Category: Health & Wellness

Put your oxygen mask on first

In the continuing adventures of Comrade Trump Goes to Washington, I find myself angry and depressed. I know what you’re saying … hey, lady, take a number. Still, I continue to ruminate because I am not happy being unhappy.

Today I thought I’d share where I am headed because you can read about Outrage of the Day anywhere, but maybe a nugget or two on how to stay sane might be a good way for me to contribute.

Like many of you, I am healthy and have a good life. I do not take any of it for granted. While I want to do my part to stop this madness, reading about it and thinking about it is probably worse than living it. Yet here we are.

I rejected my first option, which was to drink heavily and stay in bed until it’s over. Instead, I asked myself, is there a way to compartmentalize? To do the right thing but somehow enjoy life?

Here’s where I landed:

  • Turn off the fire hose. I’m all about staying informed, but I don’t need to be convinced. All of it is bad, and some of it is worse than the rest. Immersing myself in news and opinion does not make it better. Seriously, it wrecks me. I can feel it in my body. I can feel it in my brain. I don’t sleep well. So, I’m reading enough to be articulate, enough so I can share my opinion when it has the potential to make a difference.
  • Accept the burden. No one is coming to save us. You can hope the courts will fix it or the Republicans will implode, but in the end, each of us must stand up for Democracy. We can all help in different ways, but we can’t look away and hope for the best. I’ve already said I’m not much of an activist and don’t want to be, but this is reality. Sign on the dotted line.
  • Know your limits. Even the smallest gestures count. I may not be a superstar in this opposition, but I can participate in some way without guilt or shame. I’m donating to organizations fighting it all in court. I’ve been writing and calling my elected officials. I had to let go of all the “why bother” doubt about whether my effort makes an impact. My new mantra is assume it does and then do it again.
  • Enjoy simple pleasures. We might be hanging on by a thread, but I still believe in the inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That’s kind of what this whole thing is all about, but it was still a bit of a shock to realize it’s OK to tune out and enjoy yourself.

In other words, put your oxygen mask on first.

No big thoughts here

I scheduled my colonoscopy for Jan. 20, which is inauguration day. Sure, I could have watched Donald Trump take the oath of office, but I went with a good old-fashioned colon blow … the extended edition that includes a partially sedated anal probe.

No regrets.

I’m continuing to focus less on what’s actually happening in the world and more on what’s happening in our kitchen. Since I retired, I’ve learned that I’m a happier and calmer person when I quit trying to think the big thoughts and direct my energy into simple things that make life pleasurable. Food is always at the top of the list.

I made some excellent bread in 2024, especially sourdough, but this year I’d like to push a little harder and try some different recipes. Bagels, brioche, you name it. I also want to try making croissants. Not for the feint of heart, as I understand it.

We ate our share of sweets over the holidays, so I’m trying to cut back on sugar. No plans to give it up – I just want to be more mindful. Save it for when it counts! I’ve been eating a lot of oatmeal, which is good. But I’ve been hammering it with brown sugar, which is, shall we say, not my best choice. Does oatmeal even need to be sweet?

I Googled savory oatmeal, and there’s a lot out there with stuff I really don’t want to eat in the morning. I kept it simple and made a batch with just chopped walnuts and a little salt. Very good. Then I tried it with chopped walnuts, currants, olive oil and a dash of sea salt. Yum!

While I might still do the sweeter variety of oatmeal from time to time, I’m enjoying these other options. What about something with sesame oil ? Some toasted seeds?

One of my other breakfast treats is an egg cooked in olive oil. I heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil into a small nonstick pan and then add an egg as though I’m frying it. But it almost poaches in the pool of oil. When the egg is done, I pour the whole thing – oil and egg – on sourdough toast. It’s so delicious. I’m wondering if it might be good on oatmeal, too.

