It’s Not Global Warming. It’s 12 Million (with an M) Self-Heating Baby Boomers

Years ago I was diagnosed with PMS. I put myself on a diet, read up symptoms and causes, and took my syndrome in hand.

PMS fast facts:
♀ There are women who get physical symptoms
♂ There are families who suffer the mental symptoms
♀♂ And there are those of US who get both

♀ 95 percent of the women in the world suffer PMS
♀ 10 percent of those women are either homicidal or suicidal

I was lucky, I only went crazy – I mean screaming insane – once a year – around hunting season (which began in May and ended in late December.) My daughter forgave me; my marriage didn’t survive.

That was 20 years ago, I’m beyond PMS. But now I suffer with an affliction that hits ALL women, to some degree, who live to middle age. MENOPAUSE. I quit smoking at age 42 – I gained 25 pounds the first month. “I can’t find anything to wear” depression set in – I gained a few more pounds, then some more. I tried working out, Nada. I tried dieting (shit, just thinking the word diet added girth to my blossoming butt.)

And then..THE.HOT.FLASHES.BEGAN.

To battle the ravages of menopause I began an herbal regiment of remedies so many and varied I can’t remember most of their names. Oh, shit is that a sign of senility? Nothing worked.

Note:
To all who’ve yet to get here…
To those who are partnered with some one who is/has been/will get here

WE TURN IN TO BITCHES! It is called LACK OF SLEEP.

Nothing worked. My Nurse Practitioner suggested a glass of wine nightly. So I tired a glass of wine, but two nights later (because it didn’t’ work the second night) I tried two glasses. After two nights of frustration I switched to Kalhua and Crème. Then margaritas.

Problem. I get paged in the middle of the night. Often. I can’t be inebriated. So two margaritas a night, as tempting as they are, causes not only an urge for loud, screaming nightly sex (if I can stay awake) but drinking-sleeping-driving syndrome. I’m pretty certain menopause is not a green light to drink and drive to deserted mountain tops in rural Oregon at 3am dressed in my jammies. Although I’m certain I could tempt the judge with loud, screaming sex (if I can stay awake.)

So I became addicted to over the counter sleep aides instead. A much better choice don’t cha think?

Now I had my first night sweat at age 30 (interesting year – night sweats – PMS – and first gray hair in one year.) Weight gain began at 42. Hot flashes started at 43. I read that hot flashes usually last from two to four years. So I figured I’d be affected for six years. But my math (and yes, I am a product of the new math debacle of the early 70s) must be faulty, because that was eight years ago.

The hot flashes kick about five minutes after getting in to bed and don’t stop until 4:15am (15 minutes after Ducky gets out of bed to go to work.) Where as I use to sleep in sexy gray sweats and bulky sweat socks every night snuggled up to Ducky under a down comforter, I am sleeping in cool, slinky silk with one sheet and two fans to cool me off. If I could stay awake (those pills work damn well) Ducky might get lucky. But no, before I can get into the bed and luxuriate in cool sheets for a minute, he has rolled over to sleep on my side of the bed snuggling to his chest my pillow, which are all now as hot as I am.

So much for the urge – maybe I should go back to the margaritas with Tylenol PM chaser so I could forget the heat and enjoy some panting.