You really are as you act.

The older I get, the more I pay attention to the physicality of life. Maybe it's because, with age, I'm finding I have to be more active in order to stay more active. That circuitous statement makes perfect sense, right? What I mean is, I want to continue to be active, but I just can't get up and "do" like I used to. I have to work on it. I have to work to keep my body able and willing. I didn't have to do this in my 20's and 30's.

Now that I'm in my 40's, things come harder. Hard work makes me hurt, and it takes a lot longer to recover. All I have to do is look at certain food and I gain weight. So, I'm making changes. I make a point to exercise more; eat better; be "in" the moment and ask if this is doing me good or bad.

It's not easy. My daily schedule is a mess and I can't always carve out time for major workouts. I'm responsible for more than just me and after taking care of them, working all day, taking care of the house, I'm exhausted. My husband laughs at me because, more often than not, I'm upstairs in bed by 9:30. I didn't used to listen to my body when I get tired. Now, I have no choice.

But the whole point of this is a thought I had months ago. That is, you are how you act. If you act with purpose  - moving, exercising, taking care of yourself - your body reacts positively and allows you to keep doing the things you love. If you don't keep moving and taking care of yourself, your body mounts a mutiny and slowly betrays you, not allowing you to do things.

Case in point, two women, both of whom I know very well. One is 63, the other, 70. Yes, there's a bit of an age difference, but I don't think it's too much to prevent comparison. Both were very active in their younger years, but time has really changed that.

The younger of the two is my own mother. She's a real go-getter. She's always been very conscious of her health and lifestyle. In part, due to having two sisters who are both overweight and one of them has some serious health issues. She eats very well, even though she doesn't deprive herself of treats. She eats with balance. She makes a point to keep moving, even though she has arthritis and osteoporosis. And she does it every single day. Living like this, she's able to continue doing the things she loves. Like taking an annual summer vacation with the grandchildren that would wear me out. She truly loves life.

The other lady is not in the same boat. Even when I met her years ago, when she was close to the age I am now, she was not what I'd call an active woman (though I learned she was very active in her 20's and 30's). Yes, she was on her feet and moved a lot, and her job did require physicality. But outside of work, she wasn't really active at all. And over the course of time, that never changed. Now, she's gained weight, doesn't have a lot of stamina, and declares that "she's too old" to do this or that.

Really? Why does age have to have anything to do with it? Why do people believe a simple number precludes them from "doing?" I'd like to see someone tell my mom she's too old for multi-state road trips, going to the beach, the Grand Canyon, or Disneyland. She'd tell you what to do with that kind of attitude. But she'd do it nicely, without swearing, because she's nice like that.

That's NOT the life I want in 20 years. I want to be doing the things I do right now. I don't want to be a grey haired lady content to sit in front of the tv or out on the porch. I want to have a long and vital life, until the day death takes me kicking and screaming.

Today's post sponsored by the letter P

As in perimenopause. The totally unwelcome and inevitable change overtaking so many of us. The condition that has made my last week a trip through hell. I do my best to ignore the symptoms most of the time; there's no sense concentrating on what you can't change, right? But this week has been a real bitch. With a capital B. So I figured I take a fresh look at the symptoms and see how I'm doing.

First, I needed a symptom list. I found a good one at this site. Just a quick top 10 type thing.

Let's see how I compare, and to be fair, this will be FULL of TMI:

10. Irregular periods. This is totally what touched all this off today. After rising entirely too early for a Sunday morning, I felt that all too familiar "gush". You ladies know exactly what I'm talking about. After a quick check of my period tracker, I was not surprised to see I'm a full week early. Looking back through my history, my cycle has gone anywhere from 23 days to 65 days.  At one point, I skipped a month entirely (hence the 65 days), sending me off to the store in a panic for a pregnancy test. Not a comforting thought when you're approaching your mid-40's.

