Life & Love & Lessons Learned

Hello, Menopause. Goodbye, Sanity.

I don’t like being hot. As a matter of fact, I try to avoid it at all costs. Central air in the house, and air conditioning in the car. Ice cream in the freezer…at least 3 gallons at all times (well, this is less about keeping cool, and more about my sheer love affair with ice cream).  So when I turned 50, just a few months back, I started noticing the heat. My God, the heat.

Why was I always so hot? And not just like, a little hot. And not just outside in the sun people. I get that is actual heat. No…I’m talking waking up from a sound sleep, sweating through my cute, pink-striped pajamas. I’m talking droplets of water from my brow, behind my neck, in that cute little elbow crease, behind the knees…what the hell is going on? And it comes on, super fast! One minute I’m cool and comfortable, and within minutes, it’s like I’ve just ridden on a tread mill for an hour (not that I would know what that’s actually like, but I liken it to that).

Oh yes…ladies, you know what I’m gonna say. You know.

So why did we not learn this in 6th grade health class? “Oh, by the way, after you go through puberty, which is super fun, oh…and the joy of childbirth – also a wicked good time, you will eventually become a ball of sweat, enduring mood swings, headaches and all things uncomfortable. Have fun with that!” Perhaps, this should be taught to us girls at an early age, so we have a few decades to mentally prepare.

I don’t like it. I don’t like being uncomfortable in my own skin. I don’t like the headaches that come on suddenly and decide to hang around for a few days; gripping my head like a vice, and making it so that blinking becomes optional. If I just keep my eyes closed, perhaps, the pain will go away. But the funny thing is, it doesn’t. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Two solid days of pain. And the sweating. Oh, and did I mention the moodiness? No, I don’t think I did.

The moodiness. Here’s the thing – I like to think of myself as a pleasant person. I’d even venture to say I would be considered an overly happy kind-of-gal. I love life. I live out loud. It’s who I am. So why do I suddenly want to rip my son’s face off when he gulps down his milk in the morning? Why do I want to punch my dog in the neck when I hear him slurping his water. Is that all part of it? Or am I just crazy on another level?

Whatever. All I know is I don’t like this menopause thing or peri-menopause thing, which to me, is just a stupid name for “you’re gonna be a sweaty lunatic for the next 5 years.”

As I write this, I’m sitting next to my open window; the air blowing on me – it’s a comfortable 65 degrees. My hair should be blowing in the breeze – but it’s not. It’s sticking to the back of my neck. I can feel my body temperature rising, even with the cool wind blowing. It’s making me mad…and oh wait, here comes that pain behind my eye socket that tells me the migraine is on the way. Joining the party.

Five years of this? FIVE?

Hello Menopause, goodbye sanity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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