WHERE'S MY THERMOSTAT AT?

I'm convinced that menopause has robbed me of yet another God given physical attribute. One that I never gave a second thought to. I'll admit to taking good skin, perfect eye sight, decent looks, mental stability, a sharp wit, pleasant disposition, even temper, and all around perkiness for granted through the years. But losing your internal thermostat has got to be the cruelest of ways in which to enter what some fool has coined "the golden years".

The term Hot Flash just doesn't cut it. Not when describing this beast, not even close. If I have to call it something I think I'll go with HELLFIRE! Hellfire that starts in some mysterious internal place that you can't quite put your finger on. Even if you could put your finger on it, by the time you feel it coming, it's too late to do anything about it. All you can do is start to strip (and not in a good way) and hang on, cause it's coming weather you're in a business meeting or the grocery store. Like any other nasty force of nature designed to bring you to your knees, when that switch has been flipped inside of you, it's all over but the frying!

A typical winter night snuggled beneath a warm blankie or sitting by a crackling fire becomes a torturous battle that can fuck up such romantic notions quicker than you can say JUST KILL ME NOW, and trust me.... you'll want that. A typical winter night for me is all about turning the heater down to around 49 or 50 and getting under the covers equipped with ceiling fan remote, TV remote, cell phone, reading glasses and bottled water, all within arms reach. Yes, armed and ready, but not necessarily for sleep.

The love/hate relationship that has come to exist between me and the pretty comforter on my bed is nothing short of a war of the Roses. It's on, it's off. It's on again, it's off again. I hate it, I love it, I need it, I should never have bought it, I'm donating it in the morning, no I'm not..... what time is it... have I slept? Keep it on but with the fan on high, turn the fan down, my arms are cold, throw it to the side I can take it, no I can't, I'm sweating, now my pillow's wet, now it's cold... And on and on until the early morning light.

And don't try to convince me that some herb or root or bark the Chinese discovered thousands of years ago is a magic bullet for HELLFIRE. To that I say baloney. Who has the budget or the stomach for such potions or elixirs? I've tried them all, Sisters, and they don't do squat!

Some would suggest that hormones are the answer. Okay, YOU try researching and filtering through medical journals and thousands of articles that are written on the topic every year and see if you can come up with the straight answer about hormone therapy. Either way, It's my belief that the thermostat that used to manage my body temps went haywire years ago and it's not coming back any time soon. Any questions?