It’s the beginning of October and I’m already freezing. It’s supposed to warm up to a balmy 70 degrees by the end of this week, but the mornings are cold and there’s frost on the ground when I let my dog out at 6 am.
Since energy costs are so high, I vowed two years ago to stop messing with our thermostat and leave it at 68 degrees. So, I look like Eminem on some winter days when I can’t take it anymore and I don a stocking cap and my husband’s fleece. It is, admittedly, a very unattractive look. I try not to answer the front door when I’m decked out like that.
Work is no better. I drape cardigans over my cardigans so that I actually look like a librarian. I work with a number of menopausal pages (those are the people who shelve books) who are dressed in t-shirts and fan themselves while filling book carts. They have the fans blowing on high and stare at me when I stand there shivering and looking for books that haven’t quite made it to the shelves. I then return to the reference desk and place a heater at my feet. It’s miserable.
One of my doctors found that I have an enlarged thyroid so off I went to see an endocrinologist. After telling me all about his family for ten minutes he started asking me about myself. “How long have you had these symptoms?” he asked me. I told him that I had been unreasonably cold for at least three years, maybe longer. He didn’t even look up at me when he said, “It’s probably Hashimoto’s Disease. Not much I can do for you until your blood tests start showing significant changes.” So I’m still freezing and waiting for my blood tests to start proving to the doctor that I’m not a hypochondriac.
I remember sitting at a bridal shower and watching one of my husband’s cousins fan herself violently while working through a heat flash. I’m not normally an envious person, but at that moment I was thinking how nice a heat flash would feel. I might even give up my stocking cap and try to look attractive again.