Babies do not specifically select the date and time of their birth, unless you believe in numerology. They are born when they are ripe and ready, under duress due to a medical condition or else when the parent’s choose a cesarean extraction. I was born on a winter’s day as a result of a lusty summer’s coupling.
My mom always made a big deal out of birthdays. She would have a card and a small gift at breakfast time. Provide warm bread or another treat upon the birthday girl’s arrival home from school and the requisite cake for supper. If the child had acceptable grades and good behavior, we would venture out for a special meal, which was an unusual occurrence. My favorite restaurant was the Lavender Inn in Faribault, MN. It was fancy, smelled great, wonderful food, and contained an art gallery. Granted, most of the artwork was overwrought but I loved looking at the different styles. I was an art critic at an early age.
The past few years have been difficult. Mom had trouble remembering the dates and wasn’t always sure if she had children. Four years ago she stopped being able to cook, three years ago she wasn’t able to send cards, two years ago she had to be prompted who I was to even wish me “Happy Birthday” over the telephone. When I visited near my birthday last year I don’t think that she knew who I was and slept most of the day.
It was especially difficult this year. I had to attend an event for work and keep my emotions in check throughout the day. I had to focus on the job. Every time I thought about her I cried so I shed a lot of tears after work. I volunteered that night at my faith community and was honored by so many people who were concerned and gave me hugs. Again, I heard many stories about people who had “lost” the people who made them. Lost, what an asinine euphemism! I didn’t misplace my mother; she died last fall. She will not be found again on this plane of existence.
A lot of people sent me messages via Facebook. That is nice but I still prefer a physical card. A few people called, which was also nice. The day after my birthday I was surprised at work with a balloon, cake, and flowers from my co-workers. I cried again. They were kinder than I expected. My friends were sweet and took me out for lunch a few days later. They plied me with cute cards and gifts. I began to weep out of gratitude. I am so fortunate to have a support network. I wish that we would communicate and get together more frequently. It is better to have a party than a funeral.
Please reach out to those you hold dear. Meeting them in person is best, but a call is also good. Don’t rely upon social media, texting, or sharing photos as a substitute for a relationship. Humans are social creatures; we need healthy and stable relationships to thrive. Call your Mom and Dad (if you can) today!
Call home.
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Monday, April 7, 2014
Friday, April 4, 2014
WEARY OLD ME
Every residual injury shouts with pain, each cell hurts. Aspirin isn’t enough to block the discomfort signals in the brain which also aches. Problem concentrating on… the task at hand. Difficult to conduct an intelligent conversation. My body buzzes, not with the hyper hum of adrenalin but the negative frenzy of fatigue.
After almost two weeks of non-stop work and other responsibilities I am too tired to sleep. Overly sensitive to light, noise, smell, and vibrations. Eating constantly to stay awake even though I am not hungry. Caffeine consumed to the point that I have the jitters. I just want the agony to end but I must plow forward until I can rest.
Wrinkle and dark bags hang like lazy moons under my eyes. I don’t smile much but feel emotional. Irritability complicated by “riding the moon” an odd euphemism for menses. Watch the clock in anticipation of a restless nocturnal venture. The feather dance is illusive without a cat on my lap. Obsessed with finishing each consecutive task, three, two. Cursing when responsibilities are added which delay the rest time as I feel relief when completing the final chore of the day. Must drive home safely.
Increasing dependence upon lists as the week wears on. I am obliged to write the reminder on a piece of paper or it will flit out of my mind like a leaf blowing in the wind. Handwriting becomes illegible. Verbal blunders increase. Dreaming of a lax schedule, though there is always cleaning to do, cats to cuddle, people to see, job search to conduct, blogs to write and post, and books to read. Some days I just want to be a lump on the couch.
The first day of rehabilitation is about sleeping and cleaning the essentials. Cats and the kitchen appreciate a scrub. Second day of recuperation is reconnecting with friends and tiding the home. Third day includes reading, increasing orderliness, blogging, job search, and enjoying the spring-ish weather. Not fully recovered but well enough to tackle work the next day.
Clean for spring!
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
After almost two weeks of non-stop work and other responsibilities I am too tired to sleep. Overly sensitive to light, noise, smell, and vibrations. Eating constantly to stay awake even though I am not hungry. Caffeine consumed to the point that I have the jitters. I just want the agony to end but I must plow forward until I can rest.
Wrinkle and dark bags hang like lazy moons under my eyes. I don’t smile much but feel emotional. Irritability complicated by “riding the moon” an odd euphemism for menses. Watch the clock in anticipation of a restless nocturnal venture. The feather dance is illusive without a cat on my lap. Obsessed with finishing each consecutive task, three, two. Cursing when responsibilities are added which delay the rest time as I feel relief when completing the final chore of the day. Must drive home safely.
