Under similar circumstances, though, I’d hasten to get my hot (and I do mean “hot”) hands on just one little item: a prescription. I’d march into my HMO and accost the first person I came across, and demand to to see my grim primary care doctor.
“I want a prescription.”
“For what?”
“Prempro.”
“Prempro? But . . .”
“Prempro. Now.”
For you fortunate ones who have no idea what Prempro is or does, and no need to know, it’s the drug that offers miracle relief to women like me. It makes us cool. And comfortable. It eliminates hot flashes and night sweats. It eliminates the need to adjust the thermostat in my husband’s car every few minutes, depending on whether or not the sun is shining through the windows on me, or don or remove a sweater each time I move from room to room in our 80-year-old, unevenly-heated house.
Prempro says to my faulty temperature-regulating hypothalamus, “Everything’s fine. There’s no need to flood her with perspiration to cool her, when she’s standing outside in 30 degree weather in a tank top. No need to soak her short, sleeveless cotton night gown when it’s 60 degrees inside. Turn off the body heat.”
So, if you hear the world’s about to end, run to the candy store with my husband, if you want. Just please don’t get in my way. I wouldn’t want to step on you on my way to get that big, fat dose of delicious Prempro.
If you have hot flashes, or know someone who does, you might enjoy “What Keeps Me From Writing? The Fire Within.” Part 1 and Part 2.
Whoa, I’ve been there, Baby. No fun. But for many (for me anyway) it does often pass. Just keep the fan handy.
Ah, I am soooo not looking forward to that! The world ending or the hot flashes. But I’ll stay out of your way for the Prempro, as long as you are not between me and Mountain Dew!
Okay. I promise I’ll let you have any Mountain Dew I come across when the world is on fire. (Er . . . On second thought, I might want it myself, though.)
How about both? Candy *and* Prempro!