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.
Showing posts with label Life and Growth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life and Growth. Show all posts
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Mothers and sons.
It is said that fathers and daughters have a special relationship, and they do. At least until said daughter dives head-long into her teen years, then all bets are off. I was a daddy's girl for many, many years. Sometimes, I still am.
But what about mothers and sons? Don't they share something special? You bet your football-loving, no clue as to wrestling, bicycle crashing, motorcycle revving ass they do!
Some days, I don't have the words to describe just how much I love my boys. Other days, my legs are tired from kicking them in the ass every time I turn around. I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch my heart back together after it bursts in pride for some accomplishment. The well of tears I've cried as they grow and mature and take slow steps away from me is bottomless. The happiest tears of my life result from the out-of-nowhere hugs and the "Bye, Mama. Love you!" that I hear each and every day as they walk out the door or hang up the phone.
Yes, there is something special between mothers and sons.
I've been beaned with footballs. I've been run over with bicycles. I've been the unintended victim of wrestling moves gone awry. I've stepped on countless legos and matchbox cars at 3:00 am. I've learned to accept the sight of blood and not get bent about open wounds. Which is a good thing after Dean filleted his knee open two summers ago.
I've learned to understand auto mechanics and flying. I have a basic knowledge of welding and the proper way to ensure an awesome long distance spit. No, I will not demonstrate. Thank goodness I came into motherhood already knowing how to drive (and trucks, at that) so I had some sort of leg up on them.
The relationship I have with each son is as different as they are. One is known to seek me out in the garden, to visit and chat, and share what is bothering him. The other likes the same odd documentaries that I do, and doesn't overly mind going shopping with me. They both have physically picked me up and carried me past the shoe department lest we be delayed. They both eat themselves sick when I make homemade bread. Neither will eat peas, even if their very lives depended on it.
And they both know I will do anything for them, so long as it is in my power. Whether that be dropping everything to rush to their first accident, or slipping them $20 for gas because they don't get paid until the day after tomorrow.
My husband says I spoil them. That I let them walk all over me. Not so, I say. I love them. I nurture them (even when they think they're too old for it). I help them. I teach them. I bond with them. And when I've done my job, and they grow up and move out, I cry for what was, and what will be. Knowing that I've created something important beyond measure. Something that only another mother of sons can understand.
But what about mothers and sons? Don't they share something special? You bet your football-loving, no clue as to wrestling, bicycle crashing, motorcycle revving ass they do!
Some days, I don't have the words to describe just how much I love my boys. Other days, my legs are tired from kicking them in the ass every time I turn around. I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch my heart back together after it bursts in pride for some accomplishment. The well of tears I've cried as they grow and mature and take slow steps away from me is bottomless. The happiest tears of my life result from the out-of-nowhere hugs and the "Bye, Mama. Love you!" that I hear each and every day as they walk out the door or hang up the phone.
Yes, there is something special between mothers and sons.
I've been beaned with footballs. I've been run over with bicycles. I've been the unintended victim of wrestling moves gone awry. I've stepped on countless legos and matchbox cars at 3:00 am. I've learned to accept the sight of blood and not get bent about open wounds. Which is a good thing after Dean filleted his knee open two summers ago.
I've learned to understand auto mechanics and flying. I have a basic knowledge of welding and the proper way to ensure an awesome long distance spit. No, I will not demonstrate. Thank goodness I came into motherhood already knowing how to drive (and trucks, at that) so I had some sort of leg up on them.
The relationship I have with each son is as different as they are. One is known to seek me out in the garden, to visit and chat, and share what is bothering him. The other likes the same odd documentaries that I do, and doesn't overly mind going shopping with me. They both have physically picked me up and carried me past the shoe department lest we be delayed. They both eat themselves sick when I make homemade bread. Neither will eat peas, even if their very lives depended on it.
And they both know I will do anything for them, so long as it is in my power. Whether that be dropping everything to rush to their first accident, or slipping them $20 for gas because they don't get paid until the day after tomorrow.
