oldsunbird

"I have been more outrageous and more alone and more courageous than the world has known. Passerby, my heart is like your own."

Archive for the tag “aging”

Very Bad News

Ken, my son who lived with me, killed himself the day after Christmas.  I’m still in shock and disbelief.  I’ll write more later..

Some Days Are Good!

February was a difficult month, physically.  Had some setbacks, saw a lot of professionals in the medical community.   No one knows what is causing my problems, so they don’t deal with it.  In the meantime, I just sort of ‘exist.’   Since I don’t get out, except to keep appointments, my life is rather dull.

I’ve lost a couple more friends.  Each time this happens, I’m filled with fear and dread.  Don’t think I need explain.

The brightness in my life has come from reading and writing.  I’ve joined an eight week writing class on Writers On the Nert called ‘Shadow Writing,’ which is digging deeper to help us get in touch with our authentic selves.  We’re in the sixth week.  I find the classes help motivate me to write.  I haven’t posted here for a while, but if it wasn’t for the class, I wouldn’t have written anything at all.  At least I have produced something for the class.

But the big news is that my last name is once again officially that of my husband of 51 years.  My lawyer called me today.  Now I just need to get a new social security card with my ‘new’ (old) name.  Hooray!  I can’t say how relieved I am.  It’s like coming home.  The other name felt so foreign and uncomfortable.  I can rest easy now.

Oh, Forrest, my love, now everything is as it should be.

Too Much Bad News

Beulah, one of my closest friends, died unexpectedly Thursday.  I’m still in shock.  Skip, her husband, has been ill for several years and everyone thought he would go before Beulah.  As a matter of fact, he’s been in ICU for over a week.

I don’t have details.  Don’t know if she had a stroke or died of a heart attack or what.  She was home alone.  Her daughter found her.

Beulah was such a lovely, caring, upbeat person.  When she walked into a room, the sun came with her.  She worried about her husband so much and I think she must have neglected herself.  She seemed well and always said she felt fine when I asked how she was.  She was taking meds for hypertension, but all my friends do that, as do I.  We talked about two weeks ago and I’ve been thinking about calling her.  Procrastinating, as usual.  I’ve done that so much, you’d think I’d learn.  I feel such a void in my life.

I talked to Connie, another friend, today.  She’s just been discharged from the hospital where she was being treated for a cluster of clots in her left lung.  She’s on coumadin now.

And Ken, my son, is going tomorrow for a test to determine if he has an aortic anuerysm.

Beulah, bless her heart; I can just imagine, with Skip in the hospital, how she went back and forth to be with him, probably not eating right, getting too much salt, being stressed out because of his illness.  I feel so bad for her.  The world is not the same without her in it.

I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.  I wish I had a strong faith to get me through.  I’ll work it out.  I always do, but I do have issues with death and loss and being alone.  At my age, loss is inescapable.  Always knocking at my door.

Thank You and Best Wishes

Just want to wish everyone a healthy and happy new year.  May 2013 bring peace and safety to all parts of the world.  Thank you, my blogging friends, for your interest and support in me and my imperfect blog.  I’m amazed by the warmth and caring I’ve found here.  I can’t tell you how I’ve benefited from knowing you.  I hope to have more to give to you in 2013. Love and hugs. XO  Mary

A New Adventure

 

 

 

 

 

 

English: Title page of the first volume of the...

English: Title page of the first volume of the Yale Literary Magazine, published in New Haven, Conn., in 1836, and printed by Herrick & Noyes of New Haven. Image courtesy of the Yale University Manuscripts & Archives Digital Database. Retouched by MarmadukePercy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

This morning I ordered the 2013 Poet’s Market from Amazon.  I’ve made a promise to myself to send out at least one poem a month.  I haven’t tried to publish in literary magazines or small presses in years.  I hate the business end of it and would rather spend the time creating but it IS nice, once in awhile, to see my poems in print along with other poets.  Also, at this time in my life, sending out the poems gives me a purpose, something to look forward to, whether the poems are published or not.   My life has become so humdrum, so void of freshness or excitement.  This will be an adventure.

 

 

 

 

Not So Pleasant Holidays

Iconic screen shot from the movie It's a Wonde...

Iconic screen shot from the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

“It’s a Wonderful Life” is on the TV tonight.   Scott loved that movie.  He watched it every year.  I’m surprised at how just knowing its on fills me with dread.  It’s been 13 years since Scott killed himself and I still can’t watch his favorite programs, look at his photos, his handwriting, anything that reminds me of him.  He loved  sizzlers, Seinfeld, Star Wars, roast, rice and gravy.

