When my hot flashes started...what? No, let me change that to when the hot flashes started---I do NOT want to possess them at all. Okay, when the hot flashes started, it must have been winter because I just remembered waking up in the middle of the night taking two-thirds of the blankets off of me in one fell swoop.

     Consuming heat, like the kind I feel when I forget to step away from the opening oven door when taking out a casserole, unmercifully engulfed me. I broke out in a sweat but must have fallen back to sleep quickly. I woke up again and felt cold so I lifted the covers back up again

     The term hot flash is somewhat of a misnomer. Flash indicates speed. This phenomenon may come and go, but when I am in the throes of it, there is nothing fast about it. A reprieve may come. However, hope is not held out for permanence.

     My internal thermostat has always been higher than normal anyway. Now, when the internal heat switch is thrown into high gear due to this hormonal maelstrom (or lack thereof), it is on the verge of being unbearable.

     If I do not have a fan at my desk, in my pocket when I am on the go or on the floor when I am ironing, etc., etc., etc., I feel as if my molecules are going to melt away. I don't have buckets of sweat pouring off of me. It is just pure heat emanating from my core. It does not matter if it is freezing outside. If it is freezing, I am simultaneously cold AND hot!!!

     Not too long ago, I had my annual gynecological exam. A transvaginal ultrasound was ordered because I was complaining of pelvic discomfort on top of the heat. Well, the tech did not see the ovaries transvaginally or transabdominally. It reminded me of when I dropped a $50 bill and was frantically walking back and forth trying to find it. Just like in this situation, the search was in vain. No wonder my body is an inferno.

     Experiencing the agony and the angst, I said goodbye to my uterus eons ago. I guess my ovaries just took off their shoes and started running too.

     At the follow-up visit, the nurse practitioner told me it was not at all unusual for the ovaries to shrink when aging occurs. ( I looked it up and it is called ovarian atrophy. More on atrophy in a future blog.)

     To cap off the follow-up visit, I sheepishly told the provider that I did not think I smelled as fresh as I should. I was told something that brought me a modicum of comfort. She told me in a matter-of-fact way what her instructor had told her. She said, "It's a vagina. Not a rose."

Postscript:  To cool off in the evening, I exfoliate with Mary Kay's 4-in-1 facial cleanser and follow it with the silky TimeWise Nighttime Recovery gel that soothes the skin and makes the cares of the day vanish.

GOD FIRST, FAMILY SECOND, CAREER THIRD