9.  Problems sleeping. Did I mention I was awake early this morning? I can't fall asleep at night. I wake up on average of 598 times during the night. I'm either awake before the birds, or sleep through my alarm for 45 minutes. I nod off at my desk at work. I operate best on a full eight hours of quality sleep a night. Something that hasn't happened in approximately 1,825 nights. I'm not joking.

8.  Hot flashes. Sweet Jesus, what happened to my internal thermometer?? I'm just thankful they are usually at night. Needless to say, I no longer have to question if it's time to wash the bedding.

7.  Mood changes. Let me just say, The Enterprise entering Warp Speed has nothing on me. Olympic-class sprinters take lessons from my family.

6.  Low libido. Sex? Fuggetaboutit. More often than not,  my husband has a better chance of winning the lotto or being struck by lightning than enjoying the pleasures of my company.

5.  Vaginal dryness. I suppose it would be easier to verify this if I were actually having sex regularly. I'll have to get back to you on this one. Or maybe you'd rather I didn't.

4.  Weight gain. Particularly in the tummy area. I haven't had a pooch like this since immediately post-birth nearly 17 years ago. Thank the stars for spandex. Even last year, when I had my first - and hopefully last -  painful bout with diverticulitis and lost 10 pounds in nine days, I didn't lose the balloon on my tummy. And, sadly, the 10 pounds has found its way back home.

3.  Tender breasts. I'm convinced that somewhere in the chain of hormonal monsters, there is an ethereal being that holds a voodoo doll representing my boobs. Every.Damn.Thing.Makes.My.Boobs.Hurt. I finally got smart enough to decrease my caffeine intake, which did help. But they routinely remind me they are there and not at all happy to be in a bra/out of a bra/exposed to wind/exposed to the shower/within arms reach of my husband/or hanging out above the hot stove. Nothing makes them happy. Nothing.

2.  Urinary incontinence. This one just pisses me off. All of the symptoms do, but this one in particular. I don't dare sneeze, cough, or even blink my eyes most days. I know where every bathroom within a 100-mile radius is, because if my bladder isn't dripping like a broken faucet it is screaming at me that it has to pee, RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

1.  Migraines. In the last week, I've been under the influence of a headache for five days. Several of those days, I've been riding the very thin line between a ridiculously bad headache and a migraine. I've given serious thought to trying out the ancient procedure of tripanning. For those unfamiliar, here is a reference. Honestly, it sounds a lot more pleasant than the constant pain of a headache.

In closing, I'd like to address my ovaries directly, since they are charge of this delightful death march.

Fuck you, and the Fallopian tubes you rode in on.

The Latest in Dating Ideas

My heavy lifting work at the office is done for the day and I need a break. A quick check of the news will do. As usual, once I get past all the nightmarish headlines of the day, I can find the rare gem stories that brighten my day. I look forward to them to provide me with mood-lifting feelgoodedness (yes, today, that is a word), or LOL hilarity and stupidity that I can't, in my wildest dreams, relate to.

Today, I found the latter.

While scrolling through today's offerings, the headline, "6 Perfect Date Ideas," caught my eye. You can read it for yourself here. Trust me, after 23 years together, fresh dating ideas are a necessary thing. Sadly, many of our dates in recent years have involved dinner and grocery shopping, dinner and Home Depot, or the always popular dinner and coma.

The complete title after the jump said, "6 'perfect' date ideas from a man's perspective." That should have warned me off right there. Ok, ok. Yes, guys can come up with great ideas for dates. When we were dating and still living in WV, hubby once took me to the top of a mountain so we could watch the sun come up. Major points for that one!

Anyway...

The first suggestion... rather than going out for a meal, spend the day at the farmer's market picking out all the best organic goodies, then go home and cook dinner together. This guy is kidding right? My husband wouldn't know fresh romaine from a rutabaga. Nor would he eat it for that matter. And cooking together? Um, no. We are not compatible in the kitchen. And I don't like sharing my kitchen knives.

