First of all, let me express the simple fact that the golden years are shiny and free yet also tarnished. Didn’t know gold would tarnish? Guess that’s where the old expression fails us all. I’ve learned over and over again it is a question of this flesh and blood we move around in, also known as our bodies. Being one of the older folk does provide a certain freedom thus the shiny and honest remark.

I have found more looseness of expression as I grow old and see a glowing light around many aspects of life I never noticed previously. That is a polite way of saying I have a big mouth and the light of awareness shines in my life more than it ever did before. When one is driving in the country, the slower you go, the more you are able to see. Funny how that works.

I remember my mother used to say she felt the same inside and didn’t think about aging until she looked in a mirror. I understand now. That mirror is no friend of mine, but I haven’t cracked it yet. If I ever do, I guess I’ll have to learn how to cackle. My mother was always a very proud woman and always dressed as nicely as she could afford for church every Sunday, always had her hair “fixed” even as it became more and more blue. I don’t have blue hair thanks to Clairol but I do try to look my best. Thank God my pride is still intact. I believe that keeps many of us going when we are tempted to give up. I do have to add I am getting awfully tired of all the comebacks I’ve had to make in the last two years but life still consists of placing one foot in front of the other.

A few weeks ago when I was seeing my physician here in town she had to look at my feet. When I took off my socks, she got a huge smile on her face. I’m not certain but I think it’s because I still paint my toenails. I know that’s not a large ticket item, especially when I always do it myself, but it keeps me feeling feminine. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m grubby, although I am a bit used and worn. As far as reaching antique status; not sure if I qualify or not. I think that decorating word “distressed” would fit me pretty well. I don’t stand as tall as I once did. I’m three inches shorter thanks to osteoporosis and bend a bit forward for the same reason. I personally believe that any elderly person with a smile on their face is forever beautiful.

As all of you know, who have been reading this blog over the years, I have many health issues and each of them is a pain in the arse. I won’t pretend any fondness for any of my four diseases because like naughty children, they each cause a great deal of trouble. It’s really all I can do to keep up with them without throwing in any wildcards like the recent pneumonia I am recuperating from at this time. I do insist in not constantly talking about all or any one of my problems. Is there anyone more boring or tiresome than one who drones on like a machine about their health problems? It quickly becomes that pesky gnat that circles around one’s head; irritating, quarrelsome and annoying. I talk about my illnesses on here because that’s the purpose I originally intended for this blog. This is the place to share for me and for you. It’s my hope that strength and hope comes from all the sharing we do. I know there is much understanding on here.

As we age, good health or bad, we learn many things along the way. We learn which foods we can tolerate. We learn that Metamucil is a food group and we become more winded when walking upstairs; well, I mean the breathing kind of winded but what the heck, the other kind of wind, too. I’ve also learned, after receiving many IV’s for osteoporosis that your fingernails and toenails become very hardened and if you’re not careful, you can begin to look much like Howard Hughes. Remember him? No, he was before my time and I did not know him except through books, films and the news. If we’re fairly smart, as we age, we also learn that liver spots have nothing to do with the liver, being overweight doesn’t mean you’re stupid, being thin or lean doesn’t mean you’re anorexic and all fuzzy thinking is not dementia. I should also add that the famous old wives tale of yore can sometimes be true.

I take surcease in knowing I am and always will be younger than Carol Burnett and Julie Andrews, two of my favorite performers. I believe each of those ladies can teach us a great deal about loving, smiling and having a good time as well as caring for others. One of my favorite, dog-eared paperbacks is the autobiography of the actress Rosalind Russell. I’ve always loved her attitude about aging. In her book she speaks about many of the Hollywood actresses who were always having cosmetic surgery. In one instance she spoke of one actress, once a famous beauty who always had bands placed under her hairline to draw back her skin and get rid of wrinkles. Rosalind said she tried it once and she couldn’t turn her head or breathe and told them to “get this crap off of me.” She never tried it again. She was always a lovely woman and remained so until her death due to breast cancer many years ago. She doesn’t talk about it in her book because she said one disease was enough for any one book. She suffered for years with rheumatoid arthritis and although a generation or two behind me has always been a favorite of mine due to her wonderful sense of humor. You might remember her best for her role in AUNTIE MAME or as Mama Rose in GYPSY.

Old age is not something to fear. I asked my sweet yet salty man how he felt about getting old as he is preparing to retire and his reply was so him. “What choice do I have?” Yep, that’s him and his practical approach. All that was missing was some remark about the alternative not being too appealing.

