It happens. There I am sound asleep, sitting up even, back against the wall. I open one eye and then the other, quickly thinking I’ve found myself in the depth of hell, being burned alive. Pools of sweat surround me, and I realize it’s not hell. Alicia Keys starts singing in my head: This Girl Is On Fire, and my brain has two words that form.
I’ve experienced pre-menopause or peri-menopause now for about two years. At first it wasn’t so bad. I had a few mood swings, typical and not really sure if my body changing had anything to do with it, considering I’m bipolar, but these swings seemed worse.
You know where one moment you are happier than pie, the next you are shoving pie in someone’s face because they looked at you funny. Yeah–that kind.
I’m burning up! I’m on fire. I mean not literally on fire. I don’t have flames shooting out my toes or anything. But internally I’m a volcano ready to erupt. Usually, I can calm this down by removing an article of clothing. Hubby doesn’t mind this, he’s used to me shedding clothes. He also enjoys a good boobie show now and then.
He’s not stupid either. Me sitting half-naked in bed is not a sign for him to touch me, especially when sweat is dripping from crevices I had no idea existed. He can read the signs:
Don’t make eye contact, back away slowly and nobody gets hurt. Do NOT I repeat Do NOT touch me or I will brand you like a 4H getting its first ear tattoo.
My head is soaked like I’ve taken a shower while sleeping. My body chilled now because sweat is tumbling from me in Tsunami waves ready to wipe out what’s around me. I jump out of bed, look down and yep–the sheets have a wet body imprint where I was laying. The CSI’s would be impressed with the imprint. Would make their job easier and I could read the headlines now: WOMAN SUDDENLY COMBUSTS IN BED – NOTHING LEFT!
The hot flashes aren’t the only thing. Lately, I’ve been forgetful, and I know it’s not due to age. I’m only 41 for crying-out-loud! I will be literally walking through a store knowing exactly what I need to get. I get side-tracked and suddenly find myself in the towel department looking over pretty colors to coordinate in my bathroom.
“Uh, honey what about the milk we were buying?” Hubs asks the question delicately, to which I shoot daggers at him letting him know I hadn’t forgotten the MOO. I was just browsing!
I will go through days of not sleeping, sweating profusely, then getting the chills while sleeping. I roll over and hear Corey… “Touch me woman and die – you are a raging inferno!” far from the other side of our new King size bed, which we got to put room between the puddles I lay in and dry land, where Corey has himself wrapped like an Eskimo, barricaded up against his night table trying to keep warm because every window in the house is open and the fan is on high pointed directly at me. Poor Corey, no wonder he sleeps in Jake’s room when our teenager is at his girlfriend’s house. The man can’t get a lick of shut-eye when mommy is a wet, dripping, menopausal witch from hell ready to strike at any moment.
I see my doctor next week. I hope she can give me some solutions. Not answers because I don’t need her to tell me the changes of life are occurring in me. I feel them every day. Just give me a cream to make it all stop. So I can rest soundly, instead of being overly exhausted all the fricken time, blasting obscenities I’m sure don’t exist in any Dictionary. That would be nice.
Until then… I’m headed outside to let my neighbor cook her morning bacon on my body and then I’m off to sleep in the freezer surrounded by steak and ice cream sandwiches!
Do you suffer from menopause? How do you cope?