Fighting with the zipper on my
safety-yellow fleece vest, I automatically use my thumb, flipping the bike into
low gear. I’m sensing the prickle of another ‘domestic goddess’ melt down. I’m
hit! A boiling alive, blistering,
dripping wet, hot flash assaults me. If I
were a child, they would certainly strip off my clothes, placing me in an ice
bath. Will I pass out before
anyone discovers the crisis I’m in?
Currently we utilize solar energy in collector
systems. Why can’t an inventor design a way to harness this out of control
hormonal heat that thousands of women emit during menopause? We should be turning that force into a
magnificent power source.
Am I wrong? I thought this is what ‘going
green’ was all about. (Al Gore, contact
me if you want to talk.)
I
seem to be contributing one degree, per hour, towards our global warming
calamity. This is my inconvenient truth.
In the middle of the night, another heat
storm assaults me. The threadbare cotton T-shirt irritates my sweat-soaked
itchy skin. Jerking my feet, “guys get away from me,” I groan. It is imperative
that all eight of the cuddling hairy dogs understand this demand. I must have sleep.
Without a good night’s rest, I feel like crawling out of my skin. I want to
kill myself and anyone or anything that comes near. (This is the reason I don’t
have bullets for my gun.)
PMS is a sweet walk in the drizzling rain compared
to a menopausal hurricane force torrential downpour. You may snicker about
taking painful cold showers for sexual reprieve. However, during a sweaty hot
flash, climbing into icy water is- Heaven.
In the cold winter months, I realize
menopausal ‘power surges’ are cost effective. At night, with the thermostat set at sixty, a
sleeveless gown and a light blanket is all I need.
In the harsh summer months, the A/C runs
24/7. I wear nothing but a thin billowy tent
dress to keep comfortable. However, unlike Ms Spears, I am very careful when I
exit any cars.
To be honest, at this stage in my life,
naked is not an option. The vision of me jumping out of a burning window, buck
naked... keeps me modestly dressed at all times.
One roasting day the central air breaks
down. I’m horrified as the technician displays an inch of ice surrounding the
air compressor. He mumbles, “The thing to
do ma’am, thaw it out. It’ll be good-to-go by morning.” What a stupid ridiculous repair charge. Can’t
he melt it with his blowtorch? This so-called repair-man is no help. I am hot! What
must a girl do to keep her cool?
Strategy:
I’ll go to Win Dixie where I can lean up
against the frosty glass doors in the ice cream aisle. No, Wal-Mart. It’s open
twenty-four hours and allows overnight guests in their parking lot. Sweet Lord,
I’ll have hours inside the super store before anyone spots me.
Wait,
what am I thinking? Cold water is cheaper than a gallon of gas, which is hi-way
robbery. I don’t have to leave my house. You may contact this hot momma in the
tub.
Action:
Placing my laptop computer on the ‘closed’
(note: important tip) toilet seat stretching out in the bath, I watch an
instant download Netflix movie. Of
course, sitting within reach is a tall glass of
Regaining brain function by evening, I realize,
I must take control over my body. I am the master of my domain. It’s essential that I get this internal
inferno to stop. Of course, no doctor for me, my way is the ‘natural way’.
Research:
The World Wide Web is my information
source. I Google ‘hot flash cure’. I begin
by getting several remedy idea’s from different self-help blogs.
Testing:
Apple-cider vinegar and baking soda mixed
in hot water makes me totally gag with every sip. Organic Soy Tofu. Oh! The pungent gas. Flax oil
smells like you’re licking the tiny ‘paint by number’ containers. No-Thank-You.
Winner:
I
settle on natural progesterone. Following
directions, I rub the cream on my tummy, feet or the inside of my arms, twice a
day. After several weeks, the first bottle of cream is almost empty. I notice I
feel calmer. All is right with the world.
The hourly hot flashes are reduced to a few easy warm up’s. Most
important, I’m sleeping at night. I am not longer a danger to myself or others.
Happily, I purchase a second batch of the natural product.
Complication
Hey, can anyone build up a tolerance in a
month? My flashing is back. I’m up at
night. Is my cream defective? I’m
cranky. Pulling the discarded empty container out the trash, I compare the first
cream with the newly purchased item. Same color, same size. Dang it. They are
not the same brand. Wow, the cheaper
product actually works better for me.
Catch 22:
This week the weather has taken a turn.
Heavy rain brings a cool front. Yard
dogs follow me as I walk to the creek encountering a stiff northern wind. A
squall is blowing up. Tugging on the
zipper of my yellow fleece vest, I am so cold! Where is a good old fashion hot flash when
I need one?
