This month my body marks ten years of hot flushes, an anniversary I’m regarding with exasperation and bemusement rather than actually celebrating. They began during chemo, intensified when I started taking tamoxifen, added a physical aura when I went onto letrozole and still persist with wearying regularity even though I’ve been drug free for the last three years. In the winter they’re more of a wave of heat that dies down if I take a layer off. In this weather they’re an intense escalation of temperature with beads of sweat appearing on my arms and then trickling down my back, into my eyes, down my neck. They’re exacerbated by stress and yesterday I had them in two different work meetings where I was casually trying to wipe the sweat off my face while talking through board papers. They’re frequently embarrassing and I’ve had people staring at me with consternation as I’ve melted into a puddle of sweat.
They start with a physical sensation in my abdomen, a kind of grating and tightening accompanied by a growing anxiety that often throws me until I realise what it is heralding. I don’t track them any more because it was too depressing. They used to happen at least every hour but they’re a bit less frequent now and I only wake two or three times in the night, throw off the covers and wait to cool down.
I’ve tried lots of remedies – giving up caffeine, alcohol, chilli, garlic, ginger; acupuncture, the Bowen technique, a naturopath, and medication although I drew the line at antidepressants and HRT was never an option. Alcohol makes them worse but nothing else has touched them.
This is not a whinge although it may sound like one. More of an acknowledgment that my body is still doing this unnecessary, unwanted, unhelpful thing with such alarming and tenacious regularity – why?! Let me know if you have any other suggestions of things to try.
It was a delight to start today with a cool cycle to Hyde Park and a delicious swim in a cool lake. I’m heading into a day in a hot office and will be hogging the fan that plugs into my laptop. Still, I’d rather be alive and dripping than the alternative. Solidarity to all sweaty sisters who are going through the same.
Run for your life 