"Old age ain't no place for sissies." Or, How Half a Century Caught Up to Me in One Summer

That title quote is often attributed to Bette Davis, and I will tell you, I love the idea of her making that iconic quip while drinking a glass of champagne with pals from the "old days." Further research, though, credits the above to journalist/humorist Henry Louis Mencken. Whoever said it, though, hit that particularly sensitive nail on the head. Like most of my peers I have watched wrinkles appear on my skin, fought with the fruitless persistence of a moth at a light bulb as certain parts of my body try to go permanently, umm, "south," and continue to discover new creaks and cracks and slight aches generating from my vessel just about every day. This year, however, has seen a noticeable increase in, oh good grief, "age-related" changes to my body and mind. It isn't pretty and I find myself more disconcerted than I thought I would be at this point.

First, I think I should make clear that my angst is not related to some sort of fear of my mortality. On the contrary, I am confident that I have much more life to live and if it turns out not to be the case, so be it. I don't live my life worrying about my death.

Partly though, I think my emotional discomfort stems from the fact that I have an almost nine year old daughter and I desperately want to be able to keep up with her. When my bones ache or fatigue seems to prematurely set in, I worry that I won't be able to be "present" for my her in the ways I wish. When I decided to try and get pregnant at 37 I grappled with the pros and cons of that choice. Not actually having her until the day after my 41st birthday has presented some challenges, but mostly in terms of other people's perceptions (see the "Actually I am her mother" post). I must admit, I didn't honestly think there would be any physical limitations (how naive can one person be?).

This year brought two significant changes within a relatively short period of time. The first occurred in early summer when, while at work, my thumb started to ache and within two hours was unusable. Did this freak me out? YES IT DID. I visited my employer's occupational medicine office (no mere nurses clinic, mind you; working at a National Laboratory has its perks). After some palliative therapy and some x-rays, the determination was "degenerative changes" to my hand. Actually, the Physician's Assistant who treated me came in after looking at my films and said, "I'm surprised your whole hand doesn't hurt." Apparently those "changes" (effectively causing arthritis) are all over my hand (probably both, but let's not go there). So, I bought a paraffin bath (lovely on so many levels), try to keep it moving (no bracing it) and if my thumb flares up too badly, I take an OTC anti-inflammatory. Not too bad,I thought; I got this.

Suuuuuure I do.

I also made some positive changes this year. A giant one: I gave up sugar Except for the odd occasion). This is huge. Sugar, in any but the smallest amounts makes me nuts; makes me hungry and craving foods I know I shouldn't consume in more than occasional amounts (mainly refined carbohydrates that taste oh-so good and stick to my body like a tick on a feral dog). Giving up refined sugar calms my appetite and clears my head. Usually. So over the course of a couple of months I started eating quite well, moving my body more and I began to see the incremental changes from both. It should be noted that I have always been overweight (to varying degrees) but have also always been active and healthy and now, closing in on 50, I am not so emotionally defined by my physical shape. But something was very wrong. My efforts were not paying the dividends I was expecting; I wasn't feeling any better than when I ate something sugary every day washed down with a soda. Oh, I am losing a little weight (cool) but I am not feeling better. On the contrary, I am TIRED. ALL.THE.TIME. I wake up tired. In fact, if I am to be honest, this is how my day goes in my head, starting from getting up the morning: as I stumble to the shower, "I must not have slept well, I am exhausted," as I get to work, "(sigh) it is going to be a long day," midday, "I wonder if I could fall asleep in my car for a few..." later, "omg, I am not going to make it," sometimes when I get home, "I am too tired to cook- what can we do that is easy?" but usually, I cook dinner and then fall down into a chair wondering "when can I go to bed?" and then the day begins all over again, way too soon. As an engaged mother and trying to be a good wife, I carry a lot of guilt about my inner dialog and inability to muster more energy.

Then started the mood swings. I am a naturally sensitive person. I have decided, after living with myself forever, that it is basically a good trait. I am much more prone to empathy and seeing other points of view. But it can be hard. I am very sentimental and tend to take my own shortcomings and mistakes as apocalyptic. And criticism? I have learned to take it better than compliments. Mostly I cope with humor. But lately, I cry. A LOT. Over nothing. Look at that butterfly in the sunshine (tears form in my eyes). Oh, I would love to go back to the Caribbean (sniff). Can I get change for a twenty? BURST INTO TEARS. OK, it's not that bad, but still, even just TALKING about emotions, gets me teary. May I just say................W.T.F? Honestly, my mood swings are giving me whiplash.

Then, a couple of months ago my sleep started to be affected. I am a persnickety sleeper anyway (for about the past ten years). My husband, bless him, can sleep through my congestion-related snoring, but if I don't fall asleep before him, the noises emanating from his nose/throat send me packing to another room. If it is too hot, I can't sleep. If it is too bright,I can't sleep. If Mercury goes retrograde, I can't sleep!! So, when my already precarious sleep started being disrupted; when I couldn't fall asleep, or worse, when I woke up in the early hours and then couldn't get back to sleep, well, you might as well have told me that disco was back; I was just plain bummed out. I tried everything; soft music, reading, visualization, Benadryl®, getting myself even more tired during the day/evening. At best I would fall into bed, get comfy, and then my mind would start humming.

I thought maybe it was Depression.