My husband says I spoil them. That I let them walk all over me. Not so, I say. I love them. I nurture them (even when they think they're too old for it). I help them. I teach them. I bond with them. And when I've done my job, and they grow up and move out, I cry for what was, and what will be. Knowing that I've created something important beyond measure. Something that only another mother of sons can understand.
Monday, April 22, 2013
A little bit of tough love.
One of my
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.
Friday, March 8, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, January 25, 2013
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?
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?
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Motivation, where are you?
Towards the end of every year, I come up with grand plans of how the next year is going to be a life-altering experience for me. It revolves around that single dirty word...resolutions. Big ideas, lots of outlines and notes, and during the last couple years, tons of pins to various Pinterest boards.
I have all the usual things: quit smoking, exercise more, eat better, be more self-aware. I also have lots of projects. This will be the year I finally repaint my kitchen cupboards, paint my bedroom, tear the bathroom apart, take better care of my gardens, start all my seeds indoors.
Here it is, the 13th of January, and what have I accomplished so far? Not a damn thing. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.
I just can't find my motivation.
I have all the usual things: quit smoking, exercise more, eat better, be more self-aware. I also have lots of projects. This will be the year I finally repaint my kitchen cupboards, paint my bedroom, tear the bathroom apart, take better care of my gardens, start all my seeds indoors.
Here it is, the 13th of January, and what have I accomplished so far? Not a damn thing. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.
I just can't find my motivation.
Monday, April 9, 2012
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. :)
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. :)
Saturday, October 24, 2009
What now...
Life has a way of getting away from me at times. Schedules get hectic, people need things. Lots of things to do and not enough time in a day.
But what about what we all need to keep ourselves healthy? What about attending to our own needs, so we are better prepared to tend to others?
What happens when the stress is just overwhelming?
I'm a compartmentalizer. Not even sure if that is a proper word, but it's what I am; it's what I do.
Right now, there's just too many things going on. I've got so many compartments in my head where I've stashed things. Well, my head probably resembles some of the homes featured on Hoarders. It's time to start cleaning up, thinking things through, getting organized, and trying to decide what to keep and what to toss.
Actually, I could probably benefit by seeing a good therapist. But I'll think about that another day.
I'm not even entirely sure where to start. Further, I have to be careful what details I talk about, because some of it is so intensely private, other family members wouldn't appreciate me divulging details.
Finances are one of the biggest stressers (stressors?) right now. Mike has been working, but on temporary, seasonal type jobs. Those are coming to an end. Staying current and providing basic necessities is a struggle we're barely keeping up with. Yes, it could be worse. It could be a lot worse, so I'm grateful he's found the temp stuff. But winter is coming. He did get an offer from a former employer, which is a blessing. But it's also a curse, as the former employer tends to be...honestly, the man can be a royal ass, and is difficult to work for. But it's work. Full time work, even through the winter. Honestly, Mike doesn't have a choice but to take this offer.
Mike's dad continues to battle cancer. It is taking a toll even though the man is a fighter. He's started a new type of treatment and we're all saying our prayers that it helps. Mike talks to his parents daily, and I think it's helping all of them. They've gotten a lot closer during all this.
But Mike also learned of some family information decades old, that pretty much turned his world upside down. He's working through it, but it's brought out anger, disbelief, mistrust, despair, and a bevy of hurt feelings. It's spilled out over all of us, because we are a tight unit.
My side of the family isn't with its travails, either. I have a brother who recently separated with his wife, and a divorce is looming. She's moved out, the kids are going back and forth. The reasons behind the separation are difficult to grasp, harder to understand, and impossible to forget. I hate seeing my brother in pain, trying to find how to deal with his new reality, maintaining some sense of normal for their kids. And the kids don't understand. They're too young. They're too innocent. My heart breaks for the kids.
Another brother's actions are the latest cause of stress. It's not even stress. It's something far worse, that I haven't found words for. No one in the family has seen or heard from him in over a year. Many of us have been fearful of his return, as he's threatened all of us. Now he's back, having done something so horrendous it has shaken the entire family right down to the bedrock of our foundation. The road ahead is long and will be full of pain. Yet it will also bring about a sense of relief that we've all needed for way too long.
