June 1st. My birthday month. My 50th year is almost at an end and then the 51st will begin. I have neglected writing here because I fear where it will inevitably go. I received my reminder to make an appointment for my annual mammogram, and since I began this blog with my 2011 mammogram visit, I thought I'd mention it here. This year, I will not be making the appointment. Before anyone emails or comments about the importance of early detection and mammograms, let me say that I know all of the arguments and I've been having yearly mammograms since I was 40 and had my baseline when I was 36 since some aunts of mine had breast cancer. I know. This year is different. I am just not in the mood to have my too-large-for-my-body boobs squeezed between metal plates and thrust upward while my feet stay planted on the floor as in some medieval torture device promising to rip my tits off if I don't admit to some buried secret or heinous crime. In that position I just might admit to anything. Seriously.
I started my 50th year thinking about what I wanted to accomplish, and I even made my little list, knowing full well that it was a list I had no intention of paying attention to. I kept that promise anyway. I accomplished nothing on that list. I did do some other things in the past 11 months though. I watched my 16-year-old daughter perform in two high school productions, Peter Pan in the fall and Jekyll & Hyde, the Musical in the spring. She is amazing, and I am so happy that she has found this talent and drive within her to follow her passion. I also helped (at least I hope I helped) my 13-year-old daughter muddle (not quite the word for it) through 8th grade relatively unscathed by mean girls and impossible body images to live up to. She is also amazing and continues to search for that thing about which she is passionate.
For me, passion waned during my 50th year. I did not produce much writing but resent older, revised work out to editors for rejections. I excelled in my job and added another, though. I am passionate about teaching, but as I continued to say yes to every class and workshop and coaching experience, I knew I was going to burn myself out.
And then last month, May 2nd, I collapsed in my kitchen. In the ER, the doctor first told me I'd had a heart attack-like event. Later, the diagnosis changed to two pulmonary embolisms, one in each lung. This never occurred to me, that something like this might happen. I've been healthy, albeit fluctuating from my normal weight to overweight throughout my adulthood, and I've been to my yearly physicals where my doctor proclaims that everything is perfect but informs me that losing weight would be a good idea. I know that. I know I should exercise. I always plan to. I don't get to it though; I have to work and take kids to rehearsals and club meetings and parties. I have to plan trips and read books and write. As it turns out, a confluence of different events probably caused the deep vein thrombosis in my left calf: a low-estrogen pill to deal with pre-menopausal symptoms; a job that requires hours seated at a computer desk; a plane ride to Kansas City followed by a 3-hour car ride; and probably genetics. Until I know the underlying causes, I will take my anticoagulant medication daily. I'm slowly recovering; I do not have as much shortness of breath (SOB as members of my pulmonary embolism support group call it), and pains are few. The medicine makes me very tired and most afternoons will find me nodding off with a book or knitting in my hand. Sometimes I fall asleep typing on my laptop.
So the 50th year ends with me changing some things and getting the message I've been knocked over the head with that getting old sucks (yes, yes, I know the alternative), and that I will have to change in order to live longer for my kids. I will have to give some things up and create some new things for me to do. Fortunately, I have a phenomenal support system in my husband, my daughters, my sister (Teresa), and her family. I also have my Mom who still remembers it's me when she hears my voice and wanted to rush here to be with me when I talked to her from the hospital.
I've been sitting a while at the keyboard, so I will need a break and get myself moving. Things will change slowly but will most surely change.
No comments:
Post a Comment