Will Somebody PLEASE turn the thermostat down...
Updated: Oct 7, 2020
So, turning 40 is interesting in more ways than one. A noticeable anomaly that happens for the female of the species at least, is that things start to really hot up.
No, I am not talking about anything remotely sexy or fun, I am talking about the thermostat. The one that controls the temperature of the WHOLE WORLD.
I am hot, like all the time, even when the rest of the world is not. Dog walks have become a repetition of 'Oh my, no coat? Are you not cold my dear?' (concerned old lady, middle aged gent, young people, you name it). Me: 'No I am hot; I am always hot' fixed smile and move on.
Nights are an interesting dance of the duvet (now the lightest tog I could order) and the fleece blanket that might be cooler, but the jury is kind of out on that one. The duvet goes on, the duvet comes off, the blanket is draped to expose the shoulders, the window flung wide open.
But you know the darndest thing, when I get cold, I get really cold. So, I will fall asleep finally at peace with the mercury, only to be rudely awoken a while later when my body has decided it can be normal, and no blankets with the window open means I am now shivering...seriously??
Every health professional you speak to just rambles about hormones and menopause and shrugs a little. Women over 45 nod sympathetically and recount the gory and not so glamourous details of their own journey, and just like that you are accepted into the exclusive club.
It always makes me laugh that these stage of life clubs are so well guarded. Until you utter the magic words, which of course vary for every cliquey club, you are not even allowed to know they exist. Remember your first pregnancy? All the older more experience mums patted you along with banal chitchat about first smiles, the amazement of breast feeding and how wonderful it all is?
Remember how that changed once your baby was here? No one talks about the pain that is childbirth, the hell that is cracked nipples and mastitis. No, they do not exist until you have earned you place in the club by pushing a bowling ball out of your lady garden or endured the delights of cracking the sunroof to retrieve the little blighter who has decided that you deserve to really suffer. Then you can join the mums club and whisper in hushed tones around those who haven't yet been there, while in private you rant about the pain and indignity of it all.
Well, now I know that the menopause club is no different. Until you utter trigger words the invisibility cloaks stay on, and older women are sworn to silence. Once you demonstrate your place, well frankly the gloves are off and outcome the horror stories of pain and suffering. No longer can I look at Gladys the same again, and man what I know about Cynthia - well frankly I can only tell you if you are a 40 something perimenopausal woman too.
So, there we have it- if you have joined my journey because you are on the same road, welcome. If you have yet to hit this wonderful stage of life, well frankly it is your own fault if you read something you don't like. Veterans, menopause survivors and those who didn't have to play - enjoy my pain. And men...seriously do you really need to know? But if you want to hang around and hear my ramblings, you are very welcome.
But could someone please turn the thermostat down?