Oh, aren’t hot flashes just a little slice of Heaven? NOT. I am always turning on fans and the Crankee Yankee is always turning them off. My standard speech to him is this: “you can put a hoodie on to get warmer. I can’t do a damn thing to get cooler!” I could be sitting in a bathtub full of ice cubes and still be sweating.
Look, I get it; it’s a biological process we can do nothing about, so why complain? Sometimes complaining is the only relief there is for hot flashes! Of course it doesn’t change a thing, but as my mother used to say, “sometimes you just have to bitch your way through.”
After going through two rounds of DCIS breast cancer, I would think that my hot flashes would just bow out and go bug someone else. But no, that’s not how it works. My wonderful doctor who manages my Tamoxifen and all things cancer-wise keeps telling me, “don’t worry, it’s almost over; the hot flashes should end soon.” Really? Tell that to my soaking pillow each morning!
I had a hysterectomy when I was in my early fifties, and that’s when the fun started. The hot flashes started up big time, and it wasn’t at all unusual to be working at my computer, two fans aimed at my face, sweating over my keyboard. I went through boxes of Kleenex faster than a drunk doing shots at an open bar.
It wouldn’t bother me so much if I’d had children; I would expect the whole deal, hot flashes and all. But I would have had the children to make up for it. However, having kids was not in my particular deck of cards; looks like the hot flashes are my children!
Every time I see a woman around my age wearing a bandana around her forehead, I want to say to her: “I know; me. too.” But I wouldn’t want to rub it in. I’ve soaked up dozens of bandanas myself. Believe me, you don’t want someone trying to be sympathetic about your sad attempt at trying to keep your face, temples and neck dry in a public place.
If I were a better person, I would end this post with something uplifting; something about the nobility of women my age and the things that happen to you in your 60’s, to be taken with good grace and dignity. Nope—not going to lie; hot flashes and sweating just SUCK.
And by the way, I own three dozen bandanas.