Chapter One Hundred Seventy: Ma’am and the hot flashes….

So, for about five years, I have been on menopause pills. They help to minimize my hot flashes and curb my night sweats. In general, they made my life as a menopausal woman easier to handle.
I have thought about this long and hard. If there was a fire, my pills are at the top of my list for saving. If I were stranded on an island, along with a book, my pills would be the top things to take.
Every first of the month, like clockwork, I am at the pharmacy picking up my pills. Kwan, my local pharmacist with a permanent smile on his face; hands them to me like he is Willy Wonka and I am Charlie, being given the golden ticket, and for all intents and purposes, I am.
I stand in line, and ahead of me, some guy is yammering away to Kwan about his ailments and does; he have over-the-counter -solutions, as this guy apparently is anti-big-pharma. He rather loudly declares that they are sucking out our souls and controlling us like we are a bunch of junkies addicted to crack, and they are supplying it. He spins around and points to me as an example. If I am a junkie, for my hot flash pills, then I relent and accept this title wholly and gladly without an ounce of objection.

Finally, he leaves after being convinced by sweet Kwan that the goiter on his neck does not have an over-the-counter fix. As he passes me, I am almost stabbed in the eye by the goiter, which mind you, should have its own zip code.
I sashay over to Kwan and give him the”you know why I am here look.” Usually, I am received, with a beaming smile. Kwan looks off. His eyes dart around and, he whispers:” Umm, your insurance company has decided that your hormone pills aren’t a necessity.”
I am GOBSMACKED! Kwan is playing some cruel joke. I repeat: “Not a necessity?!” He nervously says: “They are no longer covered by your insurance. You can buy them.” I whisper back: “How much?” Looking around like we are involved in some nefarious drug deal. He taps away on the computer in front of him and then with a dramatic sigh as if he is about to turn states evidence he announces:” “Four hundred ninety- eight dollars.” I breathe a sigh of relief.”Oh for a year supply?” I say a tad too cheerful. Kwan stares at me. I notice a small bead of sweat above his upper lip. Looking downcast, he responds: “Um, no, that’s per month.”

My head begins to swim. Like a well-rehearsed play, a massive hot flash is cued. I feel my mouth moving but no words coming out. Pleadingly I look at Kwan, who is looking at me blankly. This is not my Willy Wonka cheerful Kwan who fixes my hot flashes! This is that scary guy who tried to steal Charlie’s Golden ticket. The lady behind me clears her throat as if to say: “Hurry up there are others in line behind you.” Like Linda Blair in The Exorcist, I swivel my sweaty face around to her and glare. She scurries out of line.
“So Kwan, any solutions?” I ask with as much hope(and sweat) as I can muster. He looks crestfallen and shakes his head no. I hear a sob and realize it is from me. I suggest to Kwan that he find a solution because “Mama needs her pills.” I am in a hot flash panic. I am swirling in a manic, menopausal episode, an out-of-body experience. I don’t remember much after that. I hope I wasn’t threatening Kwan but honestly have no recollection of what followed.I am escorted to a plastic chair and a woman is whispering in my ear. I am given a cup of water. The gossip in the line is rampant. I hear whispers of: “She needs her fix.” “Went ballistic on Kwan.” “Demanded her pills like such a Karen!”. I sit there sweaty and defeated. The chair beneath me capturing my sweat like a plastic puddle.

This is what my life has come to. I am a menopausal hot-mess express that is a hormonal pill junkie. Delegated to a plastic chair in the corner of a public venue. I am Hester Prynne. Albeit, my scarlet letter is my sweat. I assume I am being detained until the police get here. I have no recollection of my hot flash escapades. Before I know it, Confused Husband is squatting before me. He stopped by to pick up his prostate pills and of course because he is a man his pills were ready and covered by our insurance. He informs me that Kwan is trying to see if there is a generic form that the insurance will cover. However, states that I may have to find an over-the-counter remedy. I snicker back.”Imagine if you didn’t have access to your prostate pills. Carrying an enlarged boulder in your underwear and unable to pee? ” That shuts him up quickly.I watch Kwan on the phone surrounded by two female pharmaceutical techs. They are young, wide-eyed Bambi’s. I am not sure if they even know what menopause is. They are decades away from it. We are sent home with a list of substitutes that we will have to call our insurance company and find out if they will be covered. I do the walk of shame through the pharmacy. I don’t care. Passing Goiter man on my way out who gives me the”I told you so.” look. I have an urge to karate chop his goiter and see if he will still have that smug look on his face after that.

Back at home with a frozen bag of peas on my neck to help alleviate the flashes. I begin my thesis-like task of contacting our insurance company with the hieroglyphic list of potential substitutions before me. The crazy unpronounceable names of the pills as well, force me to spell each one out. The majority of them are rejected by the suit-wearing penis Czars in charge of my body.
Hours later I find one that they would accept. Albeit, I may soon grow a beard and Quasimodo-type hump on my back from the side effects, I must outweigh the pros and cons. A prescription is ordered and I can pick it up in a day. I am told it will take perhaps two weeks to enter my system and assist in curbing my flashes. Do I have any other choice?

Confused Husband attempts to console me as he senses another menopausal meltdown on the horizon. I inform him that he may wake up one day and next to him is the bearded lady with open canker sores on her lips and oily discharge from who knows which orifice? I read him out loud about the potential side effects. I then lament about how even with paying HUGE amounts for health insurance our health care is equivalent to that of a third-world country. It is a disgrace compared to other countries. I then look at real estate in Canada and in the UK and he laughs until he realizes I am serious. If we have to move in order for me to live without hot flashes and night sweats and all of the other lovely menopausal symptoms then so be it. I can buy my pills over the counter overseas. The ones where I had no negative side effects which are now out of reach. So instead they will give me other ones that will potentially make me sick and therefore, in the end, cost the insurance company more. It is BANANAS!! I suggest he brush up on his CV because chances are we are moving across the pond. He nervously chuckles and I say that Finland has a good health care system. I can see the fear in Confused Husbands eyes. He knows I am serious. I then announce:”Minun täytyy ehkä olla poronkasvattaja, jotta vaimoni voi saada pillereitä.” Translated means: “I may have to be a reindeer farmer so my wife can get her pills.”