June 28, 2010
i didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or yell at the screen: http://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2010/06/my-year-without-sex/58592/ i really try to let people have their own experiences and value them but when reading this article, i couldn’t help but have a rolling ticker-tape narrative going under the screen like personal subtitles: oh wait, dear. just wait. or observe. or listen. hope absolutely nothing extraordinary happens to you and you cross those tenuous years from 55 to 55 and you widen around the middle, watch your hair thin, realize you really don’t look 35 anymore, and either have less interest in sex or find that there’s less interest in sex with you from either the general other-side-population or your significant other. THEN hope that nothing super-horrible happens – oh….like breast cancer, surgery, radiation, 4 months of chemotherapy, 30 pound weight-gains coupled with estrogen-robbing medications on a long-term basis – and see how it feels to be happy you have thinning hair since you were previously bald as a bowling ball, happy to be alive but with relatively few sexually-motivating feelings, and partnered with another middle-aged human who struggles with his own middle-aged issues. can we all say: OY. i’m going to write an article and call it: ‘my year without really good sourdough baguettes and white wine.’ i’m sure i’ll hear from carb-sensitive bloggers!
June 23, 2010
sorry for the lapse in writing. got mini-clobbered by a 1st day of summer bug and between the 90 degree heat and the 101 fever (now happily settled into 99.5) i’m only writing this because i simply cannot lay in bed one moment longer. shades of ‘lay there and be quiet’ while i tried to get through weeks of debilitating chemo. ugh. i am, quite literally, willing myself to be better – uninterested in one more day of this. tomorrow my regular work life resumes. well, at least for afternoon appointments. with the aircon on in the car. more in a day or two. …bean
June 12, 2010
‘mom, are you ok?” “mom, you feel better now?” “mom, i love you more than everything.” beautiful words all. and heartfelt. but often said to me with what i have termed: sad-eyes. i have taken to saying to my 15 year old daughter: ‘such a sad i love you.’ then she plasters on a smile.
yesterday, i had an odd few hours where i felt just a little dizzy and ‘off’. i was talking to a contractor in our kitchen and i noticed that when i bent my head i was dizzy. not faint-dead-away dizzy but my head felt a tad swimmy and off. . the rest of me felt ok. tho later – a few hours later – i realized that my stomach felt bloated and gassy and – to go to the end of the story before the middle – when the stomach issues passed, so did my dizziness. i begged off the ‘mash’ marathon that was being watched in the living room and went upstairs to lay down. i thought perhaps i was just tired or it was allergies? my daughter came up and snuggled up to me with a look of anxious desperation in her hug and voice. ‘i’m just a little dizzy’.
4 and a 1/2 years later her reality seems to be that my potential demise is just over her shoulder – just out of view. her worst fears sit so close to the surface and it’s painful to witness. but, as my husband said: it’s her reality; she lived through it too. there’s no taking for granted the happy day for her. she weighs it with great significance. i wish i could wave a magic wand over her fears.
June 5, 2010
my husband and i are coming up on our 19th wedding anniversary – and a total of 22 years since we met. i barely know how that is possible – especially as i realize that this is more time than i ever lived at home with my parents and has resulted in a house and a 15 year old daughter. stormy? oh yeah. many parts of it. getting married at 33 (back in those days!) brought two very independent adults to the marriage – territorial and needing a lot of work on compromise. the partnership, however, was there from the beginning. as was the friendship. the understanding of that partnership and the deepening of it – through lives and deaths and major illnesses and odd hours sitting together in our quiet Spring garden and anxiety and short-term illnesses that seemed harder than the big stuff – is mind-boggling and yet also sits in place like an anchor. don’t get me wrong. we fight. i’m exceptionally loud. ‘battlin’ is one of my nicknames. he’s cool like ice when backed against a wall and quiet. no less intense. but we each know that the bottom line is that the other (ok…i’ll speak me to him) … that he is such a mensch. in a world of slick stylish flash-in-the-pans, i found a kind caring partner who has my back and knows, i believe, that i have his. sometimes he kids me that i could have/should have found a flashier guy with a more well-to-do lifestyle. and tho i love the new stuff – ohhh…shiney new stuff and lots of deals – i also have very good instincts that i make myself listen to. and those instincts tell me that this person – this man – this partner – is the best deal i ever made.