I often wonder what he would look like now, if he’d be married, if he’d have children.  I loved him so much.  I still can’t believe he’s gone.  And I miss him.

I’ll be glad when Christmas is over.  Next, I have to get through his birthday, January 9th.  He’d be 49.  The hurt never goes away.

 

Bad News

I had a cousin just a few months younger than me.  Her name was Terry.  We met 27 years ago when we both were 58.   It’s a long story, but briefly, she lived in Kansas and had been looking for her mother  for years; finally found us in Missouri, but her mother had passed away.  I was thrilled to have her in my life.

She and her husband visited us a couple of times, and my husband and I drove to Kansas to see her.  We talked on the phone and exchanged letters.

She was such a gift; we both lamented the fact that we lived so far from each other.  I felt we had been cheated (she much more than I)  for not knowing each other when we were younger.  My dad’s family all lived close, within walking distance of one another.  If we had known each other then, we would have been playmates, probably best friends.   And then, after finally  meeting, we still couldn’t see each other that often because of the distance, and, later, due to the fact that we both had physical problems that made traveling difficult.

Our contact has been less frequent the past few years, and I’ve been the one to call.  Terry had been quite ill and on medication that left her drowsy, with slurred speech; I did most of the talking.  Not a very rewarding exchange.

I was thinking about her today and realized it had been quite awhile since we talked.  I decided to call her and was looking forward to hearing her voice.   Her husband answered, told me she died last April.    And now I regret that I didn’t call her sooner.

I’ve had that experience before.  I called my best friend after my husband died and learned she had died months before.  You’d think I would have learned by now to live as if today is the only day.  To not let time grow between us.

But time seems to go so fast.  And I think….tomorrow.  Then tomorrow comes, and I let it slide by too  And before I know it, weeks, months have passed.  Nothing in life is so certain that we can take anything for granted.

I’m glad, and grateful, that my cousin and I were able to enjoy each other, if only briefly.   If she hadn’t found us, I would never have known I had a cousin in Kansas.  She enriched my life and she’s a part of me now.

I love you Terry.  Thank you for the gift of you.

Motivation

 

 

About the only thing that motivates me these days is my girl, JennyPenny.  I’m lucky to have her.  Otherwise I’d probably just sit here and rot.  But she has to be fed twice a day, watered, let out about every hour or two and get her medicine twice a day.  Which means I have to get off my duff, if only to transfer from bed to wheelchair, and move myself around.  Yes, that’s right.  Bed! Embarrassing as it is, I spend most of my day on my bed.  Reclining, with legs stretched out, back supported by pillows.

 

And that has got to change.  The longer I stay here in my bedroom, the more strength I lose and the weaker I get.  I notice my legs aren’t as sturdy as they used to be.  I’m losing muscle.  Just a small amount of exercise leaves me weak and breathless.  If I stand longer than a few minutes, my blood pressure goes up too high.  Then I feel light headed and faint.  It’s a viscous circle.   The longer I stay on my bed, the worse I feel and the worse I feel, the more I want to operate from my bedhome.

 

What’s operating most in this viscous circle is fear.  The physical problems, along with the consequences of not pushing myself, are real.  And scary.

 

I know I could do better.  I’ve got to just DO it!  Start slow and build up.  I don’t know what I can regain of what I’ve lost, but something, I’m sure.  Yesterday I walked back and forth in the sun room about four or five times holding onto a walker and felt no ill effects.  I’ve got to do this every day.  And I’ve got to move out of my bedroom into the sunroom.

 

sunroom

sunroom (Photo credit: meglet127)

 

It’s bright and pleasant there, with a view of the yard, my neighbors, and vehicles going down Luster.   There’s a world out there I don’t want to lose contact with.

 

My love for the bedroom started when I was a small child and sick.  I spent much time in bed reading, writing, dreaming.  Even when I wasn’t sick, I could hide out in my room from my brothers, who loved to tease me.  I was the only girl in the family until after I graduated from high school.   After I had Rheumatic Fever and a mitral valve prolapse, Mother became very protective of me.  She wouldn’t let me do heavy chores or go for long walks.  Once, in high school, when my classmates went on a hike, I sat in the back of a pickup which was transporting the picnic supplies to our destination.  The message was: I was different from everyone else, weaker, not quite up to snuff.  It’s a concept I’ve had to fight all my life and am still having problems with in my old age.

 

But now, I have to find the strength and courage to change my concept of myself and to be more active, to live a normal life.

