|My handsome nephew Michael. He's trying out his|
Presidential look. What he's really thinking, surrounded by these
lovelies, is "I'm the man. Yes, I am the man."
Yes. My friends welcome to menopause.
I recall around age 41, I was asking my son to check and see if the....the....that thing...was still on. He (rightfully so) objected to the ambiguity of my question. He asked for further explanation.
"The OVEN?" he laughed, yes he laughed at his mother. Which I am sure is prohibited somewhere in the Bible, probably in the book of Jericho. Yes, the book of Jericho where the wise sayings are kept that were not included in the proper books of the Bible. Wise things like don’t cross your eyes or they will stick that way. Don't swim for 30 minutes after you eat. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Don't sass yo momma nor laugh at her NEITHER henceforth!
So I asked him to check and see if the hot box where I cook food aka OVEN was left on. And that's when it started. The thing about these menopausal symptoms is they don't come and stay and get it over with. No, one may hit you for a couple weeks and then disappear. No sooner did I get over that "forgetting plain words mid-sentence" symptom, than it's cousin "Night Sweats" showed up for a visit.
But there comes a point where the ole biddy knows her days are numbered. We no longer welcome her presence because we are done with her business. You know those relatives who seem to sense when dinner is about to be put on the table and they show up at the door? Flo figures out that you are at the point you are entertaining the idea of kicking her to the curb and not dealing with her again. So one month she arrives and determines that she is not leaving. Just to trip you up, she may arrive early or late, but either way you are at a function getting ready to venture out onto center stage and suddenly you feel her presence. And it's such an INTENSE presence that you are running to a restroom, flinging aside little old ladies and small children in your race to the privacy of a ladies room stall, praying you reach it before everyone else becomes aware that AF has arrived. Welcome to a new pinnacle of your life...the flood stage. In her despair of losing her welcome in your life, she decides to visit on a whim with excess baggage to spare.
|These might work.|
By 10 pm I was quite certain my face was melting off. I had been sitting quietly minding my own business, reading through a book when it felt as if someone tossed a heated towel upon my head. I suspiciously looked at the dear Mr. sitting across the room staring at his computer. I watched him for a moment and could not ascertain that he had anything to do with the sudden influx of warmth I was feeling. I went back to the book and tried to ignore the growing heat of my scalp. Finally the heat grew so intense that I stood up and walked to the sink, thrust my head under the faucet and hosed down my head. Mr. Man looked aghast and exclaimed, "What in the WORLD is wrong with you!" Apparently this behavior unnerved him.
Everyone is ever so polite, they knock before barging in. They expect you to allow them in, considering that you are there to see THEM. They see no need to wait for permission to enter. My inner Diva - Rosey kept egging me on, reminding me how blessedly cool the tiles would be in an air conditioned room. But my practical side reminded myself, how many people come in and out and how well do I believe the Janitor really cleaned these floors? I opted out of the idea of rolling on the floor.
Again, I opened the door and scooted behind the curtain, only to have a nurse stop and ask if I needed assistance. I replied that I did not, I was just hot. Then SHE shut the door again. ACK. What was it going to take to get them to respect a woman's need for air flow? I went to the cabinets and started riffling through. There was a stack of gowns. Maybe I could wet one and use it as a cold compress against my sizzling skin. But then I still had to explain a wet gown, those possibilities were too embarrassing. I tossed aside that idea and opened another drawer. Ohhhhh, this drawer had sample silicone implants. I picked them up and they were cool to the touch. Oh the blessed coolness of a foobie. And like a fool I placed each one against the burning fiery flesh of my face.
Oh well, they have already figured out that I'm a tad off the center beam. Some weeks back Dr. Puckett walked in, looking absolutely whipped. I told him he looked he exhausted and he told me he was. It had been a really busy clinic day. I told him that I would hug him but for the fact I was sitting there topless, it probably wasn't appropriate. He couldn't quite contain the yelp of laughter before putting on his stern doctor face. But his eyes were now twinkling when he agreed; it probably wouldn't be considered very appropriate. Dr. Puckett's eyes remind me of my father.
On the other hand, my plastic surgeon… SURGEON cracked a joke. (You have heard the story? no? How does God differ from a surgeon? Answer: God knows he’s not a surgeon.) However, I also give praise that I believe every doctor I have seen through my trip through breast cancer was handpicked and anointed for ME personally. Each of my doctors has been exactly the one I needed for who I am and what I needed. Every single one of them has listened to my concerns. They had provided superb compassionate and skilled care and still laughed at my antics. They were perfectly picked by God to fill ALL my needs.