I have battled depression in my life. I am not ashamed to tell anyone that I was on anti-depressants for years (at this writing I have only been off for a year and a half) and am not above the possibility of going back to them should the need arise. Why it was EVER some sort of stigma is beyond me. But this is different. I know depression and how it affects me. This time, I am not "checked out" emotionally, I am not without joy. On the contrary, I laugh heartily every chance I get, I love engaging with other people and activities (as much as any introvert does), I love doing things and planing for other doings. I just don't have the same level of energy to do any of the above. Sample: Last week I worked in the morning as I do every Friday. Then I went to the doctor, called the insurance company, made a "cake" out of fruit for a friend's B-Day, spent three hours getting a tattoo finished (takes more energy than you might think), got some take out chicken for dinner and drove home from Santa Fe. I. WAS. DONE. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed. Instead I tried to make meaningful conversation with my husband and daughter. I was in bed by 930 ish (felt like midnight). Such a day should NOT wipe me out, but before it was over I wanted to strand myself on a beach somewhere and let nature take its course...

Turns out, I am not sick, nor am I depressed.

I am old.

That is a hard word. Right now anyone older than me is thinking (maybe saying or even writing, "speak for yourself baby, I am hitting my stride!"). I don't mean old in a judgmental sense, or in a societally comparative sense. Rather, I am speaking strictly in a reproductive sense.

Whoa! She didn't go THERE did she?!?

Why IS this still such a taboo topic to discuss in the 21st flippin' century? (so, as an interesting anecdote, when I posted about this on FB, only three of my male friends "liked" -one of them was my husband, just sayin')

I included this just to increase the discomfort level :)
Look-they made it a happy little reproductive system!

So, to get what will, for some men, be undoubtedly the most uncomfortable bit of this post out of the way...For 36 years (THIRTY-SIX) I have had the potential to reproduce. My body saved, then discarded its eggs on a monthly cycle that included, pain that ranged from mild to crying in my pillow, mess (I went there again, didn't I!), mood swings that were pendulum-like in their extremes, cravings that would put any stoner to shame, and fatigue that could take down a bull elephant. I have dutifully bought and used "feminine protection" (I always hated that term; seems better suited to describe bodyguards for women against the GOP...), every OTC pain med approved by the FDA (the invention of Naproxen Sodium was a game changer-thank you, whoever you are), utilized heating pads, warm baths, exercise, herbal teas, Midol®, Pamprin®, Seagrams®, Cuervo® and any other suggested or proven way to make the inevitabilities bearable. I stayed out of pools (when I was young and nervous), avoided white pants (yes, I am going to keep going there), stayed home from work or school,  and spoken to (male) doctors who basically told me that the "discomfort" was just part of the process. It was during moments like those when my inner Zena wanted to reach down, grab, and do a hearty twist of those docs' "pride" and ask if they were experiencing "discomfort." ...And yes I have performed one of the ten tests to a healthy marriage; I sent my husband to the store for tampons and chocolate ANYTHING (he gamely went- he is a keeper). But really, after the first ten years or so as "a woman," I basically just integrated the whole kit and kaboodle into my expectations of daily life and moved forward with relative panache (my story, my summation); learning as the years went, to plan as best I could. e.g., no lion safaris or shark feeding excursions between the 5th and 12th of the month, etc. (Yep-went there one last time :)

As with just about anything, menstrual cycles affect women differently. My maternal grandmother never experienced cramping, which made for a less than sympathetic perspective when I was doubled over hoping to be put out of my misery. I had friends who were routinely in the hospital because the pain was so bad. I could go on, but mercifully I won't. Let me just say that the idea of this monthly "visitor" (yes, some people call it that!) no longer showing up, causes me no whimsical longing WHATSOEVER.

BUT (and avoiding any "being a woman is hard" language), the physiology of reproduction is complex. Thus, there is not a start/stop button. Like most things designed by Nature (let's keep religion out of this), when things are past their usefulness, they tend to wind down and in this case, when women's bodies go into non-reproductive mode, all sorts of side effects occur. So, basically for who knows how many years, the excitement will continue.

Another interesting aspect to this shift, is that it will take my blood chemistry perhaps a year to catch up with my sysmptoms. So, doing blood work only showed that in other areas (sugars, cholesterol, TSH and even FSH [if it were high I would have chemical evidence of menopause]), I am perfectly healthy. This result is good and bad as part of me hoped that my thyroid was simply misbehaving again and then we could have "fixed" it. This, well, there is no fixing this. I am not broken, I am changing. And as with most progression in our lives (growing up, growing wise, etc.), this process will be protracted and at times just plain miserable (for me as well as those around me- I am sorry in advance). I will not list the symptoms beyond what I already have. They vary so much between women and as my doctor most eloquently put it (she is so smart and knows all these amazing technical terms)--this shift "SUCKS" physically and sometimes emotionally.

Well alrighty then.

Finally, I think it is key to note that I have no drama behind this next phase of my life. I bear no fear about the so-called loss of femininity that women believed occurred (were made to believe???). I don't feel less a mother or wife. I don't feel any less a sexual or, more importantly, a sensual being. I am still me, I don't fear all the possible diseases or weaknesses that may or may not come. What good would it do? Besides, getting older and greeting all that comes with it is certainly better than the alternative (being dead).

So, if you see a two-headed gorgon dragging herself down the halls, give her a moment (and don't look directly in her eyes), it will be me again shortly.

...But you might bear gifts of fans and ice.

Caravaggio- Medusa