I’m starting my sourdough tonight, and we’re having that tomorrow with balsamic glazed chicken thighs with burst tomatoes and green beans. I put a bottle of Gewürztraminer in the fridge. People think Gewürz is a sweet wine, but we buy a dry variety from Navarro Vineyards. We love it..

Pizza tonight. A replay of a pizza Dale made for the first time a few weeks ago. He said he was experimenting with new toppings, and it was going to sound weird. Hot Italian sausage, anchovies and red onion. I said, what’s weird about that? It sounds wonderful.

And it was seriously one of the best pizzas he has ever made. The anchovies sort of melt into the sausage, and it’s an umami flavor bomb. A little crunch of the red onion, and a sprinkling of parmesan, and you wonder where this has been all your life.

No big thoughts here, but a toast perhaps?

To you, may your pleasures be simple and your food simply delicious.

That’s good, that’s bad

It has been an annoying few weeks, and I’ve put writing on the bottom of the list. Today, I thought, if you want life to go back to normal, then why not do the normal stuff you do … such as write? I’m telling you, friends, the brain is a dangerous thing.

Speaking of dangerous things, I’m told by my sister, who is not a doctor but plays one on the Internet, that Advil isn’t good for us older adults. We do use with caution, but still, Dale calls them blue buddies. I mentioned this to one of my golf partners, and she said, “Advil is my favorite drug, and I’ve tried most of them.”

So, it has been a mix of Tylenol and Advil, but even then, sparingly. Ice. I won’t go into all the gory details, but I messed up my knees trying to be the athlete I was in my 30s. I’m in less pain than I was even a week ago, so that’s good.

The same golf friend, who was a teacher, often quotes a children’s book called, That’s Good, That’s Bad. It comes up a lot in golf. Let’s see how it works here.

I messed up my thumb pushing my golf cart up a hill. I was distracted for a moment, and the cart rolled back toward me, sort of squishing my thumb. The result was an ugly cyst-like thing. That’s bad.

The cyst hurts occasionally but not all that much. That’s good.

I finally got an appointment with a hand specialist, and he said it’s an arthritic cyst that can pop up at any time for no good reason. Or it can be the result of an accident such as mine. He said it could go away on its own. That’s good.

But it might not. He could surgically remove it, but there’s a good chance it will come back since the underlying cause – our friend arthritis – hasn’t gone away. He recommended I do nothing, but if and when I get tired of looking at it, to go for the surgery. That’s bad.

I’ve been using cannabis cream on the cyst, and it looks smaller to me. Virtually no pain. That’s good.

I was diagnosed with osteoporosis two years ago but didn’t go back for another bone scan until this month. I wasn’t going to go at all, because after a lot of reading, I’m deeply suspicious the whole thing is a racket dreamed up by the people who make the scanning machines and the drug companies. That’s bad.

But I’ve been taking vitamins A and K for two years, and I wanted to see if it made a difference. That’s good.

My numbers were overall quite stable. That’s good.

However, my primary care physician said I might want to consider medication. That’s bad.

There’s a lot of nasty stuff associated with bone density drugs, so my hope is to avoid them. But then I thought, maybe it’s time to hear what experts have to say about the latest and greatest in bone density treatment. My doctor referred me to an endocrinologist, and I made an appointment for January 18. That’s good.

Except when I arrived, they said my appointment was for July 18. That’s bad.

The receptionist was quite sympathetic, and I said don’t worry about it, I wasn’t all that excited to be here anyway. She laughed. That’s good.

Then there’s the curious case of Donna’s favorite sock. I recently purchased three pairs of wool socks that are really great for keeping my feet warm during cold-weather walks and long rounds of golf. That’s good.

Late one afternoon, I was getting ready to take a shower and took off my workout clothes, draping them over the hamper. They were still reasonably clean – passing the sniff test with flying colors – and I figured I could wear them again the next day. I left the socks on the floor by the hamper. In the morning, one of my socks was gone. That’s bad.