Another suggestion is to go swimming. This is a bad idea for a number of reasons. One, the river closest to us isn't known for being swimmer friendly. There are really nasty currents, lots of things under the surface to snag on, and, at times, it's really fast moving. There are, however, a few places off the river that are nice and calm, and quite popular with the water crowd. In other words, crammed with freakin' people. The local pools are also crammed with people, cutting down dramatically on the romance factor.

But the main problem? I have big issues with water. Specifically, water of unknown depth and unknown occupants. I'm absolutely certain that Jaws lives in every available body of water on the planet. Except swimming pools, because I'd be able to see him then. Hell, he'd probably find a way to come through the garden hose, just to scare the shit out of me. But oddly enough, I love to go water skiing and tubing.

But the suggestion that really made me laugh was to go jogging together. I nearly had a coronary just reading it, then had to pick my laughing self up off the floor. Neither of us are runners. Period. I've never been a runner because I can't seem to coordinate my breathing with the motion and tend to resemble a fish out of water. And hubby? After a hard day at work full of physical labor (the kind that would totally kill me), the last thing he wants to do, however late he gets home, is to go for a run. While he is physically as strong as an ox, something like this would make his body implode. He doesn't even like it when I park further than five spots deep in a parking lot. I'd park at the way end and walk if I had my way. And no, he won't go on walks with me. Apparently, I walk too fast. Even in heels I'm told to slow down.

I guess for now, date night will continue to be a trip to the store, fighting over power tools in the garage, or falling asleep on our respective couches because we're both too lazy to pick up the remote and find something good to watch.

The week in review.

This is the highlight of the week. Before you sits over $100 worth of meds. For the dogs. Or more precisely, two of the dogs. Somehow, in typical mysterious fashion for our house, there is sickness afoot. Without being exposed to any other dogs, much less sick dogs, we have kennel cough germs tucking into the lungs of all the beasts, one by one. 

The dosage instructions are involved enough, I need a chart to keep it straight and make sure we don't miss any doses. Each course is 10 days. If all of the dogs end up getting this, I will be passing out pills for at least a month. I better stock up on hot dogs and lunch meat. They are so talented, they can separate pills out of a wad of bread and spit them right back out on the floor. Appetizing, to say the least. 

I've decided this is no different that having a house full of young children who bring home every bug known to momkind. I'm just really glad it's not chickenpox, stomach flu, or explosive diarrhea. Those were NOT the days.

And as luck would have it, the oldest son dropped off his dog on Thursday in order for me to take him to the vet for his annual visit. For some reason, his 12-hour work days prohibit him from having the time to take care of it himself. And because of those 12-hour days, the dog is still here because he hasn't had time to come fetch him. I've tried to keep him separate from the other dogs, but you know how that goes. They looked at each other, so that's about all it's going to take. If Junior starts coughing, I'm pretty sure I'll have him for the full 10 days as the boy won't remember to divvy out meds twice a day. I'm not entirely convinced he remembers to do his laundry or buy groceries. Unless it's beer.  Being the mom never ends, even after they move out. 

And from behind closed doors comes the sound of more hacking and coughing. From dog #3. 

Fucking fantastic. The vet is now on speed dial. 

A little bit of tough love.

One of my resolutions decisions for 2013 is to get into better shape. (I really hate the word resolutions.) I want to get in better shape. I need to get in better shape. I don't hold up as well as I did in my 20's. I'm still strong, but some parts of me no longer reside where they once did. (How did my ass get way down there?!) Some parts of me aren't as firm as they once were. (What is with that jiggle in my thighs?!) And, of course, I no longer weigh what I once did. But it's really not about the weight at all, it's about how I feel.

I don't have the endurance that I used to. I've never been a runner, even in my teens. I just could never figure out the rhythm of the moving and breathing over long distances. I was a fair sprinter, but that's entirely different. I used to lift weights. A lot. I love to walk, but put me on a steep hill, and I may have a cardiac event. And yes, I know a lot of it is due to smoking. I've heard the speeches...from everyone. I keep trying, and one of these times I'll be successful.

