Let’s Talk :)

I’m in the mood to write. It’s been a long and somewhat lonesome day, although I don’t usually mind that. Today, though, I did. Feeling a bit neglected, I guess, and that is also unusual for me. I don’t need to be surrounded by tons of people all the time. In fact, to recharge and stay sane, I NEED alone time. I think that technically makes me an introvert .

Anyway, the main thing on my mind today has been pain. Living with a lot of that lately; maybe if I write it I’ll be able to put it away.

I’ve read about people who have a condition called Congenital insensitivity to pain and anhydrosis (CIPA). They have no ability to feel pain. I used to think, well, if you have to have a “condition,” I’d like to have that one.

I wouldn’t. Neither would you. If you don’t feel pain, you don’t know you’re hurt, or cut, or burnt, or broken. You don’t know you need medical attention unless someone else notices that you’re in a lot of trouble. So be thankful for pain, says I to myself, because it’s better than losing all your teeth because you never had a toothache and didn’t know anything was wrong.

Still, pain is not fun. My husband took a fall seven years ago and crushed his left heel. Don’t ever do that. It has changed him. He’s in chronic pain every single day, and it’s wearing him out. It’s not easy to watch the changes. He’s always been so active and capable.

And then there’s my deteriorating back. I never realized, back when this all started in my 30’s, where it would eventually take me. That’s a good thing. I won’t bore you with the whole long history. Some of you already know what’s going on, because I’ve been pretty open about it here on this blog. It’s enough for my purposes tonight to say that it’s not going to get better. It won’t heal. There is no magical remedy that will repair the damage. It seems to run in the female branch of my family, although a couple of my sons have also had problems with back pain. The main thing we do is treat the pain, and so far that’s been working out fairly well.

What I really hate about it is that I feel so useless. I hate being useless. Terry does all “my” work now, while I sit here like a heffalump taking up space. Right now, walking is not even an option. He’s hurting too, yet he’s the one who makes me sit, rest, lie down, he’ll take care of it. . . .I used to think it would be nice to be pampered. It is, for about a day. After that, it’s just no fun.

Is there a spiritual application here? Of course there is. You knew I’d get there sooner or later ūüôā

Image result for pain hurts!

Did you know that the word excruciating is from the same root word as cross? Crucifix, cruciform. It means the pain that comes from crucifixion.

I don’t have that. But Jesus did, and He bore it willingly because the Father asked it of Him, and because He loved the souls of all mankind. He knew He was the only worthy sacrifice to cleanse our sin. He suffered unbearable pain because He was the perfect, sinless, pure, holy, blameless Son of God.

Pain both hurts and changes those who bear it. It can be a positive change. Jesus offered Himself to give us that positive change, and whenever I compare what He endured to what I am living with, I am both grateful and ashamed.

It has changed me. I think I’m more patient. I know I’m not willing to criticize anyone who has some kind of condition that no one can see. You may not be able to see the bones in my back deconstructing, but you can see if I’m limping, using a cane or a walker, and you know there’s pain.

Some folks have no outward symptoms, and it’s easy for us to think they’re just drama hogs and are looking for ways to avoid work. Maybe those folks do exist, but I have some friends who have a terrible time with, for instance, fibromyalgia. You can’t see it, but it’s there. All. The. Time. And it hurts.

I hope my pain is teaching me to be more empathetic with others who are enduring pain, whether it is emotional, spiritual, mental, or physical. Grief is painful. Never minimize anyone’s grief, which we all experience differently. Loss is painful. Unavoidable life changes can be painful. Trust me, if you live long enough, something is going to start hurting.

I try to take the position that every day my pain keeps me immobile is just one day closer to heaven. No pain there, no loss, no tears, no sin, no sorrow.

I want to be there, but not until God says so. I still have so much to enjoy here. I have a wonderful life, full of friends and family and people who care about me.

I think it’s time to stop, because I actually do feel better. Writing can be quite cathartic.

So I’m done. For now.

Sunday Morning Coffee: Time

I spent some time with an old friend today. Hadn’t seen her since January, when she went to spend three months in Florida. This is the first time she’s been there alone. Her husband, our dear friend, went to heaven about a year ago. As those of you who have walked this path will understand, this has been a year of firsts. for her.

Image result for time passes so fast

Today we were together to help celebrate the birthday of one of my granddaughters. We didn’t spend a lot of time catching up, but we did have some time alone to just chat, as old friends do. And we talked about how the years have sped by so incredibly fast, from one perspective, but that when you start recounting memories you know you lived every single day of those years.

She had three sons; I had three sons and a daughter. She suffered a miscarriage not too long after my daughter was born, and that was so hard.

We have shared other life experiences, and it has been a good, solid friendship for 45 years. We learned how to quilt together. We share a love of knitting and crocheting. Even when we haven’t seen each other for a long time, it is easy to fall back into conversation. If you have friends like this, you know exactly what I mean.

