Is it hot in here, or is it me? Please don’t answer that

Karina Bland is on vacation. This column originally ran July 31, 2018.

“Hot flash!” I call out. Everyone scrambles away from me. Even the dog.

I think they’re afraid I’m going to implode and leave only a scorch mark on the couch in my spot closest to the fan.

I’m fine one minute, but then the next, I’m wicked-witch-I’m-meltingI’m-melting hot.

I can’t imagine a worse time of year for this to be happening. Between record temperatures and my hot flashes, I might spontaneously combust.

“Are you all right, mom?” my teenage son asks.

“Why would I NOT be all right?” I shoot back without taking my head out of the freezer.

Sawyer quietly backs away.

There’s no escape when it’s this hot. No opening a window. No going outside.

Not even when the sun goes down because I’m also having what my doctor calls "night sweats." Night sweats? They are just hot flashes in the dark.

I throw off the covers to cool down, then fall asleep, only to wake again, chilled. (My battle with my blankets is like my relationships: on, off, on, off.)

Only coffee followed by a Diet Coke will get me through the day. Unfortunately, caffeine can trigger hot flashes.

I read advice online from the Mayo Clinic: Keep cool. Oh, thanks. In the summer. In Arizona.

Dress in layers so that you can remove clothing when you feel warm. If you want to find me, follow the trail of clothes I drop in my wake.

Open windows or use a fan or air conditioner. I have ceiling fans in every room and an extra fan next to my bed.

Relax. Some women find relief from mild hot flashes through meditation; slow, deep breathing. Relax? RELAX? I’m on fire!

Sawyer comes out of his room, zipping up a sweatshirt. No wonder my utility bill was $500.

Apparently it’s not hot in here. It’s just me.