 

All There Is

Tasty Food Abundance in Healthy Europe

Tasty Food Abundance in Healthy Europe (Photo credit: epSos.de)

I’m really into food.  Mostly healthy food.  I think about meals a lot, like I used to think about boys when I was young.  Breakfast.  Lunch.  Supper.  What do I want?  Wht do I have?  What do I need to order? Food is about the only pleasure I have left.

I’m also into nutrition, nutrition that will benefit my physical conditions—low sugar, low fat, low salt.

So I order cookbooks and books on nutrition from Amazon– Dean Ornish, Joy Bauer, Dr McDougall.  I watch the Food Network on TV.  I have my own page with Dr Weil online.  It’s personalized and includes health tips for my particular problems and the latest health news.  I get a daily menu which includes three meals a day and a library of meals I can choose as substitutes.

Today I roasted vegetables (my own recipe) for lunch and made hummus for supper.  I substituted peanut butter for the tahini because it’s healthier and, surprisingly, I don’t taste the peanut butter in the finished product.

Making those two things and cleaning the kitchen used up all my energy for today.  And I did most of it sitting in a wheelchair.   The things I fix these days must be quick and easy.   So I’ve had to put away most of my old favorite recipes.

I tried Meals on Wheels but the meals aren’t all that healthy or good.  So, it’s a struggle, but I can still put a meal together; and though what I do now is far removed from what I used to do in the kitchen, the food I cook is much better than having it brought in.  And I’m grateful for that.

More About Me

I just started following a blogger whose husband is ill and she has to care for him.  Almost all her thoughts and moves are affected by how her husband will react.   She plans her life around him and his needs.

I understand where she’s coming from; I, too, was once a caretaker for my husband.  Keeping him safe and happy was my life’s work.  It was difficult at times, but mostly it was rewarding.

And this is why:

We were in our late 70’s when he became ill.  Our children had long left the nest and lived in other towns.  We’d lost two sons, along with many other friends and relatives.  We mostly had just each other.  I was a retired psychiatric nurse, and chose that profession because my heart went out to those in need and I wanted to help them.  I especially related to the sick, as I’d been quite ill as a child, often separated from friends and family, trying to deal with my fears and discomforts alone.  My mother took good physical care of me but was too busy or unaware of how to comfort a sick, scared child.  She never spoke of or explained my illnesses to me.  Basically, I was just put to bed in a bedroom and left to my own devices.

Mother had always wanted to be a nurse, but she lost her father and brother before penicillin was discovered and had to quit school and go to work to help with the family bills.  Her nursing aspirations were carried into her adulthood.  She saw that I and my bed were clean and that I was well fed.  When I had Scarlet Fever, she rubbed my rash with calamine lotion.  She boiled my sheets and everything that came out of my room.  When she learned that I had Rheumatic Fever, she cried on the bus on the way home from the doctor’s.  I knew then that something bad was wrong with me, but I had no idea what it was or what was going to happen.   The treatment for Rheumatic Fever back then was bed rest.  There were no medications to treat it with.

Anyway, after I retired as a psychiatric nurse practitioner, I missed practicing my calling.  And with the boys gone and no one to take care of, I needed a reason to get up in the morning.

My husband was a strong, controlling individual.  He made the important decisions in our family, and I was happy to let him do that.  I’ve always been a sensitive, introverted individual, never really sure of myself, afraid to take the initiative.

Then, after Forrest became ill, first with Alzheimer’s, then with COPD, hypertension, diabetes, kidney dysfunction, and colon cancer, I gradually had to become the decision maker and performer of all the household duties.  I gained confidence, and, in fact, enjoyed being responsible.

But most of all, I enjoyed taking care of my husband—cooking his meals, buying his special treats at the grocers, seeing that he had his oxygen, clothes to keep warm, bringing his meals to him in the TV room after it was too much effort for him to come to the table, taking him to his doctors’ appointments, wheeling him in the wheelchair.  We’d sit on the patio, watch the birds build nests, the trees grow, flowers bloom.   Sometimes, we’d watch TV together, or I’d watch while he slept in a chair across from me.  We were together.  We connected.  Not only was he allowing me to care for him, he was enjoying it.  Sadly, it was our best time as a married couple.

The woman I spoke of at the beginning of this blog lives in Australia on a bird farm.  Our experiences with illness are not quite the same, but, still, I can empathize with her.  Her blog address is:  http://jmgoyder.com/    She’s courageous, admirable and an inspiration.  I think you might find her blog worth the visit.

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