She has a large extended family, and they all were there for her when her husband died. We were there as well, and I was so impressed with how she has handled this new phase of her life. Her husband was one of Terry’s very closest friends. We will always miss him.

But when we talked of the incredibly fast passage of time, we also remarked on how we treasure each memory as life passes and the minutes tick away into hours, days, months and years.

When you get to be our age, you realize how short life really is, and you understand the importance of holding each moment in your heart because those minutes do not give you a do-over.

On my other blog, I’ve begun to write the story of the beginning of my life with Terry. I’m calling it “Our Story: 50 Years.” I’ve done four short installments, and I need to hurry up and do another before my readers forget about me and lose interest ūüôā The writing has brought up so many memories that I hadn’t though about in years, and it has helped me realize again how incredibly blessed my life has been.

And something else I’m understanding better all the time is the importance of sharing those memories. If you don’t tell your grandkids your stories, they will not know you as you would want them to know you.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

Time. It’s a gift. Don’t waste it.

My Back, Again!

Some of you may have noticed that my posts are going up later than usual. That’s because¬† the disease, Old Woman’s Back, has returned with a vengeance.¬† I’m not sleeping very well, and it has put my whole system off kilter. I’m not working this week, missed two out of my three days last week.

When I called to make an appointment with my pain doctor, I was told they couldn’t get me in until the 20th, this coming Monday.¬† I asked if the doc would renew my scrips in the meantime, and was told that he would not do that because it’s been so long (over a year) since I’ve needed them.¬† I have just enough pain pills to get me through to Monday if I take them only once a day, usually before I go to bed.Image result for no medication

So I’m hurting, and my life has once again gone off the rails. I’m sure the doctor will send me for another MRI, since that hasn’t been done in at least two years.

Now, it’s time for me to practice what I preach.¬† Being thankful is paramount, because if I don’t focus on the things for which I’m thankful, I will be flooded with resentment, anxiety, and fear.¬† Yes, fear. I don’t like pain, and I know this condition is not going away. The symptoms can be treated, but they cannot be cured.

So.  If you are a praying person, please add me to your prayer list.  Prayer is still the best healer.

Sloppalisa Saturday

One of the most irritating and embarrassing things that can come with aging is the dropsy. And no, I’m not talking about edema here. ¬†That’s a whole different category.

I’m talking about my hands don’t work. ¬†I pick something up, I drop it. I pick it up again, having to bend over to do so, and now my back aches.

You know, there’s just no justice. You work so hard to develop dexterity from the time you discover your own toes and shove them into your mouth, and then you get old, and you couldn’t reach your toes to save your life. ¬†And it wouldn’t be cute, either, the way it was when you were a baby. Trust me.

This morning I’ve been cooking, preparing a casserole for the church luncheon tomorrow. It’s not a complicated dish. Hamburger, onion, red sauce, noodles, kidney beans, cheese. Easy.

Would you like to guess what all I dropped in the creation of this humble stew? Start with the can of tomato sauce that almost landed on my toes. The wooden spoon I used–after rinsing it off–to stir and break up the hamburger. ¬†The onion, which rolled haughtily away from me, snickering until it bumped the wall. ¬† I pounced! ¬†“Gotcha!” ¬†I hollered–and promptly dropped it again. Caught it in my apron, though, so it didn’t get too far.

Some people think aprons are too old-fashioned. ¬†I couldn’t care less. They come in handy for all sort of things, including dropped objects.

While my goulash was simmering, I went into the bathroom to get out my daily allotment of medications and supplements. ¬†Dropped two of the bottles before opening them (that’s a good thing!) and one of the pills. ¬†Tiny little golden colored Vitamin D capsule.

And now we address another of the indignities of aging. I have graduated trifocal glasses. ¬†I scanned the floor from a standing position, could not find tiny little golden pill. Bent over, eyeballing every inch of the floor, and still had no success. That’s partly because I have to keep moving my head up and down so I can see through the appropriate layer of stacked lenses in my glasses. Like this:

tumblr_o35y2fzi7o1t1ig6no7_400

Still no little golden pill. ¬†Phooey. ¬†I’ll just get another one. ¬†This time, I opened it up right over the sink, which I had plugged, so that when I dropped it–and I did– it would have nowhere to hide. Victory!

Well, I completed my kitchen task with no further mishaps, but I still need to grate the cheese and sprinkle it over the top of the stew.  Should be interesting.

 

I Wish I Could Put a Bandaid on it!

I’ve just realized something.

Looks like I’m down for the count. Not sure what that means yet. I have an MRI scheduled on Monday the 10th, but I can’t get in to see the surgeon until Nov 14 and I have no idea how long before he schedules surgery, IF he schedules surgery.

