Beware the freezer burn!

At the grocery store recently, an older “gentleman” checker took my basket from the line I was waiting in and pulled it over into another line. There was a backup with several customers waiting and only one check stand open. He was doing the right thing by bringing the next person in line over before he opened his register. I was in a hurry and grateful for his consideration.

As he ran my items over the scanner he asked if I were having a party. I replied, “Yes, just a small gathering with my girlfriends.” What came next made me laugh. He asked if we were having a bridge party. I told him no, and explained that I play cards a lot, but not bridge. I said that the get-together was to watch the season premiere of Nip Tuck. It was his turn to laugh, and he did. Then he said, “Boy, I got that all wrong, didn’t I?”

As this friendly checker went on to explain that he asked about the bridge because that’s what his mother and her lady friends used to do years ago, I laughed again. He also laughed. You see, this nice checker is a semi-retiree in his late sixties. I could see from his expression that he had heard about Nip Tuck and its raciness. His thinking of me and my chicas in the same train of thought as his mother and her lady friends playing bridge was amusing to us both. Nope, I told him that I was sure my little gathering would be nothing like his mother’s bridge parties. As I left the store, I made a mental note to seek his line out in the future. He was a nice guy and a gentleman, even if he did have me confused with somebody else. Or did he?

Later in the day, as I prepared a quiche and a pasta salad for my friends, I had my first hot flash. At least I think it was. I came to this conclusion as my husband walked into the kitchen and asked me why I had my head in the freezer. Of course, I told him that I was looking for something...but I don’t think he believed me. I also told him that maybe it was time for me to take some bridge lessons.

Okay, a few of you out there may be grumbling that bridge and hot flashes don’t necessarily go together. Please, bear with me as I’m not in my right state of mind and am more than likely estrogen deficient. Like PMS, a woman suffering hot flashes can be dangerous. In my delusional state, with my makeup running down my face and my eyelashes stiff with a fresh coat of frost, I somehow equated the gentleman checker’s bridge statement from earlier in the day as a sign of aging—getting old. As I finally climbed out of the freezer and reached up to flick some frost from my bangs, I noticed that my husband was quietly backing out of the kitchen, never once taking his eyes from my face, nor the vegetable knife I was still clutching from when I chopped the ingredients for the salad and the quiche. Smart man. He must have recognized the “dangerous curve ahead” sign. Maybe something from his past prepared him for this moment. Or maybe this danger sign is recognizable in any language.

Okay, so I’m a poker, backgammon and gin rummy girl. I came of age with margaritas and daiquiris, not Stoli on the rocks with an olive...or scotch and soda with twist. Hard liquor and bridge denote an earlier era in my mind—my parents era, and their parents before them. I know that I’m wrong, but it’s my perception...and my her-story. My bridge metaphor is just that—a metaphorical bridge to help me recognize that the doctors and tests must be wrong. I must be perimenopausal. There, I said it. Or actually, I wrote it.

After this little freezer episode, I had to touch up my icy and now streaked makeup and blow-dry the ice chunks out of my hair. I was appropriately thawed and feeling much better as my first guests arrived. I had planned to tell them about my hot flash episode...and the gentlemen checker thinking that we were getting together for a little bridge party. I knew it would bring a laugh all around. Before I could say a word, another hot flash hit me and it was much worse than the first one. As I tried to remain cool, calm and collected, the hot flash worsened. I moved (shoved) my husband out of the way as he was getting ice and preparing drinks for our guests, then I unceremoniously stuck my head in the freezer again.

As I tried to mentally will my makeup not to run again, and blink my eyes so they wouldn’t succumb to freezer burn, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I reluctantly pulled my head out of the freezer. Through the frost that was layering my twice done eyelashes, I looked directly into the eyes of one of my good friends. She had moistened a kitchen towel with cold water and compressed it onto the back of my neck. I started to ask how she knew, but then I stopped myself as the answer to my unasked question was evident. She’d been there, and done that. It was a poignant moment, because I had been thinking that this friend had not been herself lately and had actually been a little frosty with me on a few occasions. I had wondered what I did or said to upset her. I also suspected that she had been wondering the same about me. As she ushered me carefully to a chair, I knew in that instant that I had not done or said anything to upset her. And I was incorrect in another assumption. She hadn’t been there and done that, as in the past tense. She’s right there with me, sticking her head in the freezer and biting her tongue when those temperamental little Fahrenheit aliens invade at will.

Soon after I cooled off, and my other guests arrived, we all laughed about my first freezer burn, and shared a few stories about the change of life. I found out that most of my friends are already there and that I was the last hold-out. I also found out that the asthma medication I take can worsen the affects...and actually bring on a hot flash. Wow. I wish we had shared these stories earlier. I also wonder who came up with the term “change of life.” If these two little episodes are any indication, this term seems a bit tame. I think “Mutation of life,” with the kicker “Say goodbye to life as you know it and get ready for freezer burn” is more appropriate.

As I think back on this evening I am reminded of a funny story that someone told me several months ago. It doesn’t seem quite as funny now. It was about a woman going through "The change." She was at a party and it was raining outside. She had a hot flash and disappeared into the crowd. Eventually people noticed her absence and started looking for her. After searching the house with the party in full swing, this woman was discovered outside, with her shirt off, screaming, not singing, in the rain. Now that I can relate to this woman’s misery, I’ve decided to dress in layers this winter—especially if I plan to attend a party on a rainy evening.

Before my friends and I finally settled in to watch the gory, sordid and dramatic nips and tucks that brought us together in the first place, we decided to lay some ground rules for dealing with mutants like my friend and me. We decided whenever a friend goes through the “mutation” it’s necessary to cut them a little slack. Don’t be overly sensitive and don’t be too quick to judge...and definitely don’t be thinking that every barbed comment is aimed at you. Sometimes the mutants just can’t help it, and other times they’re not even aware they’ve done or said something unpleasant. We’re not asking for carte blanche on bad behavior for the mutants, We’re just saying that if you can’t stand the heat of a hot flash, then don’t sit too close to the fire for awhile...or you just might get your eyebrows singed. And whatever you do, if you get burnt during one of these flaming episodes, don’t take it personally.

I admit that I’m a newbie to all of this, but I do have one more bit of advice to impart on this subject. Beware the freezer burn, it can be a bitch. And guys, so can we. You might want to take a page from my husband’s playbook. If you see a woman with her head stuck in a freezer, and if she’s holding a knife—especially if she’s holding a knife—be afraid, be very, very afraid. Whatever you do, don’t ask her to give you some ice while she’s in there.

Me? I’m off to get some drugs. I have no intention of going through this alone. And if I don’t get some help soon I’m sure that’s where I’ll be—alone, in a locked and padded cell. After the drug therapy, I’ll return home, put some ice in a glass and pour my husband a drink. I think he’s going to need one, or two, or three... . I think it’s going to be a long, hot winter. So, bottom’s up everybody. I’ll provide the blender, the berries and the rum, if someone else would be so kind as to get the ice.

Postscript: I think the term “menopause” is also out of whack. Think about it: Men–O–Pause. Is it a warning to men to tell them to think, or pause for a moment, before they react to something a menopausal woman has said or done, or a reminder for women that they will pause for awhile and become more like men. Either way, I don’t care for the term and I’ll not use it. If anyone wants to know, I am Teri, not Peri, Mutant-O-Pausal.

Dedicated to Mrs. Cox…this one’s for you chica. Thanks for the cold compress.

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta