Getting older--Where everything sorta bags, sags, wags or drags!

Caution & qualifier: Sorry Fred. This piece is about me feeling sorry for myself. But hey! It's my blog so I can.

Some wise person said there are three stupid stages in our life: Teenage years where we have time and energy but no money; working age: when we have money and energy but no time and finally; old age: where we have time and money but no energy.

If someone would have told me that I could go from middle-aged to decrepit in one lousy year, I'd have bit their head off! But that's exactly what happened.

Before my surgery on August 1, 2009, I was happy, carefree, enjoying life, and exercising with gusto. I was also writing novels with verve and inspiration. I was losing weight and feeling great. When the stainless steel blade of the surgeon's scalpel pierced my soft, unwilling flesh, my life force, energy and commitment came whizzing out in one ominous gush of energy. Not only that, but my body changed in so many horrifying ways that I am loath to describe them.

But I will, of course. (Hence the blog, for goodness sake!)

Long before my medical concerns appeared, the one feature on my body that I could automatically count on being the best was my legs. I took great pride in my legs.
Though they have always been short, they were at times shapely and free from bumps, bruises and blotches. But after the surgery and the dreaded development of debilitating blood clots, all of sudden I have tiny spider-like veins snaking their way across my feet and ankles. Dark red blotches where blood has obviously pooled mar my once perfectly clear skin and knots. I have a larger knot where a large vein now protrudes and any time I'm bumped or bitten by a predatory beast, instead of a cute little red dot, I have an enormous blood pool just below the surface of my skin which lasts for weeks instead of mere days. What's up with that?!

Another thing that really sends my up a wall is my arms.When did all the skin I had around the muscle of my arm decided to head south and now drip off my arms like turkey waddle? And when I get injured, instead of having a discreet cut or blemish, the miserable injury gets this awful blood blister just beneath the top layer of skin and spreads out like a map of Africa--add to that dark purple and black spots and I look like I've been beaten with a baseball bat. I didn't sign up for this.

Lets not forget what a lack of exercise can do to one's body after surgery. The effect is appalling and disgusting. Muscles turn to jelly, strength fails alarmingly and commitment--well my commitment to my weight-loss journey became a thing of the past. Added to that was the swelling of tissues because of the blood clot caused during surgery and you have one big ugly mess. (Are you appalled yet?)

Let us not forget about the joints--not that my joints would let me forget about them. While sleeping six months on my back, (I'll talk about that later, or not), when I was finally able to return to sleeping on my sides, my shoulders rebelled. No longer were they able to hold my body weight and I strained both shoulders which meant months of chiropractic visits. Sometimes at night I would wake up and both arms would be dead wood. How is the possible seeing that I was sleeping on only one arm at a time. There's just something so wrong about that. Luckily, the chiropractic care relieved some of that. But not all.

Let me talk a minute about canes, walkers and wheel chairs. Marvelous inventions until you have to avail yourself of them with limited strength in your legs. Then its rather humiliating to admit your too old and feeble to walk by yourself without assistance. Where are my carefree, effervescent simi-youthful days when I could skip and hop and jump my way through the life? Long gone, all of them. No more buoyant, jaunty steps for me. No sir. Just heavy, plodding, uneven steps that cause pain with every agonizing planting of my feet.And that's another thing. I had been suffering for a while with the usual pains of old age, when another enervating pain assailed me. This paralyzing pain is related to diabetes and sciatic problems. Combined together, the pain was draining. But right after surgery I thought the pain had abated. Unfortunately, when I was taken off my surgery meds of Vicodon and my beloved pain patch of Fentanyl, the miserable, grinding pain came back with a vengeance. Give me back my drugs!

Drugs! There's a paradox for you. Some people take drugs to escape, lose their minds in pleasurable euphoria. I, on the other hand, can't abide the sense of losing control that being on drugs causes me. Try a combination of Fentenyl and Codine and you have a laser light show in your brain. Not my idea of a good time. Before the surgery, I had all but thrown off my dependence on drugs. After, I couldn't control my blood pressure so my life is once again governed by the used of man-made drugs that have tremendous side effects. Not the least of these is weight gain.

Ah, weight gain. Did I mention that having blood clots in both legs caused me to gain 20 pounds in one week! No. I guess not. But there it is. What was a fantastic year of losing weight in 2008 was followed by a year of gaining a lot of it back again. I had no idea that cutting open one's body would cause a loss of motivation and drive. Maybe not for some, but it did for me. You can't lay on your back for several months and deal with the lasting effects of surgery and not lose something of yourself in the process.
It's like having the crank the old handle of a Model T. Unfortunately, the old motor just isn't going to kick over anymore and definitely not in the same way. I'm worn out, my energy reserves are drained, I can't find the motivation, the spark to kick start my life. Where's Nike when you need them? "Just Do It!"There are other complications that no one tells you about that are associated with surgery. Those are financial. But for this discussion, I'm not going to address them. Suffice it to say, the financial worry can be as devastating as the physical worry of getting older. The idea that one must continuing working in the outside world probably until death instead of retirement, does fill one's heart with aching dread. But that's a discussion for another time.

So yes Fred, this had been about me and my suffering. And people would say complaining has no place. But I find it cathartic. Writing out my feelings often facilitates recovery. It helps to unburden the soul and free the mind. Life is not about feeling good all the time. Who wants that *cough* *cough* *Mike*. It's not possible to achieve Nirvana in this life time. Thank God! Who wants Nirvana anyway? Who wants all that "enduring, transcendental happiness" anyway? Yeah! I do!

So to end this lament about old age, I just want to say that it's not for the faint of heart. It's not for cowards. It's not for weaklings. I take a person with strength of character to endure the pains and trials of getting older. My father will be 92 this year and what a strong character he is. Of course, he can't chew or hear and he's losing his memory, but he's got such a great spirit about him. He's always happy and cheerful. And "that's what it's all about Charley Brown." Learning to be happy through the pain, cheerful through the exhaustion and inconvenience of the age. I'm just having a little trouble. It all happened overnight for me. I wasn't prepared to have old age slap me in the face quite so soon. I was waiting for 80 or 90 to feel old. Physically that's how old I feel. Mentally I still feel like I'm eighteen.But take heart, all is not lost. Things are looking up. I'm back in the gym, I'm striving harder to write my feelings and working on book number six. I'm trying really hard to watch my food, not only the quantity but the quality. Improvement may be slower at this age, but not impossible. Today I'm actually going to talk to a therapist about my feelings of being yanked kicking and screaming into old age. Who knows? Maybe it will help. Prayer helps as well. What do you think? Can I pray that being fifty is the new thirty five?

Weight -- Update!

On Friday, August 1, 2008, I achieved an 80 pound weight loss. (In a year’s time frame.) That’s E I G H T Y — 80 pounds of weight gone from off my body!!! That’s about the weight of a ten year old child. I’ve lost a ten year old!!! I should be ecstatic, elated, overjoyed, delighted, happy, thrilled, jumping for joy. So why, you might ask, am I crying?? Why do I shed bitter tears? Why am I depressed and despondent over losing E I G H T Y pounds?


Why---because I don’t yet look like Kate Moss or Lara Flynn Boyle?







Well I’ll tell you why I started to cry and get depressed. I was feeling light and fluffy with my new 1X shirt and shorts and asked my husband Tim to take some photos of me in the new slimmer version of my body. However, when I downloaded the pictures and looked at them—reality hit me like a ton of bricks or a ton of In-N-Out Burgers, (which I’ve probably consumed over my life time). I didn’t look like Kate Moss or Lara Flynn Boyle. No indeed. I still looked more like Kristie Alley or Momma Cass. I really took a hit to my self image.

See there is this person inside me that dictates how I view myself. You know that nagging little voice that tells you to mind your own business when you want to step in and correct your friend. Well that little girl inside my fat “suit” is still seventeen years old, weighs about 105 pounds and is the epitome of beauty and grace. It always amazed me when I passed a mirror and saw the image that was reflected back to me, I didn’t recognize that fat person. See in my mind, I wasn’t fat. I would stare in horror and disgust at the rotund woman in the mirror. Could that overly round, morbidly obese, dumpy looking person really be me? My inner slender teenager said no!

So now I’m asking myself what difference did an eighty pound weight loss make? Why do I feel like a failure even after so many people have congratulated me on my success? Why, why, why? Well because I have sooooo much more weight to lose. Probably another one hundred pounds or so before I can honestly say I’ve arrived, I actually like the person staring back at me from the mirror. The reality of those photos brought me up short and broke my (much skinner) heart.

Monika, my exercises buddy, told me to stop and think about what I’ve actually accomplished in the last year and take specific notice of the changes I’ve made. So I thought I’d make a list. Now this is not a bragging session. So I don’t want you to think I’m boosting. I just wanted to make myself feel better. So let’s see.

1. I can see my toes. This may not be a big deal for you, but for me it was monumental.
2. I had to buy smaller shoes. Who’d a thought that! I went from a man’s size nine extra wide to a women’s eight.
3. I have lost eight inches off my stomach, six inches off my bust, seven inches off my butt, similar amounts off of my arms, legs and so forth.
4. I can get on the floor at the gym and bring my leg to my chest. (No obstructions.)
5. I can bend over and touch my toes and put my hand flat on the ground, no bent knees.
6. I don’t get out of breath when I walk.
7. I can exercise for two hours and not fell overly tired.
8. I can run up stadium stairs without much effort. (I did this while on vacation at Utah State University. Never in my wildest dreams could I see me doing something like that.)
9. I went from a size 4X to a size 1X and sometimes wear an XL t-shirt.
10. My face is thinner and I’ve lost a chin.
11. I went from a size 50DD bra to a 42D.
12. I don’t get respiratory illnesses as frequently as I once did. I actually haven't had bronchitis for two years.
13. My doctor lowered my prescriptions pills from three each for diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol to one pill for each.
14. I get by on about six hours of sleep.
15. I no longer watch endless hours of TV and fall asleep in the reclining chair.
Finally,
16. You’ll have to ask my husband about the best change of all. (I’m not spilling the beans on that change. Do you see my red face? No. Good!)

Well I don’t leap tall buildings with a single bound or stop bullets with my teeth, but I’m changing. Whether my photos show that in any great detail, or not, I feel a change. And that’s motivation in itself. Yes, I still have a lot of weight to lose, but then don’t we all have something we need to overcome. It’s just making the decision to eat right, exercise all over again every single day from now until eternity. I’ll always be a weight watcher, always be a food addict and always have to be careful not to lose control. But in the end it’s just like Lorel says, “I’m worth it!”