There has been so much turmoil, I've made a point of trying to find a positive aspect to each and every day. Some days, it's as simple as being thankful for a hot cup off coffee. I'm so thankful for the friends and family willing to listen. I'm eternally grateful for all their shoulders, as they've caught many of my tears. And were it not for modern medicine, I just might have fallen off the edge of reason.
I cling to the knowledge that all this will pass. Pain will lessen. Hurt will fade. Solutions will be found. And normal will return. But normal will be different. Normal will put us in a vast minority here, and in the unfortunate majority there.
But what about what we all need to keep ourselves healthy? What about attending to our own needs, so we are better prepared to tend to others?
What happens when the stress is just overwhelming?
I'm a compartmentalizer. Not even sure if that is a proper word, but it's what I am; it's what I do.
Right now, there's just too many things going on. I've got so many compartments in my head where I've stashed things. Well, my head probably resembles some of the homes featured on Hoarders. It's time to start cleaning up, thinking things through, getting organized, and trying to decide what to keep and what to toss.
Actually, I could probably benefit by seeing a good therapist. But I'll think about that another day.
I'm not even entirely sure where to start. Further, I have to be careful what details I talk about, because some of it is so intensely private, other family members wouldn't appreciate me divulging details.
Finances are one of the biggest stressers (stressors?) right now. Mike has been working, but on temporary, seasonal type jobs. Those are coming to an end. Staying current and providing basic necessities is a struggle we're barely keeping up with. Yes, it could be worse. It could be a lot worse, so I'm grateful he's found the temp stuff. But winter is coming. He did get an offer from a former employer, which is a blessing. But it's also a curse, as the former employer tends to be...honestly, the man can be a royal ass, and is difficult to work for. But it's work. Full time work, even through the winter. Honestly, Mike doesn't have a choice but to take this offer.
Mike's dad continues to battle cancer. It is taking a toll even though the man is a fighter. He's started a new type of treatment and we're all saying our prayers that it helps. Mike talks to his parents daily, and I think it's helping all of them. They've gotten a lot closer during all this.
But Mike also learned of some family information decades old, that pretty much turned his world upside down. He's working through it, but it's brought out anger, disbelief, mistrust, despair, and a bevy of hurt feelings. It's spilled out over all of us, because we are a tight unit.
My side of the family isn't with its travails, either. I have a brother who recently separated with his wife, and a divorce is looming. She's moved out, the kids are going back and forth. The reasons behind the separation are difficult to grasp, harder to understand, and impossible to forget. I hate seeing my brother in pain, trying to find how to deal with his new reality, maintaining some sense of normal for their kids. And the kids don't understand. They're too young. They're too innocent. My heart breaks for the kids.
Another brother's actions are the latest cause of stress. It's not even stress. It's something far worse, that I haven't found words for. No one in the family has seen or heard from him in over a year. Many of us have been fearful of his return, as he's threatened all of us. Now he's back, having done something so horrendous it has shaken the entire family right down to the bedrock of our foundation. The road ahead is long and will be full of pain. Yet it will also bring about a sense of relief that we've all needed for way too long.
There has been so much turmoil, I've made a point of trying to find a positive aspect to each and every day. Some days, it's as simple as being thankful for a hot cup off coffee. I'm so thankful for the friends and family willing to listen. I'm eternally grateful for all their shoulders, as they've caught many of my tears. And were it not for modern medicine, I just might have fallen off the edge of reason.
I cling to the knowledge that all this will pass. Pain will lessen. Hurt will fade. Solutions will be found. And normal will return. But normal will be different. Normal will put us in a vast minority here, and in the unfortunate majority there.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Stress reduction plan
My stress level has dropped so much, I'm nearly in a coma.
I'm finally done with school! Final GPA is a 2.95; not great, but perfectly acceptable. I still have to do my diploma application and order my cap and gown. I decided to walk the graduation ceremony in Boise, after a lot of internal debate. I just couldn't decide while I was still going through classes, but after about a week of no school work, the decision was easy.