Remember believing that putting a Band Aid on an owie made it feel better?  Does any have a very large Band-Aid?

bandaid1

In the meantime, I can’t work. That’s not good for us at all, but there’s just no way I can climb stairs, sit in my chair several hours. I’m taking strong pain meds and muscle relaxers, and the doc gave me renewal indefinitely. I find that rather scary. The pain is in my sacroiliac joint, left side. So that involves the sciatic nerve, and basically i’m a little old woman tottering around with either my cane or a walker that Terry had stashed away in the attic. You need a tool? Come on over. Terry has one. Probably two or three ūüôā

little2bold2blady2bcrossing2bstreet

So, for my praying friends, please pray:
1) Relief from the pain
2) The MRI, in which I will be entombed for around 30 min to an hour. It scares the tech when I scream and cry
3) I’m on a list for “if there’s a cancellation we’ll call you” for the appt. on Nov. 14. Please pray that I can get in sooner. Not that I want anyone to suffer, just that someone will miraculously grow stronger bones.
4)I can’t work with this kind of pain. I’m trying to figure out if there’s some way I could see my clients using Skype but there are difficulties with that.
5) Pray for Terry. He always takes such good care of me when I’m sick, but I worry about his own pain with his injured foot.
6) If I do have to sit out the next two or three months, pray that I will be inspired to use the time to write. I need to write “The Book” that’s been rolling around in my head for several years now. Maybe I could call it “Rolling Stone.” Oh, no. I can’t. Some rock group already has that name.

Finally, it would be really cool if I could delete the “celebrating a birthday” thingy. I have no idea what I did to get it there.

Well. It’s gone. Yay.

Early Sunday Morning

It’s only 5:20 a.m. ¬†Understand, I don’t DO 5:20 a.m. ¬†I’ve been awake since 4:30 with a really nasty headache. That’s bad enough. ¬†Add to it that we’re dogsitting, and he’s an elder dog, nearly 15. ¬†He’s a bit senile, a lot deaf, and he sleeps most of the day away. ¬†Last night, he had some difficulties. ¬†I finally got up at 5 because he was crying, took him out, and now he’s passed out on an afghan he likes on the living room floor, snoring like an old man.

Well. ¬†This is a fine how-de-do. ¬†This is NOT normal for him, and it’s hard to be angry because he’s really been a great little dog for most of his life.

I still have a terrible headache. Coffee is brewing, and in a few minutes I’m going to go see if a hit of caffeine will help the pain. ¬†I don’t think church is an option for me this morning. I’m REALLY needing some sleep.

So. All this has gotten me thinking about old age and the new things it brings into our lives. ¬†I was reading one of my work-related journals yesterday, and the whole issue was about the needs of the aging population, of which I am a part. ¬†That’s hard for me to process. ¬† Most of the time, even with my back issues, I don’t feel old. I’m two years away from 70, which is now considered ¬†young old age. I do have the Syndrome X stuff–diabetes, hypertension, and so on. I even think I’m ready to seek the help of a nutritionist to get me on the right track to lose the weight. ¬†I’ve resisted doing that, because I know what to do. ¬†I just don’t want to do it ¬†But I’m also keenly aware that the weight I’m carrying is bad for me on several different levels, and I clearly haven’t been able to maintain a weight loss program on my own. I have an appointment with my doctor in about a week, and it’s one of the things I’m going to ask her about. She’s wanted me to do this for several years. ¬†I think I’m ready to give in.

More interesting to me, though, than the physical issues of aging, are the emotional, mental, and spiritual issues. We become forgetful. We tend to repeat ourselves. Younger people who haven’t realized their own mortality yet tend to become bored and impatient with us.They also tend to think that with the onset of wrinkles and canes, we’re also losing our brains.

I’d like to say here that my brain is in perfectly good condition. It’s true, from what my offspring tell me, that I tend to repeat my stories. ¬†So do they, but I listen anyway. ¬†It’s also true, for many people I know, that the onset of age brings us closer to the Lord. We have more time to spend in the Word, and in prayer. It’s a wonderful thing.

I remember a woman, the grandmother of my friend, who told stories of her life over and over. We were 12. She was 80-something. ¬†I remember we’d look at each other and share an eyeroll when she launched into one of her lengthy, rambling tales.

One of the saddest things about old age is that we tend to live more in the past than in the right now. Our so-called salad days are behind us. ¬†I even had a pastor who told a man my age that he hoped the elder generation in the church would just gracefully fade to the background now and let the younger people take over. He was 30something. It’s very sad that he apparently felt he had nothing to learn from the grey heads in the congregation.

I may not be able to do all I did when I was younger. I was very active, busy, and energetic for a long time. I loved being involved in many areas of my church, teaching and singing and so on. I still do love teaching.  My singing voice is pretty unreliable these days, so I try not to torture people with that.

