"I Will Survive"...Menopause - For Everything There is a Season

Mary began writing seriously since she hit the hallmark age of fifty. She has met with success as many of her stories have been published. Visit her at www.MaryVKolar.com to learn more about her writing endeavors. Mary@MaryVKolar.com

For Everything There is a Season

I remember when wet and wild meant participating in a wet tee shirt contest with a beer in one hand and a pen for phone numbers in the other. The admirers gathered around vying for my attention. Now, wet and wild means a full body sweat soaking through my tee shirt as the temperature rises, amid yet another hot flash. My once avid admirer, my husband, does not scamper for my attention, but runs for cover as the sweat continues. I was once one hot mama and proud of it. Now I am literally one hot mama and searching desperately for the nearest fan.

Then there was the frightening phrase, "I'm late." I remember bouncing (in my early days I actually bounced-- that was before the two children and a couple decades of experience weighed me down). Anyway, I bounced to my husband in a panic mouthing those two frightening words—“I'm late”. My strong, sensitive man was so supportive and understanding. He assured me it would be just fine as he put his arms around me. Just a few days ago, I told this same man that I was late, and he jumped to his feet, gave me a high five, and ecstatically proclaimed that maybe it's finally over. He was apparently referring to the mood swings, hot flashes, and homicidal tendencies of menopause.

Having survived the disco days, my one and only and I would go out on the town and dance to the tune of, "Get down tonight". He'd come home from a hard day as a junior accountant and exclaim, "Hey baby, let's get down tonight”. Those indeed were the days my friends. Now, when I think about getting down tonight, I'm thinking about adjusting the recliner into the down position with my feet up, hoping the swelling of my ankles will diminish to a point of looking human again.

Sometimes he'd come home from his entry-level position of the company he now runs, and say, "Let's get it on”. I'd scamper excitedly up the stairs knowing dinner would be late, and that was just fine with me. Now, when I think about getting it on, I'm thinking about trying to get the support hose over my swelling ankles and puffy legs.

I had quite a few hot dates with the man of my life. I remember how precious I felt in the light of his gaze at the French restaurant he was fond of taking me. The linen tablecloths brushed the exposed legs barely covered by the mini-skirt that I wore. I had a hot date last night. I met my best friend. The two of us sat at the local Denny's taking turns having hot flashes. The young perky waitress got on both of our nerves.

Time passes and as it does it takes the phrases of our youth and assigns whole new meanings to them. Suddenly, you turn around and youth has filtered away, and the lyrics to the song, " To everything, turn, turn, turn. There is a season, turn, turn, turn" suddenly begins to make a whole lot of sense. As for now, it is my turn to begin a new phase of life, and nobody ever said it was going to be easy. So, I'll make it through the swelling, the mood swings, the hot-flashes, the irritability and emerge ready for round two, because for everything there is a season, and this too shall pass. I'll be just fine.