I do think the pain many of us live with gives us wisdom and yes, sorrow. I have always attempted to find some light in the midst of the darkest days and some joy amidst the tears. Laughter after sorrow has always been a good strategy to seek, a goal worth envisioning. Reflection in old age and knowing that old lives matter is important for each of us, young or old because if you’re not old now, you will be. I’ve learned to prune the unnecessary out of my life and that can often mean an acquaintance or two. I’ve sought to make these years matter in small ways if not large ones. Please my dear friends don’t throw rock salt in the well of life by being bitter or angry. It will only make life sour and give you a thirst you will never quench. Remember it is the small acts of courtesy and kindness that leave the impression; it is the things of the spirit which give true joy and remember to always look for the light. No, not the famous light at the end of the tunnel but the one on the face of your spouse, your grandchildren’s eyes or the loyalty of a grown child. Life is good. If you doubt that as you age, just watch an old dog as they wag their tale in an act of pure joy. I can’t wag my tale any longer but the thought still puts a smile on my face.

Is it ever too late? Well, sure, when you stop breathing, when your heart stops or when you are Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner just dropped an anvil on your head. In the meantime, you’re alive. As far I know, I’m still alive; the question is do you and I have an expiration date?

I do have to confess there are days when parts of my body feel like they have passed their expiration date. I don’t feel curdled, like past date milk, but I do look curdled. This whole aging thing can be so depressing. I have a birthday rolling around and it has set me to wondering. I don’t squeak when I walk but I do click and pop a bit at times. I haven’t found any stamps on my body anywhere that state my expiration date is up, unless it’s hidden in a wrinkle somewhere. As a nurse I find it intriguing in a macabre sort of way that newborns enter the world with wrinkles, especially premature one and we leave the world with wrinkles. Newborns are self-focused and needy because they have to be for survival.  As infants we need diapers, and you know the rest if you know any elderly seniors, or actually anyone with that problem.  Life is a full-circle, indeed, but that doesn’t mean, because we live with daily pain that we have to start circling the drain.

I hate having a picture taken, up close, signs of aging and all. I do realize that sounds silly and shallow but there you have it; my confession. My family is used to looking at my decay. I guess I’ve been fooling myself. Now don’t give me that old line about, “You look great.” I don’t. “At least you’ve got your health.” I don’t. “But you have a family who love you.” Most of the time, I should say, that’s true. I remember my Mom used to say she felt young inside as she aged, except when she looked in the mirror. She lived to be 93. Which fairy tale was that with the “mirror, mirror on the wall?” Where are those magic mirrors when you need one? As I recall that involved a wicked witch and that’s the last thing I want to become.

Last week, I saw, up close and personal, the toll this past year has taken on my face, body and my health. I don’t want to be crass or embarrass anyone but the reality of living with one breast is with me constantly. Since I have had so much pain and tightness in my chest since surgery last year I have been “double bagging” it, or wearing two layers of clothing. I am discreet but with the latest physical therapy of the past three months I am almost back to full function except for the missing part. I thought I was at a point when I could actually go back to wearing a bra. I haven’t been able to see a professional fitter because the closest one is two hours away and my back and sitter have not allowed. I also didn’t feel ready yet due to the discomfort. The radiation therapy also caused me to have scoliosis which I am dealing with. A total car wreck would possibly explain it the best. Meanwhile, back to my story; I bought some padded bras and wore one the other day. It felt great but was still not quite right. I asked my daughter when they came over for pizza how she thought it looked, privately, of course. She said, “Well, Mom, the left one is smaller. I thought you bought an insert.”

I replied, “Well, I did but it’s too large. I guess I could buy one for the breast I have remaining but then it could be off balance. Then I have visions of ending up looking like Madonna in concert as I try to balance them out in front of me.”

We had a good laugh over that because I still think life is filled with humor. I must travel into Portland to get properly fitted. I must.

It’s all falling down. It’s one thing when your boobies descend as if reaching for the ground, but it is more heart wrenching when the prednisone induced jowls of your face fall to your shoulders. I lost thirty pounds in the last two years but apparently, fate is cruel and I lost it in all the wrong places. Please excuse me if I offend but I am here to announce, my ass is gone. Now, tell me, how can something that has disappeared still hurt this much? Life, you are so cruel.

When Jim got home from work I was still quite depressed, which was helped along by the usual pain everywhere. I told him, “Why didn’t you tell me I was getting so ugly? I can’t decide if I look more like Charlie McCarthy (the puppet of years gone by) or an apple doll (all wizened and dry). I used to be pretty, now I’m just sort of squidgy around the edges.”

After looking at me, as if for the first time, my dear husband, sitting on a kitchen stool prominently overweight, balding yet cute, stated, “Well, I don’t know,” while rubbing his protruding tummy, “I guess us glamorous people will just have to put up with you.”

