The Heat is On

About six years ago, I began a journey that would forever change my life.  And oh what a journey it has been (and not in the most positive of senses!) 

No, I’m not talking about CrossFit, though you already know how that has changed my life.  I’m talking about the thing that no one wants to talk about, yet most everyone with two X chromosomes will suffer through.  Say it with me, girls: 

Menopause.

Let’s backtrack a few years (and just a few, because it was just like yesterday).  When puberty hit and brought with it, all the joy that it entails – or so we were led to believe in health class.  The bloating, the moodiness (as if being a teenager with raging hormones just wasn’t enough!), the unpredictability of Mother Nature and all the fun that She can impose upon a young girl as she blossoms into a woman.

It was my experience that if cramping was anything close to being in labor, then I wanted nothing to do with ever having a child.  It didn’t help matters that I’ve always had an aversion to taking pills (thanks to my childlike wonderment with a grape-shaped magnet that I managed to swallow, the hard resin bundle no doubt stuck in my throat for a while before I could get it down).  And so when the cramping commenced, the only thing I could do was soak in a tub of the hottest water I could tolerate.  I remember one spring break, when I should’ve been spending time hanging out in the mall, but instead, spent it soaking in a tub and trying not to cry.  On another day, during an early morning band practice, as the sun was coming up and blaring right into my eyes, it took every ounce of energy to stand at attention with my trumpet facing up to the press box and not pass out from the pain in my lower abdomen. 

This is “joyful”?  This is “wonderful”?  This is a “beautiful” stage in a woman’s life? 

Fast forward 28 years and I’m staring menopause right in the eye.

I wasn’t sure what it would look like for me personally since my mother had rid herself of her uterus many, many years ago.  And if my sister’s menopausal experience was a guide, I knew I was not going to enjoy this.  At.  All.

I had stayed at a consistent weight post-birthing experience (yes, I did eventually have a child and no, I did not enjoy labor) until the first signs of “the change” began.  The scale didn’t so much creep upwards, as it skyrocketed seemingly overnight.  Ten pounds.  That’s where it stopped.  Even though I began eating a bit “healthier” when my husband and I shacked up.  (I say “healthier” because it wasn’t until a year ago that we well and truly began eating healthier.)  And still, that stupid scale would not budge.

Yes, I think CrossFit was drastic enough to help with the weight loss, but … I ended up trading in my fat for muscle and so, the scale stayed the same. 

Mother Nature has a sense of humor.  Who plays cruel jokes.  My body then reverted to its teenage state and by that, I mean, unpredictable cycle timing and horrific cramping that no amount of ibuprofen would alleviate.  (I finally got past my pill-popping problem too – but only for the tiniest of pills.)  She thought it comical to come for a visit on the very day Keith and I would leave for vacation.  Every damn time. 

My gynecologist had previously told me about a procedure which could “improve my quality of life”.  Long having surpassed the baby-making years, I decided to forego the further surprises that Mother Nature intended and scheduled an endometrial thermal ablation.  Good-bye Aunt Flo!  And thank you, Dr. Schneider!  You are my hero!

Oh, but the fun was just getting started.

Then came the night sweats.  The kind that leave the bedsheets soaking wet.  The kind that require you to drink a full 16 oz. bottle of water to try and cool down.  The kind that cause you to sleep with the fan on when the temperature drops to 19 degrees in the dead of winter and leaves your husband to sleep under all the blankets.  The kind that when done, chills you to the bone to where you steal all the blankets from said husband.  And the kind that results in an overwhelming fear that you’ll never sleep through the night.  Ever.  Again.

Hormone Replacement Therapy?  I think I’ve tried them all:  pills, patches, gels.  Nothing helped.  Nothing.

But wait!  There’s more!

Because there hasn’t been enough fun up to this point, here come the hot flashes.  When my hot flashes were at their worst this past summer, I thought I might actually spontaneously combust.  Keith seriously considered carrying a fire extinguisher around but opted instead for the next best thing (and probably a mite safer):  a mini-fan which I could plug into my phone. 

