Iíve never worried about the ďchange of lifeĒ before. Ever. I mean Iíve actually looked forward to it after years of Stage IV Endometriosis and cramps that have left me crying, cuddled in the corner like Baby on crack. But, that was before I knew I was going to be pushed up to the very razorís edge of spontaneous combustion.
It was definitely before I knew I was going to burst into flames at any possible second.
It was most assuredly before I knew that the blazing inferno inside of my body was going to reach the surface temperature of the sun about eight times a day with no warning.
Iím sitting there watching reruns of Frasier, cuddling with the Kr8z, eating Big Hunks, and suddenly I feel this warmth in my torso that quickly turns hotter and hotter and spreads throughout my whole body until Iím gasping from panic and lack of oxygen. Iím afraid to open my mouth to let in any cool air because Iíve watched†Backdraft about a million times so I know better.
Iím not sweating profusely or anything so there is that. But I am waking up a couple times a night and my yellow Dr. Seuss ďOne Fish, Two FishĒ pajamas have melded to my body like molten gold. I lay there panting with So-Kr8z trying to lick the sweat from inside my mouth. Itís all very†Animal Farm meets Suzanne Summers without her yams in the Mojave Desert in August.
I always thought that when you went into menopause youíd then graduate to Crone status; youíd be all wise and sage and have this crazy depth. Iím certainly not feeling very wise. Just yesterday I had Capín Crunch for dinner.
I visited Dr. Google looking for alternatives to hormone replacement. Iím only 42 and my guess is that, due to my endo, I only have one lone ovary up in there and she was probably struggling to keep up with my estrogen demands and went on strike. I can see her brandishing a picket sign painted with neon pink letters that read ďOverworked and underpaid.Ē Or perhaps she jumped off my uterus due to loneliness and splatted to her death. Who knows? But, there is no way Iím going to swallow a single drop of horse pee. Plus, my dearest friend lost her mom due to a blood clot from those drugs and it was heartbreaking.
Unfortunately, my research didnít uncover much. Some studies have shown flaxseed to be helpful and another study showed that it doesnít do shit, though apparently it makes you need to shit. Then we have Suzanneís yams which, apparently, donít do a damn thing either, plus yams are meant for bathing in brown sugar and butter during Thanksgiving time.
Iím not wholly sure what it all means. Perhaps itís time to take a pause. Perhaps itís time to buy a fire extinguisher. I dunno. ButÖ Iíd love some tips for unfanning these flames. What works for you, aside from Equus ferus caballus urine? Have you experienced this inner pyromaniac phenom in your body? Iíd so love some sage words of advice.
By Melanie Bates