Earlier today, I took a little break from work to catch up on emails and Facebook. And there in my inbox was the latest entry for a blog I've totally fallen in love with. Today's entry was all about fitness. And she's totally into fitness. As in, she's been an instructor and works out daily. Thank goodness she's also a major cat lover, because I truly can't relate to working out daily. :)

Anyway, part of her entry was a video featuring a man by the name of CT Fletcher. You can find the post and video here. Amanda is awesome and her blog is fantastic!! Sometimes, I just need to have it shoved in my face. Tough love goes a long way sometimes.   Thanks, Amanda!




I think Taz and I will go for a brisk walk before heading to the garage and our closet project.

A serious post

This post has been rolling around in my head for awhile. Actually, not the post, but the information. I've been processing, researching, looking for others talking about it, etc. This is also sort of a coming out for me. I haven't talked about it to very many people.

About a month ago, I was diagnosed with a condition known as Essential Tremors. It used to be called Benign Essential Tremors, but they can be anything but benign. The tremors make it hard to drink, eat, write, apply make-up, even pluck your eyebrows. Anything that requires fine motor movement is affected.

Essential Tremor (ET) is a neurological condition with no known cause. And while the tremors may make many people think of Parkinson's Disease, they are two different beasts. There is also no definitive test to diagnose ET. Rather, it is diagnosed through a process of elimination. My neurologist gave me a thorough physical exam, testing strength from different angles of muscle use, which is also helpful in gauging the tremors themselves. She also tested my reflexes, at some points on my body that I didn't even know were reflex points. Turns out, I'm hyper reflexive. Hit one point, they all react and I can't begin to control it. And it is very likely related to the ET.

We also discussed family history, thoroughly. In my reaching out to everyone in the family, I discovered my aunt has tremors, though she didn't verify a medical diagnosis. I recall my grandmother shaking, though neither my mom or her sisters have any recollection of same. So is my condition familial (hereditary)? We're not sure. We determined that my thyroid is fine, as is some level of systemic inflammation measured though blood work. So she came to ET as a diagnosis. At this point, we're not going to do an MRI; she sees no reason to, based on my symptoms to date. But if symptoms change, I'll be signing up for that. As an aside, I tend toward claustrophobia. Yay.

So what are my symptoms? A whole lot of shaking, primarily in my hands/arms. Most people that noticed told me that, perhaps, just maybe, dear god woman! cut back on your caffeine. Yeah, I drank A LOT of coffee, and not that wimpy decaf stuff. After dumping my consumption to a mere one or two cups a day, and supplementing with decaf (because, damn it, I love the taste of my coffee) I was still shaking. Just as bad.

There are times I shake so much that writing is a challenge. Oh, I can write all day long, but reading it might be a bit of a challenge to others. I've learned to print more. There are times I shake so much that drinking is a challenge. I've learned to not fill my cup so full and hold it with my left hand, which shakes just a wee bit less than my right. There are times I shake so much that eating is a challenge. Peas or corn on a fork? Forget it. I've learned a spoon can be my friend. I do much better with foods I can stab with the fork.

But it goes beyond shaking. I also have muscle twitches. It might be my arms, my shoulders, my legs, a hip, a back muscle, a neck muscle. I liken it to an earthquake. The pressure builds up in there and suddenly lets loose. It might be a small twitch, or something much more powerful. I once threw my mouse across the room. I didn't have a good hold on it and my arm twitched. Rather forcefully.

I also have some sensations, for lack of a better word, deep in some of my larger muscles. Particularly my thighs. They, too, are part of the whole. The only way I've come up with to describe this sensation is to say my muscles are humming. Deep down inside, like bone-deep. This part of it comes and goes. I'm grateful when it disappears for awhile because it is beyond annoying. When I'm on my feet a lot, it makes my legs tired really fast. When I'm sitting or lying down, they hum constantly, like they're plugged into an outlet. It's sort of a pulsing, just like the shakes. They've now been humming for three straight days, 24/7. It.drives.me.nuts.

