Post #6

The 3am club

From the Office of Chaos · Filed under: Life's unmanageable moments

I don’t need to say a thing here do I? You all know what I’m talking about? For those who don’t (COUNT YOURSELVES VERY FUCKING LUCKY) this one really winds me up. It sets me spinning like a top crashing about with only destruction on my mind. Like why the FUCK? Okay I’ll calm down. ‘Affectionately’ known as the 3am Club, this is the hour at which almost all of us who are going through perimenopause or menopause wake up at night. Like cuckoos popping right out of a clock. Dong, dong, dong!

No, it’s not some secret party romp, or a witching hour ritual. Unless you count what’s happening in the blood stream as some darkly hatched sadistic plot. So picture this, I, The Crone am sitting propped up in my bed, (after popping my progesterone pill) with enough space between myself and Tatter Cloak (need that no-man’s land when night sweats begin and the swamp forms), reading my book. I find having a night time regime is crucial. No phones, no blue light from screens, no caffeine. Just a good old fashioned paper book and a cuddly toy. I read for a couple of hours, really tire myself out. Go to the bathroom, plug up my ears (against Tatter Cloak’s snoring), grab my toy and bed down. And NO IT’S NOT A CAT, I might be a Crone, but I’m not a FUCKING cliché. Plus my cat is real and she’s kicked my dogs out of their bed so she can sleep in it alone. My toy is a Poochie the Pooped Pup and yes, she’s a dog. Much psychology to analyze there I know.

SO. The first things to go are the pajama bottoms and bed socks. Within minutes actually, as the broken thermostat inside me kicks in. I bed down again, this time the blanket on top gets peeled back, my remote control for the rotating fan, is within reach, because I know I’ll need it later. Same with the open window. Thankfully I have a very thin cotton/muslin sheet in the bed in case I feel cold. Trust me that thing’s a lifesaver especially when I go from hellfire maiden to snow queen, with feet and ankles like ice blocks in minutes.

But I digress, sleep arrives quickly. I stay that way and then. Ding! Like the microwave pinging, at 3am I am wide awake. Not an iota of tiredness, no stinging eyes, no yawns. Nothing. How long I stay that way depends and has ranged from 20 minutes to a few hours. When it first started happening I thought I was imagining things, but no fucking way. It’s a thing and it happens to lots of us. Hence the name of our humble club.

At these times I stare longingly over at Tatter Cloak - with murder in mind. There he is softly snuffling in his sleep like a giant baby. There might even be a bit of drool happening. LUCKY FUCKER. But then I feel an unexpected surge of empathy and stroke his sweaty hair because he looks like a menopausal woman lying they all damp and flustered. Aaaw.

So why does this happen. It’s not actually magic unless you consider the human body to be some kind of evil woman-hating wizard. Oh wait… And we cycle right back to the dropping hormone levels. As progesterone falls it lowers GABA in the brain and since that keeps the nervous system calm and in sleep…well you guessed it, bam! You’re wide aFUCKINGwake. Then add the falling estrogen to the mix you get the hot flashes and dreaded night sweats. And it gets better because 3am soup isn’t ready without a massive dash of stress hormone cortisol that peaks around 2-3am giving that wired feeling. But wait! There’s more, blood sugar dips too and that sends cortisol and adrenaline into hyper drive to overcompensate (more masculine energy there!) and that is what slaps us all awake. So my plan is apart from haranguing my doctor about this, is to have a bit of protein before bed to keep the blood sugar steady. Get predictable when popping my progesterone AND doing a few long hours of cardio outside in Crone Gardens. I find dragging heavy rocks and soil to when landscaping knocks me right out. (I can always imagine I’m dragging the clammy corpse of my doctor or some other cretin who has failed my care). But my aching bones might complain, but that’s a rant for another time.

Stay strong and remember there’s no such thing as…

A Crone Alone