At first, I sort of blew it off. Like, oh, I must have misplaced that sock. But then I started a legitimate search and rescue. I went through every item I have worn in that past month to see if it got stuck in a sleeve or leg. I checked the washing machine and the dryer. I checked Dale’s stuff. I’ve gone through all my drawers, to no avail. That’s bad.

I thought, well, it would be atypical, but maybe our cat Riley had a sudden hankering for a tasty sock. I checked under all the beds, his treehouse, anywhere he might have stashed it. I warned Riley he was in big kitty trouble if he messed with my sock. But it appears he’s innocent. That’s good.

Dale suggested poltergeists are responsible. This would be the first sign of them, and I’ve actually Googled this, but it’s not looking like poltergeists steal socks. That’s good.

That’s the end of my little rant. My knees are on the mend. My thumb is fine. My bones are hanging tough and on hold until July. I’ll live to write another day. That’s good.

But my sock is gone. That’s bad.

Cancer in my pocket

Sometimes I am surprised by the power of blogging. Sometimes it feels like a thankless compulsion, and sometimes it feels like a life-saving jolt through the heart.

For those who may remember, I wrote a blog from 2008-2012 called Rock the Silver … about gray hair and aging with style. I was never particularly good at the style part, what with my preference for all black until something darker comes along, but it was a fun blog with a core group of loyal readers.

One of those readers was Maru, a stage 4 endometrial cancer survivor. As a stage 3 ovarian cancer survivor, we shared similar medical histories and were both graduates of the Taxol School of Hard Knocks. Maru’s cancer survival tips are essential reading.

Maru found me again when I started this blog. She is healthy and strong and getting closer to retirement. We were exchanging emails, and I said, “We are so lucky to have survived – did you even think you’d get this close to retirement?”

Funny, Maru said, she and a bunch of her cousins all turned 60 around the same time. They bemoaned the milestone, as Baby Boomers often do. Maru, on the other hand, said she couldn’t have been happier to turn 60.

“And every year ongoing has been delicious. As you once put it: cancer in my pocket.”

I was completely blown away – I published that post on February, 18, 2012. The words meant something to someone I have never met, and she remembered it all these years later.

Sadly, I know only too well not everyone is lucky when it comes to cancer. I grieve for those who have passed and those who are suffering. While we survivors and caregivers get to live a bit longer, we owe it to our loved ones to seek joy and carry on with this mystery called life. We live in their honor.

Here’s the old post:

Thursday, I visited the dermatologist for my annual check-up. I go every year for the big naked look-see, because I respect cancer. I figure, well, I got it once when I least suspected it, so I should be vigilant about everything.

I saw this particular doctor for the first time last year, and I remember him being amazed I was an ovarian cancer survivor. I actually had primary peritoneal cancer, which is pretty much the same thing as ovarian. If it’s a drive-by, I say ovarian. If I’m sitting next to you on the airplane, I’ll tell you everything if you ask nicely.

The doctor walked into the room as I sat there naked and draped in a flimsy paper robe, and the first thing he said was:

You’re the ovarian cancer survivor.

Yes, 13 years next month.

Wow. You’re lucky.

I know.

They must have caught it early.

No, it was advanced. Stage 3.

You’re really really lucky.

Believe me, I know.

But sometimes I have to be reminded! He asked me a lot of questions about my surgery and treatment and was surprised they had Taxol “back then.” I said absolutely, I had a chance encounter at a golf course of all places with a researcher who helped develop the drug, and he said I was the poster girl for Taxol. It was approved for use in 1992, so by the time I needed it in 1999, they had worked out the optimum cycle.

Following the surgery to remove as much cancer as possible, I had a cocktail of Benadryl, Taxol and Carboplatin infused every 21 days for six months. I’ve been fine ever since. Benadryl is an anti-allergan, and I am pleased to let you know it was one hell of a rush when shot directly into your vein. The rush didn’t last long, but I looked forward to it just the same.

Anyway, I passed the dermo exam. It was a good visit, and I’d go back again right this minute just to hear him say how lucky I am. Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.