Mike has been home for about a month, which reduces my stress even further. I'm now free to say "Go ask your Dad." to every question put to me. He heads back to AL on Easter Sunday, and is scheduled to be gone for five weeks. We don't know if the job will last that much longer, but the hope is there. But if he comes back home, he's got a job waiting with a friend of his. More stress gone!
After the defeat of watching his pickup burn in the driveway months ago, he found a replacement. It's another Duramax, now named Maxine. She's a fancy one, she is. Complete with DVD player and game hookups - a definite plus from the kids' point of view. I haven't driven her too much, but the 13th will be here quickly.
He also bought a chainsaw while he's been home, and we've started putting up wood for the next heating season. We still need to get the stove put in, which means getting the washer and dryer installed in the basement, but those are great summer projects. He's pretty sure he's going to have the chimney professionally installed so we have someone else to call if it should leak.
I had the dog fixed about a month ago. It's amazing what the lack of balls does for settling them down. He's still an excitable idiot, but a less excitable idiot.
There are a lot of other little things I should've written about; cute or funny little things that are now lost forever. Things the boys did that I would love to be able to look back on, but now cannot. But with more time on my hands, maybe I'll get better about jotting those things down.
In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out how to live life without the perpetual stack of books, homework, and papers to be written.
There might even be a garden in my future this summer!
I'm finally done with school! Final GPA is a 2.95; not great, but perfectly acceptable. I still have to do my diploma application and order my cap and gown. I decided to walk the graduation ceremony in Boise, after a lot of internal debate. I just couldn't decide while I was still going through classes, but after about a week of no school work, the decision was easy.
Mike has been home for about a month, which reduces my stress even further. I'm now free to say "Go ask your Dad." to every question put to me. He heads back to AL on Easter Sunday, and is scheduled to be gone for five weeks. We don't know if the job will last that much longer, but the hope is there. But if he comes back home, he's got a job waiting with a friend of his. More stress gone!
After the defeat of watching his pickup burn in the driveway months ago, he found a replacement. It's another Duramax, now named Maxine. She's a fancy one, she is. Complete with DVD player and game hookups - a definite plus from the kids' point of view. I haven't driven her too much, but the 13th will be here quickly.
He also bought a chainsaw while he's been home, and we've started putting up wood for the next heating season. We still need to get the stove put in, which means getting the washer and dryer installed in the basement, but those are great summer projects. He's pretty sure he's going to have the chimney professionally installed so we have someone else to call if it should leak.
I had the dog fixed about a month ago. It's amazing what the lack of balls does for settling them down. He's still an excitable idiot, but a less excitable idiot.
There are a lot of other little things I should've written about; cute or funny little things that are now lost forever. Things the boys did that I would love to be able to look back on, but now cannot. But with more time on my hands, maybe I'll get better about jotting those things down.
In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out how to live life without the perpetual stack of books, homework, and papers to be written.
There might even be a garden in my future this summer!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Life's Milestones
So Tuesday of this past week was a milestone. I turned 40. Theoretically, half my life is over. 40. How did I get here? Does it really mean anything?
The week preceeding Black Tuesday (as I wrote on my calendar) was full of deep, dark thoughts. It was hard to wrap my head around 40. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel about it. Actually, now that I've tried it on for a few days, I'm still not so sure.
It's not like I was losing sleep over the whole thing, but it definitely snuck into my immediate thoughts on more than one occasion.
My building mate put together a little surprise party at the office. She's thoughtful that way. When I got back from my post office run, there was cake and ice cream, and a building full of people. Actually, it was nice. And it was a lot of fun. And it was just another day.
Until last night. Dean talked me into buying the new electronic version of Monopoly. It's his smile. When he turns up the wattage, I'm powerless. Anyway, the boys and I are in the middle of a heated battle to make our millions and Dean looks me right in the eye and says...
"Uh, Mom...you have a lot of wrinkles around your eyes."
Sigh. Last night, I really felt 40. And today, I just might go shopping for a really good eye cream.