We had a mercilessly brutal summer (where temps were concerned) – a record 60+ days with the high temp exceeding 100!  Couple that with a woman in the throws of menopause and … well … let’s just say   the lava from Mt. Vesuvius would’ve been chillier than what I was experiencing.

Mine started at the back of my neck, then moved down my back, around the front, up to my head, before gravity took hold and the incapacitating heat went all the way to my toes.  And by the time it reached my toes, sweat was literally pouring from every pore.  Not kidding.  You could set a clock by my hot flashes too, if you were so inclined to set a 40-minute timer.  Yes, you read that right. 

Every.  40.  Minutes.  For.  The.  Entire.  Summer. 

Thank God (I think) that part is behind me.  I’ve been praying a lot recently.  Praying that I don’t see a repeat of my body’s bad behavior next summer.  Otherwise, I’ll be looking for cheap flights to Antartica!

Oh!  And then … there’s the lack of libido.  My husband wants to put out “Missing” flyers throughout town.  And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Still looking for some relief from the night sweats and insomnia, my current PCP suggested, of all things, blood pressure medication.  It works better than anything else I’ve tried.  I still have night sweats, but now they don’t hit until around 3:00 or 4:00 a.m., giving me a good five or six hours of sleep.  Oh!  I didn't mention the insomnia?  And when I do wake up, I’m not staring at the ceiling, counting the number of times the ceiling fan circulates for hours on end (252 turns per minute, by the way!)  I’m usually able to get back to sleep rather quickly.

Did I mention my poor husband?  As if what may or may not be happening in the bedroom isn’t enough punishment for HIM (what did he ever do to deserve this?), then there are the mood swings. 

These are the moments when I turn into a she-devil in the blink of an eye.  Seemingly sweet, caring and loving one minute and an unbelievable bitch, the next.  Fangs emerge, my eyes glowing with such fire, and horns sprout from the top of my sweet little head.  And the language that spews from my mouth?  The entire U.S. Navy has nothing on me!  Let me tell you!  You know what they say:  Hell hath no fury like a woman going through menopause. 

Curiously, my husband, God love him, says “WHAT is wrong with YOU????”  And I have no answer.

Conversely, I can sometimes be found curled into the fetal position, tears springing from my eyes like Niagra Falls and I can’t explain that either.

And you know what?  It ain’t over yet!

So how much longer is this going to last?  I ask my mom.  I ask my sister.  I ask my friends.  I even ask my doctor; surely, she would know.  But no one knows for sure.  WHAT??????  I thought five years was the magic number.  Yet, here I am in about year six.  Someone said they thought it could last 13 years.  I’m no longer on speaking terms with that person. 

So, were those first few years, with simple weight gain and night sweats just the beginning, just perimenopause?  OMG!  WHY, Mother Nature, WHY???

When I begged the question just one more time, my PCP smirks (from her perspective, it was probably an innocent smile, but to me, it looked like an evil sort of grin) and says she thinks I can expect this to last until I’m 55.  That’s two more years.  It’ll be a miracle if I make it to 55 without landing myself in jail and with my marriage still intact. 

Thanks Mother Nature.  I hate you.

To those of you who are in this same season, know that you are beautiful.  You are strong.  And you will get through this.  Many have done so before, many will do so after, and we will too!  The next season is upon us and it promises to be the best yet.

To those of you who have not yet embarked on your own special journey, you too will survive.  Please know you’re not losing your ever-lovin’ mind.  I wish for you many a cool night, dry sheets and the patience of loved ones when your crazy slips out.

And gentlemen, be brave.  When it’s your partner’s time and you think she’s channeling her inner-Linda Blair, know that she is.  Give her some space, but before you do, give her a cold drink and a fan to plug into her phone.  It could save your life.