I guess I have to officially announce that my expiration date is up. However, since I’m not a carton of milk, a medication or a carton of sour yogurt, I think I’ll just keep plodding along with what I have left. Mirrors will be covered, there will be no more pictures and I will continue to think I’m attractive as soon as I get over this current trauma. I’m also going to continuing going to physical therapy for another month so I can be all that I can be. That’s important to me to be able to live the fullest life possible.

I know the truth. We all age and should be glad if we’re still breathing. I know it’s never too late for second chances, new lives and all that. I also, truly know my heart and mind are still young. It will just take me awhile to get used to my shell falling apart. Remember that old camp song, “Do your ears hang low, can you wag them to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow?” Well, choose a part of your body, like sagging boobies and sing out, loudly. We’re never too old to laugh at ourselves, right?

I will also continue to flaunt my license plate holder that states, “SCREW THE GOLDEN YEARS.” Don’t look at me. I didn’t say it. The license plate holder did.

My dear friends and readers, I’m afraid we must sweep up the confetti, deflate the balloons and delay the “Sue’s doing better” party for now. We saw the breast surgeon yesterday and the final, final pathology report is not all roses. Terrible news for spring, I know.

In surgery the initial reports were wonderful. The four lymph nodes she removed along with my left breast were clear; on initial viewing. However, the pathologist at the wonderful hospital in Portland, OR, repeated them twice. Within each of the nodes my surgeon removed there were tiny, minute clusters of cells and within those tiny “babies” there were 1-2 cancer cells…at least in some of them, about half of them.

The ballgame has changed. I am in a state of being that is difficult to describe. Jim, my dear husband is rocked, exhausted and life has changed for each of us. Where do we go from here? We have examined our options and I don’t want to drag you all through it, not yet. First of all I am waiting right now for phone calls from the hospital here in Astoria to get back to me because we must find out if the cancer has spread. That will mean a bone scan and CAT scans of everything I own…practically. Then we will decide, all of us including the oncologist, my cancer surgeon (still wants to be the guiding force), my rheumatologist and my wonderful cardiologist. I will keep my dear primary doctor in the loop and then, of course, there is my eye doctor regarding the vision issues with Sjogren’s syndrome.

I wish I had more reassurance to pass on. I do not. We have much to do over the next week or two and right now I feel like an old boiled, lifeless lasagna noodle, limp, flat and sauceless. Strangely, I am okay in my attitude. I am all cried out. Now we wait to see what is next. Both radiation and chemotherapy have been recommended by the tumor board at my “big” hospital, Good Samaritan in Portland, OR. There is talk of ports for the IV to enter, the possibility of me staying in Portland for the six weeks, six days a week it would take for the radiation and much more. Last night I talked to my daughter, sweet girl, and she was devastated but will be there every inch of the way. I also spoke to my son who is in New Orleans for the medical company he works with, having dinner at Emeril’s restaurant. I tried not to hate him for that…imagine. I spoke with my daughter-in-law. Jim and I are all talked out after our total four hour drive yesterday.

I am married to not only a fine nurse, but a man whose feelings run deep. He is hurting. I am hurting emotionally, of course, but my surgery is healing nicely. All drains are out, most bandages are off and now, we follow the bread crumbs to the next step, the next step and again, the next step.

C.S. Lewis was so correct, of course, when he wrote our God is too small, because we make him finite. We do that to try to understand, I think. Our dear Lord knew this time would come in my life from the time I was born, and before. He is omniscient, all knowing and loves me more than any human love; and believe me; I am blessed with a lot of that as well. Please pray.

I would love to hear from each of you but let’s not chat by phone, please. Not just yet. I must rest, think, read and just rest in the Peace that is past all understanding. Thank you.

… or is it possible to drown in your own tears?

Any of us, who have lived with chronic pain, whether it is a new guest or an old one, know what it is to cry. Leakage is often uncontrollable, at least from the eyes. I think I’ll leave the other forms of leakage for another time, just so I don’t gross you out; although I really don’t mind doing that on occasion. This whole medical world can be almost as fierce as a Halloween movie and a lot more frightening. The movies are just that, celluloid, tape, discs, at least I think it used to be celluloid, now I’m sure it’s all computerized, but you and I are not. We are just flesh of all degrees of deterioration and we have built in alarms. We can only take so much and when that limit is exceeded by its depth or its duration, BONG!

