.
Secondly, I have found that white noise helps my flashin' insomnia
so I sleep better.
The temperature in our bedroom
that is built over the garage and is usually cooler anyway,
is certainly, at least, ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house.
If I had a little vent straight up from the garage bays
that I could open next to my bed,
I would probably try that.
Probably. Until I get too cold.

I've also noticed that my attitude is definitely affected by these flashin' hormones--
my usually warm and patient self
can be "testy" at times.
I revert back to my 13-year-old self I think,
where I do indeed wish the world revolved around me.
I know. I know. It's ridiculous. Preposterous, even.
But in my head, I hear the Willy Wonka girl, Veronka:
"Give it to me! Give it to me NOW!"

There's always seems to be a flood of tears just under the surface--
and I hate that. Hate it.
My recent car accident really affected those emotions too.
I have been an emotional boob to the nth degree.
It ain't pretty, sisters.

In a personal quest to find out more about menopause,
I've been surfing the www alot--
and while I'm not using all of my plumbing and am so so so ready for some of these parts
to hit their expiration date,
there's also the concern of wondering what my new post-flashin' self will end up like,
you get me?
The www isn't helping.
I have alot of questions!
Serious questions that need answers.
Like, how crazy will I end up?
Remember Aunt Esmerelda on "Bewitched"--
the bumbling, mumbling gray-haired witch who couldn't remember all the right words to spells?
She was nuts, right? Or maybe just menopausal, because I think I many be related to her.
Or how about Bernice Clifton, on "Designing Women" when she wore a Christmas tree skirt AS a skirt?
Was she crazy or just menopausal?
I look around at the older gals I know and this is what I noticed--
they're all much quieter than younger women...
I can't decide if it's because with age comes wisdom
and they're just happy watching the world go by
or
if they're quietly plotting a secret getaway and just gritting their teeth
at the stupidity around them!
Or, and here's where I am sorta thinking will be my case--
they' just aren't sure where they are or how they got there!

I don't get this stage of life.
Just when I've figured life out--
you know, what's important,
what counts,
how many calories are in a Snickers bar, etc.--
just when I've found my strengths,
my dang hormones get to flashin' and ruins my stride!
I've always welcomed my birthdays--every one--
I like the idea of getting older,
but the reality is precarious.

Okay, that's all I got.
Time to make my bed and look for the sock I lost last night.

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