The week preceeding Black Tuesday (as I wrote on my calendar) was full of deep, dark thoughts. It was hard to wrap my head around 40. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel about it. Actually, now that I've tried it on for a few days, I'm still not so sure.
It's not like I was losing sleep over the whole thing, but it definitely snuck into my immediate thoughts on more than one occasion.
My building mate put together a little surprise party at the office. She's thoughtful that way. When I got back from my post office run, there was cake and ice cream, and a building full of people. Actually, it was nice. And it was a lot of fun. And it was just another day.
Until last night. Dean talked me into buying the new electronic version of Monopoly. It's his smile. When he turns up the wattage, I'm powerless. Anyway, the boys and I are in the middle of a heated battle to make our millions and Dean looks me right in the eye and says...
"Uh, Mom...you have a lot of wrinkles around your eyes."
Sigh. Last night, I really felt 40. And today, I just might go shopping for a really good eye cream.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Bittersweet
Today is a bittersweet day. Fifteen years ago, I greeted my first child. Bleary eyed and exhausted, I looked at him in awe. It seemed unbelievable that this cute little wonder had come from me.
However cute, he was still two weeks late and in no hurry to come out on his own. To this day, very little gets his sense of time in a huff.
Today, I saw not a cute little cherub with a gap in his front teeth and chocolate on his chin. Rather, I saw a handsome young man, taller than both his father and I, full of adolescent muscles and fuzzy facial hair. I saw a young man with a teenage strut and shoulder chip. A young man confident in having the world by the tail and the bull by the horns. A young man way short on sleep and grumpy with it. A young man who will be asking for the truck keys in only a month.
Sigh.
Just yesterday, he was climbing in my lap for a cuddle and a kiss. Today, he comes from behind to rub my shoulders and tell me to slow down.
Just yesterday, he brought his ouchies for kisses that only mom could give. Today, he takes his injuries out on the kid across the line or opposing him in the circle and wears the dripping blood as a badge of honor. The cotton wad up the nose is always a nice touch too.
Just yesterday, he greeted me with a joyous "Mommy!" Today, my "Yo, D" to catch his attention on the fly gets a "Yo Mama" in response. (And inspires a dual-sided fit of giggles!)
I'm so thankful I can still laugh and giggle with my little boy; that he hasn't outgrown me completely; that he will still tell me he loves me while on the phone from a friend's house.
Happy Birthday, young man of mine. I'm proud of you in ways you will never understand until you are a parent yourself. I love you with all my heart and am continually awestruck with the person you are becoming.
Love,
Yo Mama.
However cute, he was still two weeks late and in no hurry to come out on his own. To this day, very little gets his sense of time in a huff.
Today, I saw not a cute little cherub with a gap in his front teeth and chocolate on his chin. Rather, I saw a handsome young man, taller than both his father and I, full of adolescent muscles and fuzzy facial hair. I saw a young man with a teenage strut and shoulder chip. A young man confident in having the world by the tail and the bull by the horns. A young man way short on sleep and grumpy with it. A young man who will be asking for the truck keys in only a month.
Sigh.
Just yesterday, he was climbing in my lap for a cuddle and a kiss. Today, he comes from behind to rub my shoulders and tell me to slow down.
Just yesterday, he brought his ouchies for kisses that only mom could give. Today, he takes his injuries out on the kid across the line or opposing him in the circle and wears the dripping blood as a badge of honor. The cotton wad up the nose is always a nice touch too.
Just yesterday, he greeted me with a joyous "Mommy!" Today, my "Yo, D" to catch his attention on the fly gets a "Yo Mama" in response. (And inspires a dual-sided fit of giggles!)
I'm so thankful I can still laugh and giggle with my little boy; that he hasn't outgrown me completely; that he will still tell me he loves me while on the phone from a friend's house.
Happy Birthday, young man of mine. I'm proud of you in ways you will never understand until you are a parent yourself. I love you with all my heart and am continually awestruck with the person you are becoming.
Love,
Yo Mama.
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