Have you ever noticed how differently we each cry? Some weep loudly wailing, others softly and quietly while a few of us seem to have run dry long ago. Crying is a strange phenomenon in so many ways. We cry when we’re happy, sad, in pain or hurt for a million reasons. We cry when our hearts spill over with grief or we can also shed that salty moisture when we laugh uncontrollably and we’re lucky if tears are all that leaks when laughing that hard. I have been known to get the giggles when I’m exhausted. So often my daughter and I can get into fits of giggling when fatigued and faced with an overwhelmingly silly situation. It feels so good to laugh like that. It’s as relief-giving as crying and probably just as cathartic.

Some cultures throughout history have considered paid weepers as part of funerals while other cultures have a party and drink -fest when they are grieving due to the death of a loved one.

Personally, I like crying and consider it very healthy. I don’t do it as often as I once did. I think I’m just tired of it after twenty-five- years of pain but there are times when the dam bursts. As most of you know, we have had a summer around the Wood household that has included construction, destruction, fire, stripping…of the painting variety, road construction, electrical shocks and flooding. In the midst of all this “joy” I had a compression fracture in the middle of my back which compiled my list to about 16items on my daily list of physical complaints, while “training” a new pup. Yesterday I saw and was seen by my rheumatologist who is 80 miles from where I live which makes for a less than desirable amount of sitting on my derriere which constantly hurts. It’s a long trip there and home again.

We decided our new pup was too small and insecure to be left alone all day in his kennel so we took him with us. Guess what? Dear little guy suffers from motion sickness and vomited on me on the way in to the appointment. My husband drove in his usual breakneck speed so my painful cervical spine was acting up by the time we arrived thus a headache to go with the odor of vomit. I found one towel in the car and had a bottle of seltzer. You’ve heard of a spit bath? Well, this was more of a spritz bath. Needless to say, it was quite a trip, and that was just the first part. You can bet we bought Dramamine for the little guy for the trip home. If you remember, last week I told you my daughter and granddaughter suffer from motion sickness as do I. I also confided my son calls his sister Barfy and now her little daughter is called Barfy, Jr. Yesterday she told me in her best seven-year-old manner, “Well, Georgie fits right into this family. I think we’ll have to call him Barfy Barky.” Well, it’s a thought.

I was my rheumatologist’s last appointment of the day and I had a lot to tell her. She graciously spent an hour with me as I caught her up to speed on all the stressors of my summer.We discussed the many approaches to osteoporosis furthered along by my rare disease, relapsing polychondritis. It’s a rather disturbing picture for me after already going through 25 years of destruction to realize I undoubtedly have more trouble heading down the plank right at me and after my summer, I guess it was just enough to tip the scales. I started to cry and I surprised myself. The doctor was very understanding and said, “Goodness, after everything you’ve been through, don’t worry about it,” as she handed me a box of tissues.

I actually am convinced that we are all human pressure cookers and when the pressure builds up, the grief and loss tips the scales and our hearts can’t hold anymore, we pop. I definitely heard a BONG!

Living with pain everyday can wear you down like a log that is having its heart carved out. Yes, we end up a finely fashioned canoe but all of that hollowing out hurts. Life carves us up, spits us out, chews us to the core then steps back to see what we’ve turned into. I love intricately woven rugs and tapestries. When you look at them reversed or from the back side, they are strangely confusing and ugly. When you turn them over to view the plan, the work and the artistry involved, they are remarkable to behold.

Perhaps we are being woven into something beautiful, even if it does feel like crap at the time of the weaving  or carving. We often need to give ourselves permission to cry, to wail and to rebel. I find I often cry when I’m angry. It comes out as tears when I probably should be ripping into some fellow human being, but I am far too civilized to rip. Guess I’ll have to work on that. Guess I’ll add it to the list of all the other things I need to do every day. No, scratch that. I think I rip into others quite well enough already. I think it’s often just pure rage that pours out of my eyes. Rage at the pain that is every present. Rage at life for cheating me and rage at this wretched disease. I think it’s okay to feel that way. Crying is so much more civilized than going berserk, isn’t it?

Tears can also be a remarkable blessing. I often think they are a spillover lubricant for our feelings, emotions and yes, joys. We cry at weddings, happy endings and blessed events. We cry over Hallmark cards and friendships, beautiful landscapes as well as a thousand other amazing surprises life brings our way.

Are we overly emotional because we deal with daily pain? Probably. Do we feel more deeply because of our suffering? I think so. Does our loss make the surplus of life more precious? Definitely. So what are we crying about? It’s a lot of work to balance those scales but we must continue to try or we are without hope and the days of our lives are lost, flooded away by the pain. There is a time to cry and a time to “dry it up.” There is a time to face the possibilities that lay ahead of us and a time to kick, scream “OUCH!” and do the chore that lies before us. One day, one action, one minute of hope can give us courage.