Increasing dependence upon lists as the week wears on. I am obliged to write the reminder on a piece of paper or it will flit out of my mind like a leaf blowing in the wind. Handwriting becomes illegible. Verbal blunders increase. Dreaming of a lax schedule, though there is always cleaning to do, cats to cuddle, people to see, job search to conduct, blogs to write and post, and books to read. Some days I just want to be a lump on the couch.
The first day of rehabilitation is about sleeping and cleaning the essentials. Cats and the kitchen appreciate a scrub. Second day of recuperation is reconnecting with friends and tiding the home. Third day includes reading, increasing orderliness, blogging, job search, and enjoying the spring-ish weather. Not fully recovered but well enough to tackle work the next day.
Clean for spring!
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Saturday, October 6, 2012
MY ACHY BREAKY JOINTS
Arthritis is rampant on both sides of my family. I experienced pangs in my shoulders during high school. My left knee began to indicate forthcoming rain/snow in my 20s, it is sensitive to air pressure change. During my 30s my hips, ankles and right knee would occasionally hurt. No big deal a pain murderer would block the discomfort.
When I turned 40 my body began to deteriorate. Eyesight worsened, fatigue, insomnia, and the joints in my hands began to swell and ache. It probably doesn’t help that I am overweight. The strain only places more pressure on my joints. Naughty me.
I watched my paternal grandmother bow over with a dowagers hump as her osteoporosis destroyed her spine. Her hands shriveled into stumps as the arthritis twisted the bone, muscle and tendons into claws. My dad has some arthritis but his sisters and niece are badly affected. My maternal grandmother Daisy had aches but died before they wrecked her body. My mom’s back hurts so much that she was immobilized for most of last winter. Her arthritis is made worse because she was born premature and her body didn’t quite develop correctly. I suspect that it is spina bifida but I don’t know if she’s been diagnosed.
I have a very mild case of spina bifida. One of my spinal bones is not fully formed and it slightly exposes the tender bits. It wasn’t diagnosed until six years ago. I was in a car accident (not my fault) and I had to see a chiropractor. The doctor took x-rays and it showed the slight abnormality. That explains why an old beau would hurt me when he would sweetly offer to massage my back and press in that area – the pain was excruciating. Unwittingly, he could have caused me great harm if he’d pressed too hard on the spinal nerve. I don’t blame my mom if my condition is due to lack of folic acid. The research wasn’t available at that time. I just have to be careful not to press that area of my back since it will always be vulnerable.
Back to the joints. Lots of research but little progress to stop or reduce arthritis. You can only block the pain. I have found that taking a glucosamine supplement does help to reduce the swelling. It is sad to watch my fingers start to twist. The joints are slightly swollen most of the time and hurt some of the time. This year my left elbow began to constantly ache. The pain is most apparent while trying to sleep because I can maintain some type of distraction during the day. I need to lose weight and join a Hatha Yoga class as soon as I can afford it. The stretching and breathing has always been helpful.
Getting older sucks.
© 2012 Ima B. Musing
When I turned 40 my body began to deteriorate. Eyesight worsened, fatigue, insomnia, and the joints in my hands began to swell and ache. It probably doesn’t help that I am overweight. The strain only places more pressure on my joints. Naughty me.
I watched my paternal grandmother bow over with a dowagers hump as her osteoporosis destroyed her spine. Her hands shriveled into stumps as the arthritis twisted the bone, muscle and tendons into claws. My dad has some arthritis but his sisters and niece are badly affected. My maternal grandmother Daisy had aches but died before they wrecked her body. My mom’s back hurts so much that she was immobilized for most of last winter. Her arthritis is made worse because she was born premature and her body didn’t quite develop correctly. I suspect that it is spina bifida but I don’t know if she’s been diagnosed.
I have a very mild case of spina bifida. One of my spinal bones is not fully formed and it slightly exposes the tender bits. It wasn’t diagnosed until six years ago. I was in a car accident (not my fault) and I had to see a chiropractor. The doctor took x-rays and it showed the slight abnormality. That explains why an old beau would hurt me when he would sweetly offer to massage my back and press in that area – the pain was excruciating. Unwittingly, he could have caused me great harm if he’d pressed too hard on the spinal nerve. I don’t blame my mom if my condition is due to lack of folic acid. The research wasn’t available at that time. I just have to be careful not to press that area of my back since it will always be vulnerable.
Back to the joints. Lots of research but little progress to stop or reduce arthritis. You can only block the pain. I have found that taking a glucosamine supplement does help to reduce the swelling. It is sad to watch my fingers start to twist. The joints are slightly swollen most of the time and hurt some of the time. This year my left elbow began to constantly ache. The pain is most apparent while trying to sleep because I can maintain some type of distraction during the day. I need to lose weight and join a Hatha Yoga class as soon as I can afford it. The stretching and breathing has always been helpful.
Getting older sucks.
© 2012 Ima B. Musing
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