Recently, probably because I'm paying much closer attention to what my body is doing, I've noticed my speech patterns are different. I swear there are times that I stutter. Not like continuously, but just a hitch or two while saying a word. Or my tongue will tangle while I'm talking. Or I just can't find the word. It's annoying and this aspect really bothers me.

So did I just wake up one morning with the shakes wondering what the hell was wrong with me? No, it was very gradual. In my recent memory, covering a period of many years, I don't remember NOT shaking to some degree. I've tried to think back to milestone moments or particular times I remember well to determine if I had the shakes at that moment in time. I can't do it. But during the last year or two, it is measurably worse. And when I'm tired, it's worse. When I'm dealing with a lot of stress, it's worse. If I get carried away with caffeine, yep, you guessed it. It's worse.

What is the future going to be with ET? I have no idea. For some, it remains an annoyance that they live with. For many others, it progresses and gets worse. Much worse. It has the potential to be debilitating. Life-altering. I'm part of the group for whom a drink will calm the tremors, but only for a little while. It doesn't work for everyone. And, understandably, isn't recommended as a continual treatment.  There are medications that help, but don't cure. The most accepted medication is a beta-blocker more commonly used to treat high blood pressure and heart disease. Sometimes, anti-anxiety meds are used. My aunt tried Xanax and didn't tolerate it well. It basically zoned her out. There is also a surgical procedure available for when it gets really bad and/or intolerable. It's a procedure known as deep brain stimulation. In short, a device is implanted in the brain that supplies an electrical current to the area of nerves responsible for the movements of affected areas. I'm not fond of the idea of a cattle prod being buried in my brain.

In part, I'm still processing all this. I've started  more in-depth research. I'm searching for others to talk to. From what I can tell, there is no support group anywhere in the state of Idaho for this. I'd rather not medicate if I don't have to, so I'll start searching homeopathic methods of treatment. I've read that acupuncture can help; so maybe I'll look into that.

When I have a bad day, I try not to let it get me down. When others offer snarky remarks, I do my best to ignore it, or alternatively, stand up for myself. Depends on who and what. When someone is dismissive, I do my best to not take it personally. It's just one more facet of me that I may not like, but will have to learn to deal with.

Am I scared? Yes, deep down, I'm terrified. But I'm tough and I'm a survivor. Like so many other things in life, this will be dealt with one day at a time, in the best way I know how. Whatever that may be.

A solitary life?

I'm sitting here, as I do every Friday morning during the off season, enjoying my coffee, my internet, my cuddly cats, and my solitude. I could probably live in my own little world for days, weeks, maybe even months, without face-to-face contact with anyone. Don't get my wrong, I love my friends and family, I love seeing and talking to people, and I really love a good shopping trip. Which, somehow, always involves people. Unless it's Amazon, but that's a whole different story.

Anyway, I love all that, but I love my solitude, as well. Always have, and likely always will. I'm not at all afraid of my own company. I can entertain myself endlessly. I can indulge my delusions of grandeur to my heart's content. You know, being a world-class writer, being so crafty that Martha Stewart comes to me for advice, building a shoe collection that would make Imelda Marcos jealous.

You see, I'm easily overwhelmed by the "noise" of life. It clutters up my head. It's distracting. It's confusing. It makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. Sometimes, it makes me downright crazy. It's the reason I'm on meds. Without the meds, I can't easily tolerate "life", and it doesn't much tolerate me. So we're all better off.

My husband is pretty sure there's something wrong with me. A person shouldn't enjoy being alone so much.

Maybe I was a cat in my former life?

I've been away far too long!

Like 2 years too long. Life is messy. Life is busy. Time to start clearing the head again. No way to retrace the last 2 years, so let's just start with today.

