I threw off the covers, fanned my all-cotton T-shirt I sleep in, and got a drink of water. When I laid back down again, it still seemed my internal temperature from the top of my head to my chest was approximately a thousand degrees. After trying to get back to sleep and sweating in my bed for 40 minutes, kicking off the covers, then pulling them up and kicking them off again, I realized that it was futile. This is one of those not-so-rare nights when I don't get enough sleep. Menopause is not for the faint-hearted.
Back in my thirties when I coordinated events at an independent bookstore, I worked with Jan, the savvy, smart and absolutely fun book buyer. Jan is a bit older than me, and she was experiencing the joys of menopause during the time we worked together.
I'm one of those women who has been too cold her entire life. When greeting a new acquaintance with a handshake, the person almost always commented on how cold my hand was. When Jan mentioned how uncomfortable her hot flashes were, I replied that it actually sounded nice. Maybe I would finally be warm enough. No more sweaters in July or wearing socks to bed in August.
Jan smiled knowingly and said, "Nice? No. It's not like that. At all."
She was too kind to say, "You just wait. Hot flashes will make you miserable during the day. You'll be so uncomfortably hot at work that you'll wish you had a private office so you could strip down to your bra. And you'll wake up in the middle of the night to find your nightgown so soaked with sweat that you'll have to change your pajamas in the dark. You'll toss and turn, and finally get up because, to paraphrase the Borg from Star Trek TNG: Sleeping is futile."
I threw in that Star Trek: The Next Generation reference because both Jan are I are Trekkies, and she so would have said that if she wasn't so kind. (At the bookstore we threw a Star Trek/Star Wars Galactic Gala and I rented Star Trek uniforms for our entire crew--er staff. It's still one of my favorite Jan memories.)
When I'm hot flashing in the wee hours, I sometimes pull out my laptop and work. Or I write. Or read whatever book is on the top of the stack on my nightstand. I've even gone down to the basement and thrown in a load of laundry. One time at 4 a.m. I'd already done two loads of laundry and then organized the laundry room. Why waste the time and sudden burst of energy?
My gorgeous daughter is 20. She is thin and always cold, even in August. She wears hoody sweatshirts to bed and drags all the extra blankets in the house upstairs, piles them onto her bed and builds herself a cozy nest to sleep in. Just looking at her thick stack of blankets makes me sweat.
I remember when I, too, was cold. The solution was to put on a sweatshirt and then I'd be warm. But when you're too warm and have already removed every piece of clothing that's acceptable to remove in polite society, you run into a problem.
I still go to bed with socks on because my feet are cold. But sometime in the middle of the night--without waking up--I yank the socks from my feet and fling them across the room. Then I throw off my covers, panting "Hot! Hot!" And it begins again.
The effects of menopause are inescapable. Again, to quote the Borg: Resistance is futile.
The next time I'm suffering a hot flash, I must remind myself that this moment of discomfort is my badge of honor as I dance toward 50. Thanks for sharing this middle-of-the-night dance with me.
