
I admit I was oblivious. I knew something was not quite right. I thought I was sick. My brain was not functioning as normal. It's as if people were talking to me and I was absorbing the information through cotton candy. I felt slightly feverish. "Surely I must be coming down with something," I thought.
It can't be menopause. I'm not sweating profusely in bed. I had experienced a hot flash or two over the years but nothing significant. Menopause is supposed to be loaded with countless nights of changing nightgowns. I was in the clear - or so I thought.
"I believe you're peri-menopausal." Dr. O'Brien peered at me down his nose and through horn-rimmed reading glasses. That was a new one. "What's peri-menopause?" I asked. "Well that's the time before menopause when a woman starts to feel mild hormonal changes resulting in cloudy thinking and feelings of warmth accompanied by stress and irritability."
Still not convinced that I could have a pinky over the other side, I asked, "But how can you be sure that I'm peri-menopausal?" In professional knee-jerk authority he responded, "Do you know who Perry Como is?"
Perry Como - the American crooner, the hearthrob of the '50s and beyond. I remember Perry Como, the famous singer, the recording artist, the television star, that handsome hunk. I confirmed the many years I spent on earth when I responded, "Yes!"
And with that the deal was sealed.
I drove home realizing I reached the summit. I had that one pinky over the line. I tried to cheer myself up by humming a tune - a rendition of "Jingle Bells" that Perry Como made popular so many very short years ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment