Not fun here anymore

I guess Google is forcing us to use their browser or someone else's. We can no longer put spaces between paragraphs. Everything is just one long long paragraph. So - bye. I'll find another site.

Lost...not found

When i was small I used to hear people say things like, "Millie lost her mother yesterday." or "Phil lost both his parents." This would terrify me. How did these people, these grown-ups. lose their Moms or Dads? How can that even happen? As I got older I realized that Phil and Millie's parent's weren't "lost" - they were dead. Dead is real. When you're dead no one is going to look for you, or put up flyers on lamposts, or tie yellow ribbons around tree trunks. They're going to to bury or burn you and dispose of you in whatever way is most appropriate (or convenient). And then they're going to miss you...at least some of them will.

In the last decade I have lost both my parents, an aunt and a sister. Collectively I loved them all but individually, I didn't always like them. I also played a role in their demise. I am the Grim Reaper for my family. The person you want around near the end because I am so efficient and rational. I pull the plug. I call the game.I empty the apartments and get rid of the "stuff". I hate the job. But I do it well.

I would guess that if you observed me exerting my medical power of attorney or (minus the official paper giving me that power) my rational approach to arguing "quality of life", you might find me emotionless. You would be right. I do not have a clue where that comes from because I am almost always an emotional mess. But if you get sick and your future is going to suck - I will get in there and fight for your right to go...leave...get outa here because being here will be the worst thing imaginable for you. If there is a chance you can live, be comfortable and find some happiness for awhile, I will fight for that too. Alas, that just never seems to happen.

I don't want this job anymore. Each time I do it, I lose a piece of my soul. In June, after wishing, hoping, and cajoling my Dad to accept that he wasn't going to leave the hospital and go home,he gave up his fight to stay alive. In retrospect I played only a small role in his choice to stop dialysis and all the other interventions. It was really his choice. But I wanted it to be over. Just over. And it is. And I miss him and if I could go back and do it differently, I would. I wouldn't have changed the outcome - but I would have been in the room, holding his hand and telling him how much I would miss him.

This Grim Reaper is officially signing off. Enough is enough.

Fear

I was walking my dogs the other day, listening to a re-broadcast of This American Life (the BEST show EVER). One of the stories was about a young, developmentally delayed man who decided one day to write down all his fears. His list was fascinating. It made me wonder if I were capable of listing mine...and owning them. So here are a few, in no particular order (except for number one).

Water. Not the drinking kind. More like the water you swim in or fish in. I don't swim because I'm sure I will drown. I have taken many lessons and I always fail. I don't do boats unless it's a pontoon or a cruise ship because I can fool myself into thinking I am safe. People who love the water don't get it...so I stay away from them.

Suffocating (see water)

Confrontation with people who are good at arguing
In these situations whatever I do know flies out the window and I babble pitifully.

Being invisible (in the sense that no one notices me) The older you get the less visible you are.

Dancing. I just have no rhythm to speak of.

Bridges (see water)

Acting on my violent fantasies Sometimes I meet a person and, for no apparent reason, discover I just don't like him/her. In my mind I smack them across the face with a bat or a board and I feel good. I've never acted on this but I fear I might one day. I also hate the AT&T lady who welcomes me to my voice mail...I often envision smashing my phone against the wall until it's pulverized and she's dead. I once tripped my friend's son as he ran thru the living room knocking things over and being generally bratty. I remember saying "Oh honey, I I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Not a proud moment to recall (but it sure felt good)

Radical conservatives. The most unchristian folks on earth hiding behind their ill-conceived, vile and mean version of Christianity. I fear they will take over. This would mean acting on my violent fantasies (see above)

Actually saying what I am thinking. Sometimes my thoughts are unkind...(like, Oh my god, that is the ugliest baby I have ever seen!)most often my thoughts are funny or sarcastic. But, you have to "get" me to appreciate me.

Being served hot spicy food at someone's dinner party. This happened to me once. I couldn't spit it in my napkin or feed it to their dog (they didn't have one) I don't understand why people eat food that bites back, burns their mouths and causes indigestion.

Speed. Just don't like going fast. This eliminates things like skiing, sledding, and car racing from my Bucket List. That's okay. I can live with that.

Cold calling. How do sales people do this? I simply cannot imagine having the courage to call someone and ask them to buy something. Shudder.

All right, that's enough. Your turn.

O Doctor...

I take great pride in my ability to find amazing doctors. Every man or woman who has inserted a gag stick in my mouth or a stone cold speculum in my girly parts has been hand selected. They have passed a rigorous roster of tests in an effort to earn my loyalty. In no particular order my doctors must: Make me feel as if I am THE most important patient they have; spend time with me; answer my well-researched questions; listen; know who I am and remember my history; return my phone calls; schedule me quickly; have pleasant office staff; apologize if I've waited too long in the waiting room find value in a woman who is aging; have a rocking sense of humor and; be the kind of person I would enjoy having coffee with if I drank coffee. If the doc is male, it helps if he is pleasant to look at - but that's not a real requirement.

I thank all of these medical professionals by referring friends. It's been a nice give and take relationship for many years. Until now. Things are changing and I am not happy.

For example, there was my Dermatologist

I have scalp, neck and ear problems after I dye my hair. They are growing alarmingly worse. I explained this to my dermatologist who declared that, "No -it's not an allergy. If you had an allergy your face would swell up and your eyes would swell shut...your scalp would be full of blisters." He declared, instead, that I was suffering from scalp acne, gave me a prescription, and sent me on my way. Oh - and he also told me to keep dyeing because I would be so much happier that way... HE WAS WRONG...the allergy, as he described it, is almost the "end stage" - it's the reaction you can look forward to if you keep dyeing and reacting. The stuff I am experiencing IS an allergy - just not deadly yet. He had a fixed idea and he wasn't budging. Or listening. After two more visits (post-dye jobs). And two more prescriptions (one was an anti-anxiety pill!!) that didn't work , he has admitted that I was right. Well, not really. The last thing he said was."You look like you're having an allergic reaction. Better stop dyeing before it gets worse.

I should also say that I constantly reminded him that I had a high (really high) deductible insurance and no drug coverage. This kind of information did not seem to register. After the last prescription I reminded him (again), ""I don't have drug insurance, " And his response? "Well,will your insurance pay for a generic?" WHAT!! 'I have NO drug insurance'! Is he that out of touch? How could I have been so wrong about him (asks the woman who has been married 3 times).

(If you're wondering why I didn't just stop dyeing my hair...ask yourself what it would take for YOU to go grey?)

Then there was my Gynocologist...

I could live with my Dermatologist failing me - but I've also been let down by my GYNO. Dr. Hottie. Most women feel comfortable with a woman doctor. I don't. I'm used to men fooling around in my underworld and I would be creeped out to have a woman go there. My gyno is olive skinned, dark eyed, soft spoken, gentle, caring, a great listener...everything I could want. Over the years he has met and exceeded my requirements. All of his patients love him - but, of course, I am his favorite. (ahem)

I've had two heart-to-heart talks with him about some physically based sexual issues that I figured he might be able to address. The first time we talked about it he comiserated with me and then loaded me up with free samples of prescription "inserts" all while holding my hand and staring into my eyes, encouraging me to be patient. Sigh.

This year he gave me more inserts and then suggested that "Maybe you should see a sex therapist." Huh? We're talking about a physical problem and his response is basically, 'go back to school'. I felt abandoned. I wanted him to at least commiserate. But nothing...I got none of that wonderful compassion. I, again, had to help myself. I went to a very upscale woman's "sex shop" downtown and got an amazing lubricant. I did not go to a sex therapist...because, well, Dr. Ruth is retired and who else would I go to?

How about the gorgeous Gastroenterologist in the perfect Armani suit and the crisp white shirt, gold cufflinks, manicured hands, and BIG brown eyes...a man who over two years of helping me fight a digestive issue never once examined or touched me. I think he was afraid of getting something on that shirt. I ended up diagnosing myself here too. Cause he didn't listen or hear....it was so easy to figure out that my problem was viral...but when its viral you can't order tests as easily. I should have been a doctor. A diagnostician.

My Family doc is great. He almost never knows what's wrong with me - but he admits it and we joke about my mysterious aliments. Never a flu or a cold…always something exotic. I'd like to think that when I see him (which is rare) he enjoys it because I almost always bring him a challenge. I'm not medically dull And he's not medically sharp. But I still like him. And he gives me free samples cause he understand what "NO drug insurance" means.

I don't know why any of this is happening. Perhaps, as I get older, I am harder to see. Older women have to fight to get noticed. And once my hair goes gray - I will probably be invisible. So, I've lowered my expectations. I'm shopping for a new dermatologist. And Dr Hottie - well he's worth another try because we've been together for so long. Maybe that was just a bad day. I will save my bottles of potions, lotions, inserts to offer to friends who come to me for a diagnosis...and there are many of those people. And may be I will reconsider that anti-anxiety pill so I can cope with the pressure of my new calling.

The IMAGINARY DOCTOR IS IN.

Pray the Gray Away

I don't pray...but I'd start if someone would tell me that prayer would help me find an alternative to letting my hair go "natural". Hell, not only would I pray, I'd take a vow of celebacy and give up chocolate. (Are you listening Mr. God?)

I have always prided myself on being pretty "together". Armed with a relatively decent amount of self-confidence, I am not slave to fashion unless I want to be. Appearance is not my major focus. Don't get me wrong - it's a focus - but not one that my life revolves around. Whatever I look like I am still me underneath, right?

Scratch that. Living with the knowledge that I can no longer dye my hair - and that there do not seem to be any remedies for this problem - I am totally and utterly traumatized. Who knew?

Transitioning from a healthy, shiny full head of brown hair to Granny Gray was not in my plan. Over time, I assumed, I would lighten the color a bit and would probably never get a streak of bright purple placed anywhere on my head. I was willing to make those concessions. But gray? Nope...not a chance. But a funny thing happens when you sit back and watch your body rebelling against hair dye. The bumps, rashes, lesions, itch (oh, the itching!!!) discomfort and pain are hard to wrap your head around. I managed to ignore my worsening reaction to dye for many months. But the part of me that like to research issues has determined that dyeing is not worth dying for. These allergies can kill.

I have not gone gently into this reality. I have been fighting back - and losing. There are 2 products that left to try. Products that don't contain p-phenelenediamine (ppd) or toulene or any of their equally deadly cousin chemicals. I have learned to raise my eyebrows at products that claim to be "natural" because they aren't. They are almost all made of nasty nasty chemicals with some veggies and fruits thrown in to support the claim of natural. None of the companies whose names we are all familiar with make a ppd-free product. Not Clairol, Revlon, Matrix, redken. L'Oreal, Wella - none. Basically, if a woman or man wants to use permanent or semi-permanent hair color - he or she is at risk. These allergies happen slowly over a long time. They are easy to ignore...until you can't anymore.

On the upside I have joined many online communities of sufferers. We eagerly try out products and share results. These are men and women from all over the world united by one messed up coal tar derivative that was invented in the late 1930's. I have ordered two boxes of the last products available to try - both are from Europe...both are expensive. I am not quite ready to roll over and dye, not yet...but even after scanning their ingredients, I will do double patch tests and if those look good, my stylist and I will approach the process with trepidation. I'm going to get an Epi-pen, just in case.

For me - the most awful part (other than the threat of anaphylactic shock)is trying to imagine me with gray hair. I have temporarily allowed my stylist to put in lots of blonde highlights (bleach and foils only). Highlights help hide the gray until the roots are about 2 inches - and then there is no mistaking what is happening. It beats having a skunk line down the middle of my head, I guess. Sadly, bleach doesn't seem to change the gray at all. After that, who knows? A wig? It takes 2 years to grow out the gray...And then what? Every morning will I avoid the mirror? Will I be able to accept looking my age? Being ignored or irrelevant? Don't laugh. You could be next.

I haven't found the inner chutzpah to join the women who have decided that gray is cool or have written books about loving the gray. Not there yet. I am astonished at how much this is bothering me. Man, am I shallow!!!

Under consideration, at the moment, is contacting the husband of presidential candidate Michelle Bachmann. If he can help people pray the gay away - maybe he can help pray the gray away. Do you think they'd accept a card-carrying Liberal at that clinic?

It's my birthday and I'll buy if I want to...

Remember when birthdays were traumatic? The big FOUR-O, the big Five-O...and yes, even the way too big SIX-O. To ease through these passages, I always relied heavily on friends. Friends understand. They cheer you on. They tell you how "great you look" and don't add, "for your age". They take you out for drinks, chocolate cake and help you realize that it ain't all over. That's what friends are for.

But in the past few years I've noticed that a growing number of merchants are also eager to express birthday wishes. I get emails, postcards, and letters all wishing me a "Happy Birthday" and sending me a "gift" to honor my special day. But these "gifts" have a catch. They require that I spend money. In exchange for spending money, I get a discount!! Oh wow. How is that a present? Seriously. This year my local hardware store offered me $5 off a $50 dollar purchase. Macy's offered me free shipping. My handy-man offered me 10% off my next service over $200. Sephora promised a "free gift" if I came in ..but...who can go to Sephora without blowing big bucks??? That's just a few examples. I totaled all the money I would have to spend if I took advantage of all the generous offers I received. It exceeded $400. I'm an amazing shopper. I can outdo that loaves and fishes thing in the Bible by a mile. So I could really have fun blowing $400...but not just to get a discount.

A percent off is not a gift. Nah huh. That's no way to get me into your store. Shame on you. If I want to buy myself something it will be on my terms not yours. Your merchandise is marked up so much that you already GET the better end of anything I might spend. So there.

BUT WAIT - There were two merchants that rose above this. They bear mentioning. They got it right. Borders offered me a FREE small coffee or tea. I did't have to buy anything. And the local gaming casino put 2500 points on my frequent gambler card. There is now a warm spot in my heart for these guys. I don't normally shop at Borders but I might in the future. I have lost more than 2500 points (that's $25) at the casino many many many times - but I will do so again, gladly. They get it. All is not lost.


But, back to birthdays..At this time in my life I am grateful just to have them. I am likewise happy to remember the good ones...like my 50th. That celebration went on for weeks. (Everyone wants to do SOMETHING for your 50th). I had my first "blow job" at 50. No - not that kind. The other kind. (Don't feel bad, I'd never heard of the other kind either) The girls from work took me out. We went to bars. Flirted with boys (yes, boys - individuals with penises who were under 30). One of these boys promised me a "blow job" if I would kiss him. Well - hell yea!! I grabbed that guy and flung his upper body over the bar and planted a BIG ONE - tongue and all. I'll bet he still remembers it. In exchange for showing him how a real woman kisses, he handed me a shot glass with a lot of cream on top and some cafe au lait colored liquid underneath. (Turns out this is Baileys and Amaretto). He and his friends told me to put the creamy end of the shot glass in my mouth (are you beginning to see how this drink got it's name??), my hands behind my back and to tilt my head back and swallow. (I NEVER swallow the other one...just for the record) I did it. Oddly, I remember this part of the evening more clearly than I remember anything else that happened that night. I was drunk. Yep. Drunk. But happy.

I turned 60 in Las Vegas. We went with friends. The trip was not without incident. Friends fought. My husband got too drunk, too often. But the celebrating part was good. I had a tiara that was glittery and had a large 60 on it. A birthday button that lighted up. ALcohol flowed freely (I mean "FREE" -ly). I lost each time I gambled but I didn't care. I shopped and shopped. I never dropped. I sat up front at a Second City performance and got to be included in the show. I came up with some badass answers and got a few laughs. Yep - I was shining! Some parts of this trip were free (the hotel room for instance) but most were not. The "free" had nothing to do with my birthday. I had fun. As Agnes Gooch from Auntie Mame would say, "I lived."

The in-between birthdays don't really rock. They come and go quietly. I suppose I should be grateful for the greetings I receive from merchants. It's such a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that a computer spit out my name and sent me a birthday wish. It makes me special. I'm thinking that the only birthday "gift" a merchant could send me that would having value would be a percent off my age. "Come in between January 1st and Janury 15th and get 20% off your age!" That might do it. The next big birthday , although far away, begins with a "7"....a percent off that might work...it just might work.

Bette Davis did it better...a reflection on healthy living

Everything we do, every morsel we eat, every thought we think is alleged to impact our health and the length of time we have on this planet. But sometimes I think that there is really nothing we can do to stave off the ravages of living. Bodies simply fall apart. Like houses. You get something fixed and then something else falls apart. Sure, preventive measures work - for awhile. But not for long. The question is - when do we stop trying? And would we be happier just doin' what feels (or tastes) good?

Remember Jim Fix, the runner? Ten mile a day Jim. He was the prototype for selling physical fitnesses to the masses - until he dropped dead of a heart attack (in his thirties) while running. So much for running. Then there was Adelle Davis. She ate nuts and berries and tree bark and died of cancer anyway. And lets not forget Euell Gibbons - the king of pine nuts and Grape Nuts Flakes, the wizard of wild food - who died of malnutrition. Yea - they were great examples of healthy living. Their polar opposites,people like Bette Davis and George Burns ate "badly", smoked and drank,and, dagnabit, lived longer. Explain that. If you can.

I'm convinced it is all about our genes. If our parents and grandparents lived long lives - then our chances are better - unless we get hit by a truck. Nobody does well when they get hit by a truck. Look at your family. In my family most of my Mom's brothers and sisters, as well as my grandparents, died from some form of the Big C. The "boys" - my uncles - died from bad hearts. I don't know much about my Dad's side - but they lived long - miserably, but long. We will all live a bit longer because medical science knows how to coax more miles out of us. But I believe our fates are sealed.So why deny ourselves the pleasures of life in order to squeeze out a few more weeks? Not appealing to me. I'd rather eat junk, sit on my rather nicely shaped ass, and be merry.

Up until two years ago my health was great. I walked a lot - because I like walking.I ate what could be considered a healthy diet. Lots of green and yellow things that popped out of the ground. Some fish (I have a thing about fish bones - they scare me) and some meat and chicken. My preference has always been carbs - I am a carb lover and proud of it. bring on the pasta...and then chase it with some gooey sugary sweet thing and I am in heaven. I see God in pasta. He talks to me through pasta. I believe the Creator is in the carbohydrates. I don't drink, I do occasionally smoke (at the Casino mostly or when my son is in trouble and about to go to jail). I'm not a big fan of fried foods (although I lived in the land of fried food). On a scale of 1 - 10 I am probably a 7 in terms of healthy living.

Could I do better? Sure. Do I want to? Not really. Three years ago - without warning- I developed a digestion thing. The worst of it lasted 2 years. Things I used to love tasted bad. I was often nauseous. It was crappy. Tests showed nothing. I lost weight and went down 2 sizes...so I guess in some sense it was worth it. New clothes are nice to have. Beside s that, and out of nowhere, my joints began to ache. My muscles would hurt (not from exertion I assure you). I increased my exercise and felt worse. I developed a scalp condition that flares up when I get my hair dyed. My eyesight sucks. I have arthritis (thank you Mom and Dad) in my hips. I just stand here and like an old house my shingles fall off.

There's also the "visible signs of aging". I can count the rings around my neck and determine my age. I could hide small pine nuts in my laugh lines. The tiny lines around my lips look a bit like a sunburst - without the sun. The "freckles" earned from years of tanning with baby oil, iodine and a reflector, are no longer cute.
It all sucks...and to make it worse I am reminded of the lecture I once gave my Mom to grow old with dignity and stop whining. If there is an afterlife of any sort I'll bet she is peeing in her pants laughing at me. Sorry Mom, I didn't know.

Advice is plentiful: "Exercise more" I do. "Do yoga" Too boring. "Become a vegetarian" I want my hamburgers!" "Meditate" My mind is never quiet. "Increase your intake of (are you ready?) B vitamins, D, C, Fish oil, antiinflammatories, calcium blah blah blah" Did it. I don't feel any better. I spend $75 a month on supplements. I exercise with the Mormons (a cool exercise show on BYU broadcasting), I walk on my treadmill. I used to take 1200 miligrams of calcium a day (but now they think that causes heart issues)but now take a little less. I take 2,000 units of vitamin D (but they think that causes cancer) I still take it because in Wisconsin we don't see the sun for 6 months a year. My chiropractor suggested an anti-arthritis diet which basically would eliminate everything from my diet except celery and apples. And celery and apples are staples in my turkey stuffing which, of course, is full of BREAD.

I am declaring war on healthy living. I shun it. Deprivation is not an ingredient in my happy life. None of it works anyway. Like my house, I will stand here in the middle of the frozen tundra and let what happens happen. I will be slathered in moisturizer, eating a hamburger, eyeing a chunk of chocolate cake all while sitting on my size 4 butt and reading a good book. I might not die old;I will die happier.