Temporarily Assigned to Planet Earth

I had a nightmare last night. This is noteworthy not so much because of the content of the dream but because I had a memorable dream at all. I'm in my third year of going through menopause; for more than two years I haven't slept long or deeply enough to dream. I don't know any women who have had symptoms as severe as mine. The hot flashes are horrible enough, but hot flashes during the day are nothing compared to night sweats. Unlike some women I don't wake up drenched in sweat; I wake up and then break out in sweat. Hot flashes only last for a few minutes during the day, but at night I can lay awake, sweating and radiating heat, for up to an hour. I usually wake up every two hours, lay awake in a sweat for a while, doze off, wake up cold after a few minutes, pull the covers over me, fall asleep again, sleep for two hours, rinse, repeat. On a typical night I sleep for a couple of two-hour stretches, then can't fall asleep again. On the worst of nights I sleep for only an hour and forty minutes before waking up and breaking out in sweat. On these worst of nights I lay awake hot, sweating for an hour, then feel chilled, huddle under the covers and can't get warm again. I press my body against my 98-pound dog for warmth, me under the covers, Saint on top of them. I have no idea whether the room I'm sleeping in is hot or cold. It doesn't matter. My perception of temperature is determined by my internal thermostat, which has gone haywire. I drag myself out of bed in the morning, exhausted. Month after month, for more than two years and counting.

Last night, though, I slept long enough and soundly enough to have a significant dream--a dream that woke me up and that I remembered vividly. The nightmare portion of it was at the end--a very short portion of a long dream. The nightmare portion of the dream started after I came out of a clinic of some kind where I'd spent the day--I don't remember why; there was nothing wrong with me--to find that a heavy snow had fallen. I'd borrowed a pair of shoes to wear home--I don't remember why. My Isuzu Rodeo was buried under snow in the parking lot. I started walking home, a long, long walk down a deserted snow-covered road. I called my husband on my cell phone--yes, my late husband was still alive in the dream--and asked him to come and get me. He couldn't hear me, but he was speaking to me. He seemed frantic; he was crying and asking me why I wasn't coming home. I told him the Rodeo was buried under snow, that I was walking home in borrowed boots. I shouted into the phone hoping he could hear me. I tried to tell him where I was but couldn't remember the name of the street I was on. Nothing looked familiar. I looked around and saw what I thought was a familiar 7-11 but it was dark, deserted, and buried under snow. I came to a fork in the road and didn't know which way to turn. I saw a name on a street sign but don't remember what it said. Then I wasn't on foot anymore, I was in the Rodeo, but it was sliding out of control, picking up speed and careening around blind curves. I tried to scream repeatedly into my cell phone but no sound came out. This went on for a terrifying several seconds, then the Rodeo slid into a tunnel of snow. There was no outlet--the tunnel narrowed until I came to the end, deep under the snow. I got out of the Rodeo and started walking back toward the entrance to the tunnel, thinking that my cell phone signal wouldn't penetrate this snow, no one would be able to find me, and afraid the tunnel might collapse on me if a vehicle drove over it. Then I woke up.

Alone in a deserted world buried in snow. Lost, nothing looking familiar. Careening out of control, sliding down a tunnel that has no light at the end of it, no outlet. My late husband crying for me but unable to hear my voice. Quite a dream. And yet, upon awaking, two thoughts occurred to me simultaneously: what an awful dream, and how incredibly wonderful to have slept long and deeply enough to have had that dream. That's how bad it's been.

And yet, again, some women suffer from depression during menopause, and I have not. I'll take all the physical discomfort and exhaustion over depression any day, so weighing it in the balance, I consider myself not so bad off, after all.