Menopausal hot flashes equate to being a human candle. Without warning, a match is applied to the tip of your inner core. The intense heat melts you from the inside out. The internal campfire lasts moments or hours.
When the flame is extinguished, approach with caution, the embers may still be hot.
A heart at peace gives life to the body.
Is anyone else offended by this impersonal care and new process flow being implemented at the doctor’s office?
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It’s the middle of the night in New England but I am at the Daytona 500. My menopausal self awakens and discovers my body in our overheated bed. It’s no longer warm from our laps around the track. Instead I am flush red, and there’s a pit crew in my head, taking the blankets on and off as fast as they can. The flurry of activity finally helps me cool down and get back on track to sleep.
I am dreaming of the finish line although there are hundreds of laps ahead. I want this race to end, so I can earn the trophy back.
I awake feeling both exhausted and restless. Regardless, I feel the need to work but have such low energy, even getting the mail seems like a bad idea. The mailbox seems too
My body is so tired, it feels like I walked from New England to Mississippi today. Actually, I think I was dragged there on my back because it is sore as hell.
When I arrived on the Mississippi plantation, the devil filled me with a sack full of cotton bolls. I swear even my belly button is sore and dehydrated. My insides are so dry I wonder how my nose can drip. Any mucus that finally develops must be coming from my lungs. My chest is tight, like a barge pushing against the tide, trying to pull every part of my body out of misery and into a better place. I try to put on a brave face but it is under pressure too.
My body is imploding.
My reaction is to counterattack and explode onto the page.
I soak up the sunshine
and enjoy the breeze.
My mind cannot rest
And my body hurts,
so I work on my soul.
I’m finally wide awake and am content and grateful. I feel the need to send my body rest because ignoring that letter of the law seems like a bad idea. My spirit is alive and He is
NOT IF YOU’RE LACTOSE INTOLERANT!
In college I wrote a childhood story about a station wagon game appropriately named “smoosh your sister”. While Marsha Brady was taking her drivers test in the Bunch wagon, I was taking my sisters to task in the wagon crusher. It was a simple and competitive game to pass time. We invented it while our parents shopped for groceries.
That Saturday, that event, has stayed with me for 40 years. I suppose all near death experiences do. I stretched across the back seat and waited for my sister’s to put the collapsible back on top of me. They walked around the wagon, climbed in the back and sat on top of the folded-down seat. I remember telling them to keep adding weight. I wanted to be smooshed the most. I wanted to win.
Sometimes you get what you ask for…I remained smooshed until my Dad was found in the store to come rescue me. I felt my lungs being crushed at the same time I realized my yelling father couldn’t even see me.
He finally gasped, released me and pulled me out and into the open air.
We were all together, yet I was all alone.
I remembered the ordeal after a more recent smooshing. While my colleagues were still at the office, I was on my way back from the doctor’s office. It was the story of a lovely lady, that had just received her mammography. It’s a simple and recommended procedure – so you can hopefully pass more time in this life.
Yesterday, that scan, created another memory as I enter my 50th year. I slipped off my robe so I could hug the machine and waited for my technician. She walked around me, lifted up my boob and tightened it into a vice. I remember counting out the seconds. I wanted to be done in four pictures. I wanted out.
Sometimes your wishes don’t come true…my girls remained in their trap until she could take a fifth scan. I heard my boobs crying at the same time the technician told me to relax and “not move”. Trust me, you can’t.
I finally gasped, when she released me, and I took in some air.
I was soon all alone (removing stickers) but knew we were all in this together.
Continue reading Smooshed!
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Credit: Pilgrim Covenant Church