My age does not prohibit me from continuing to learn and grow; nor does it prohibit me from teaching. I went on my first-ever mission trip in July, and I was just fine. It stretched me, and opened my heart and understanding in a whole new way.  I hope I can do another one at some point.

I heard a young man say that our senior citizens just need to be loved on. No, that’s not all we need. ¬†We need to feel useful. We need to be able to hold our heads up with pride over what we’ve accomplished in our lives, and over what God has allowed us to do.

We are the children of the Great Generation. A lot of their strengths rubbed off on us. We had–and still have–a great work ethic. We value our independence in a way that I’m afraid Americans are losing. We remember when America could hold its head up in the world community, not just because of our strength but because of our compassion. America used to be at the forefront when disaster struck some other nation in the world, sending aid and workers. We still do that.

My generation is the Baby Boomer generation. World War II is very real to us. Our fathers and mothers were a part of it, and they were also a part of the Great Depression. We grew up hearing their stories, admiring their strength, and enjoying the prosperity of post-war America. 

Ironically, my generation also was the generation of the Hippie movement, when so many turned their backs on “The Establishment” and went off to live in communes and participate in anti-war rallies. ¬†Which war? ¬†Viet Nam. The one in which our soldiers were traumatized over there, and then here at home when they came back to be vilified with rotten vegetables and screamed epethets like “Baby Killer!”

The seeds of ¬†hatred and disrespect for our own country were sown way back then–before then, really. We’re reaping the whirlwind now.

My generation was at the forefront of what we now know as the electronic revolution. My husband remembers learning to program a computer that took up a whole room, and spit out its “knowledge” on punch cards. We were part of the incredible days of the first space flights. ¬†Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin first stepped onto the moon the summer I was married, 1969.

We were smart, folks. And we still are. We have a lot to offer. ¬†We’re not ready to be herded into the preparation- for- death institutions that we call nursing homes. Bill Gates is a boomer. ¬†So was Steve Jobs. ¬†And so is The Donald.

Understand, I’m speaking ¬†for our generation as a whole, not for every individual. I understand that there are people of my generation who aren’t doing well. ¬†But so many more of us are just fine. We’re not depressed, not senile, not drooling as we stare vacantly at nothing. We’re still active, bright, and busy. We’re still working, still reliable, still contributing.

Well, I’ve gone to rambling. ¬†That’s what happens when I have to get up before the sun rises.

I think I’m done now.

Aging: Loneliness (Friday Counseling Issues)

Growing old can sometimes be a very lonely process. Not everyone has a large family, or even a small one, to care for the aging generation of grandparents and great-grandparents. Often, the task of caring for an elder lands on just one person’s shoulders, and it is a heavy responsibility. It can involve becoming the Power of Attorney for the elder; being responsible for all his financial obligations, taxes, bills, health care, and so on. Unfortunately, this responsibility can often coincide with the age at which the caregiver’s children are in their teens or early 20’s and still needing some parental help and guidance.

It isn’t always easy to find answers. ¬†I have a couple of clients right now who are in their middle to late sixties, and are caring for mothers in their late 80’s. The daughters have their own physical difficulties, and find it very difficult to provide the physical care their mothers need. Neither of the daughters wants to put her mother in a facility, and I understand that, ¬†But sometimes, there really isn’t any other choice.

Loneliness is harder for some than for others.  People who have always had lots of friends or family around them are deeply hurt when, as time passes, those people become absorbed in their own affairs and no longer have much time to spend with the elder.  Visits can be too short, too infrequent to satisfy the need of the elder to have some sense of still being connected to others.

One of the advantages of an assisted living facility or a good nursing home is that there is opportunity for socializing with others. I know of people who are so glad they moved from their house or apartment into such a facility, because now they have found new friends and are no longer so isolated.

Many churches have shut-in visitation programs. They  often do an outstanding job of staying in touch with elders who are unable to get out and who depend on people coming to them for social calls.

The fact is, however, that when most of the friends and family members of the elder’s generation have died, she can feel very lonely in a room full of people. ¬†All those she truly felt connected with have gone on, and she feels no one knows her any more.

I wish I had an easy answer for such a situation. I don’t.

I will say that if you know of a situation in ¬†your family, your church, your neighborhood, in which an older person who can’t get out much spends many days alone, you may be the one who can mobilize others in your family or organization to spend some time with that person. ¬†It is too easy for us to be so busy doing our own lives that we forget about those left alone with no one to talk with for too many days at a time.

We need to be aware, and we need to take care. None of us are getting any younger.

I think this will be the final post for now on the topic of aging. ¬†Not sure where I’ll go next, ¬†Should be interesting to see what comes to mind between now and next Friday ūüôā