Ok, not today. We'll back up about a month. I got sick. Really sick. The doctor at the weekend clinic and my personal doctor both agree: diverticulitis. About 2 weeks after the first incident, another incident, with some different symptoms. Possibly an issue elsewhere in the colon, or maybe it's an ulcer in the lower stomach or duodenum. Regardless, I'm now scheduled for scopes to check what's happening there...from start to finish. YUCK! As distasteful as it sounds and will be, I want answers. How bad is it? Is there any permanent damage/scarring? Where do we go from here? Lay it all out because I have a life to get on with.

And therein lies my major point. I have a life. The diagnosis is going to mean some lifestyle changes; I get that. However, I refuse to believe it's going to be a life sentence. Yes, I'll have it the rest of my life. No, I'm not willing to let it be the black cloud of doom in my life that brings along misery and a sense of foreboding.

I refuse to sit back worrying and wondering when the next attack is going to hit me. I refuse to believe that management is out of my control. I refuse to let this control me. There have been a lot of advancements in the treatment of intestinal disorders in recent years, and I refuse to believe that the methods of 20-30-40 years ago still apply.

If it turns out a certain food doesn't agree with me, I'll avoid it. But not because someone tells me I must avoid it at all cost.

I'll take fiber supplements if I need a little extra boost. But not because someone tells me I must in order to survive. I'd rather eats lots of fruits and veggies than drink sandy orange juice.

See, I just don't react well when someone says I can't or must, simply because that's how it works for them. Especially when the conventional way of thinking has changed. While I'm glad to know I'm not the only one that suffers from this, and it's nice to have support from someone familiar, I'm pretty sure my doctor and I can handle the decisions that will work best for me.

And for pete's sake, stop asking every 5 minutes if I'm ok. If I'm feeling like crap, trust me, you'll know. Everyone will know. Or maybe not; maybe I'll just tuck myself in my room and chill.

There now, I feel better. :)

Quiet...Blessed Quiet

I absolutely LOVE Sunday mornings. They are my mornings. Everyone tends to sleep in, which for the guys means I won't hear from them until at least 10 AM. Even I sleep in, which means if I manage to stay in bed until 8, I've succeeded.

This morning, not only did I succeed, I set a record. I didn't crawl out my cozy cave until 9:05 AM.

And here I sit, nearly 90 minutes later, still basking in solitude. Mike is still sleeping, Devan is still sleeping, Dean spent the night at a friend's house, the dog is sleeping, Roach is sleeping, and Leroy is outside doing kitty chores.



It's just me, my coffee, my cigarettes, and the internet. Oh, and the birds singing up a storm.



Does life get any more perfect than this??

I think not.

I should know myself better than this...

Is it a bad thing to have to ask your husband if that time of the month is near? Probably so.

I've had a headache off and on all week. I'm not sleeping well. The quantity is good, but the quality leaves a lot to be desired. Today, I went from exhausted, to mildly moody, to highly irritated. In between, mood tears threatened. And my boobs hurt. To the point that clothing is my enemy. But running around the office, the grocery store, and home topless is not an option. And did I mention my abdomen feels like a swimming pool still under cover for the winter? UGH!

But do I know if Aunt Flo is imminent? No, sadly I don't.

I'll be checking with Mike as soon as he gets home and cleans up. I won't be getting too close until he showers off the cow shit.

Doctor's report

I'm going to live after all.

All my test results are back. Blood sugar - fine. Thyroid - fine. Liver - fine. Kidneys - fine. Blood count - fine. Cholesterol - fine. So the diagnosis right now is "the patient has a history of anxiety and depression, coupled with a large amount of immediate stressors."

I'm now on a little happy pill for anxiety, and it seems to be making a difference. There are still things I worry about, but they don't take on world-ending proportions like they did a few weeks ago.

I'm also making a point to sleep when tired, and that hasn't been a problem with my schedule lately. Simply put, most days I'm exhausted. She gave me something to help me sleep, but I've only had to use it once.

Now if Mike and I could just get on track, life would be just about perfect.