To me, last night, in a dream.
But first, a few words about post-hysterectomy, menopausal women, insomnia, no dreaming and writing. Heh! My feelings won’t be hurt if you leave this discussion and come back on another day.
Okay. Here’s the deal. Earlier this week I went for my routine annual checkup.
Last year, I was advised to switch to a lower dose form of oral estrogen. Like a good girl, trying to reduce risks, I did. Yes, the occasional dreaded night sweats returned, energy flagged, sleep became ever more elusive and the wide open tap of my formerly rich dream life became a slow drip.
I saw a new person this year. She asked a lot of questions and offered a variety of options, based on my personal and family medical history. She was smart as a whip and proactive on my behalf. I walked out of there with a clever method of delivering systemic estrogen called a Femring.
Two nights ago, I awoke in the morning after a great night’s sleep with my head singing, full of fantastic, colorful, music-filled dreams. There were children playing in a sprinkler and a young couple bathing their baby in a small robin’s egg blue Victorian bathtub that had gorgeous flowers painted on it. I saw an old couple holding hands, sitting side by side, their thin legs touching, in a white wicker glider. I met an elderly judge in a 19th century suit complete with ornate pocket watch who flirted with me over tea and scones in a most courtly manner. People gathered for ice cream under the canopy of huge spreading oak trees, and I enjoyed conversations with many of them.
Last night, Aristotle visited. We walked in a grove and talked about some of his favorite subjects: change, movement, purpose and potential. I practically sprang out of bed, fully rested and recharged.
My dream buddy, Aristotle, might note that the empirical evidence suggests increased estrogen is due the credit for my restored ability to sleep deeply and remember my dreams.