Emergency Exit
I recently flew on an airplane in the emergency exit row and thought to myself, this is a dangerous place for a menopausal woman to be. Why, do you ask? Well gather round, children, while I tell you the story of the hormonally deranged mind that has developed in my Clairol honey-brown colored head.Now I don't claim to speak for all 50-something women, but let me describe to you the progression of my particular brand of hot flash. First I just notice I feel uncomfortable. So my first thought is, "I must be hungry!" A few seconds later heat starts to work its way to my face, neck, and feet. I then realize it's a hot flash. I determine how many items of clothing I can decently strip off knowing that the heat will work it's way to the rest of my body. This is, of course, determined by my surroundings. Church, grocery store or other public area: Coat and sweater. Friend's home with mixed company: Sweater and shoes. Good friend's home with all girls: Sweater, shoes, socks and outer shirt if I'm wearing a tank top. Home: Whatever is necessary. UPS man and door-to-door evangelists beware. Side note: I've taken to wearing zip-up sweatshirts almost exclusively to avoid the overhead disrobing muffin top reveal and hair mussing.
Moving on, the next necessary action after stripping off the most possible clothing is finding a fan to fan my neck area where I am sure I have spontaneously combusted. I keep an actual hand fan on my desk given to me by my thoughtful brother and sister-in-law, but any piece of paper will do. My church bulletin works nicely as do checkbooks, newspapers or as a last resort, fast food napkins. If at home I usually have a slow dance with the fridge door with my face pressed lovingly against the butter compartment door. Heavenly. Once while checking out at the grocery store I started flashing (heat, not trench coat creepiness) and held each cold item up to my cheek before placing it on the belt. After nuzzling each and every item I turned to see a young man behind me in line looking frightened at the kook in front of him. I lamely said, "I'm really hot."
If anyone touches me during this firestorm, woe to him for I become a fire-breathing dragon. The thought of someone else adding even a nanometric degree of heat just about sends me over the volcanic edge. My poor hubby has born the brunt of too many, "Don't touch me!" barks.
After 2 to 3 minutes the heat starts subsiding and my sanity slowly seeps back in. Even though I now know that I wasn't uncomfortable because of hunger, I've already sent the cows out to graze and there's no getting them back until the fat lady sings, uh, I mean until they come home.
There you have it. I experience those 4 to 12 times per day, 2 to 4 times per night, every day and every night for the last 2 3/4 years.*
Back to the emergency exit row. As I was sitting there and had one of my hot flashes, I looked longingly at the "Pull" lever and thought of the lovely cool air that would wash over my face when I pulled it. It was tempting, oh so tempting. Thankfully I still retain a little bit of sanity and besides, I didn't want to mess up my hair.
While I was writing this I had 2 hot flashes and ate chicken 'n' dumplings and Christmas cookies.
*When I injured my back I got a 3-week hiatus from hot flashes. They slowly returned until they were up to full speed ahead again.
