Sometimes A Number Is Not Only A Number

Last time I drove a car:

Like A Day At The Spa But With Feathers

Oo-rouch!

Pain is weakness leaving the body.*

-- U.S. Marine Corps

Still dealing with a knee ligament tear and the pain continues to wear me down and . . . well, hurt. All info from my doctor and my medical degree (self awarded after internet research induced self diagnosis of any ache, pain, itch, bump, hangnail, twitchy eye, sudden blindness, congestive heart failure, toothache, gall bladder cancer, fractured ankle, trigger thumb, TMJ, tendonitis, knee dislocation, common cold, allergies, mammogram results, shingles, fibromyalgia, ingrown toenails, etc.) say it will be about a three-month recovery time. And, yes, I meant to say et cetera.

If this quote is to be believed, and who am I to question the USMC, then I am currently the strongest I have ever been.

#allpainnoweakness

* I have a tremendous amount of respect and gratitude for all our military personnel; my mom's father was a Marine in World War I. This quote means so much more than reflected in my silly post today -- it speaks of the extreme emotional, mental and physical toll the members of our Armed Forces experience in ways we civilians could never understand. 

This One Takes The Cake

Setting: Saturday morning breakfast with a group my husband belongs to. Spouses included.

The conversation was lively. Seated next to me was a couple new to the club and they were understandably quiet, but still engaged in the chatter and laughter. About an hour in, the wife turns to me:

Woman: "What do you do?"

Me:  I briefly explain my vision situation

Woman:  "Are you going to get a (seeing eye) dog?"

Not Quite Back In The Saddle Again

With my mom's illness in 2012 which resulted in her death, followed by my vision loss a few months later, then my husband's cardiac crisis after that and next my father-in-law's sudden passing, I've let some things go as far as my health checks but am finally getting everything poked and prodded and caught up.

I try to be careful on this blog about language and subject matter but today we are going there. And by "there" I mean Ladyville.

I had an appointment scheduled today for a Ladyville exam but had to cancel. I have been having problems with my knee and last week found out that I have an MCL tear and it's going to take up to three months to heal. It's swollen and painful and really, really angry. And because of this there is no possible way I can get into position for said assessment. How do I know this, you ask? Well, I tried it out last night on my bed before changing into my pj's. Lucky for you, you don't know what I look like and, therefore, you can picture a woman of your choice if you dare to imagine it at all. As I write this even I am picturing Kate Middleton. What? She is a mother of two and even royalty goes to Ladyville.

And there you have it: another installment of Sister Rain: TMI. 

'Twas The Middle Of The Night

Twas the middle of the night

And nothing could be heard 

We all were deeply snoozing

My husband, me and the bird. 

The clock on the nightstand 

Showed just before three 

When the silence was shattered

What could it be?

I awoke right away 

My heart pounding in fear

My husband sat up 

But he wasn't quite near. 

It took me a minute 

No less and no more

To realize that I 

Was now on the floor. 

"Are you okay? You okay?"

Over and over he said

That's when I realized 

I had fallen out of bed!

I assured my poor spouse

That I was just fine

Then climbed back in bed

To the spot that is mine.

We fell back to sleep

Both neither worse for wear

But I felt really bad

For giving him a scare.

This morning all is well

Thanks for listening to my tale

I'm now going to search Amazon

For an adult-sized bed rail! 

Good Morning And Good Night, People

I started my day with a cup of McDonald's coffee (my favorite) that my husband went and got for me, and my new issue of People magazine. As I have previously written about, I can enlarge everything in the digital version to sizes that I can see. Click here for that post.

And after 11 pages of this . . .

. . . I went back to bed. 'Cause really, what's the point?

A Tony Award Winner And A Greek Philosopher Walk Into A Blog

I recently heard someone say they need time in their head and they aren't sure that would be possible if they were a parent. Never having had children, I can't be sure, but I'm thinking if you want kids you have them and like all else in life you figure it out as you go. But that's not the part of what they said that interested me.

I immediately thought: I'm like that too -- I am always in my head! I also could identify right away that I am there too much. Someone who isn't in their noggin a lot probably wouldn't have a blog about their life. And then: Someone not in their cranium very often may have handled vision loss better than I.

I analyze EVERYTHING. Then when I'm done, I scrutinize once again. It served me well when I was working in corporate America but maybe not so much in my current situation. Taking things with a grain of salt isn't easy when you want to know the amount of granules and their individual sizes and where they came from and did they have a family.

Gosh, that sounds exhausting. No wonder I'm always tired.

I have always envied people who don't over-think everything and I have imagined how different my life would be if "dancing through life" was my modus operandi. It sure seems as though things would be so much less difficult. But Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living and my gut and not my head (for a change) is telling me he's right.

In that last paragraph I referenced the Broadway musical Wicked and Socrates. That can only happens as a result of a good amount of contemplation which proves my point.

I'd like to think I could change and learn to ease up on all the deliberating but in order for that to happen, I'd have to mull it over. Just like Ancient Greece theater in Socrates' day, this is both a comedy and a tragedy.

Giving Me The Feathery Eyeball

If You're Gonna Cop A 'Tude, Cop This One

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.

It turns what we have into enough, and more.

It turns denial into acceptance,
chaos to order, confusion to clarity.

It can turn a meal into a feast,
a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. 

-- Melody Beattie

Painful Choices

Struggling with a painful knee and elbow the past two weeks, I finally saw the doctor today. Turns out I have tendonitis up top and a strained MCL down below.

What happened, you ask?

1. A fall? 
2. A car accident? 
3. A contact sport? 

What happened is I turned 50 which really is a fall, an accident and a contact sport all rolled into one. So the correct answer is 4) all of the above.

Ironically, my doctor could not believe I am 50 which begs the question: would you rather not look it or not feel it?

Unfortunately there isn't a choice for either and certainly not a choice for both. There isn't a choice at all. We can take care of ourselves but that's where our choices, and control, end.

Today I would choose to feel good. But if I've got to feel this bad, I'm glad to be looking this good.

Pluck Exercise

I just plucked a stubborn chin hair while riding the exercise bike.

And here I've been thinking that I have no life.*


* I have been feeling down the last few days, missing my old life so much the only defense is to shut down so I don't feel the pain. This, too, shall pass. As for the facial stubble, yet another joy of being a woman. But I'm still riding and I'm still plucking. All hope is not lost. 

Be Kind

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

-- In wanting to give credit where it's due,

I discovered that there is controversy as to who said it first.

They are, in my opinion, words to live by.

Sad Tuesday

Down today, the prevailing thought is this:

How an I to play the hand I've been dealt when I can't see it?

AC2 VIP WOW!

This Saturday night, my husband and I spent the evening with two of my favorites. During the two-hour show, AC  360 and Bravo Andy shared stories that only the best of friends have and we laughed so hard my face still hurts two days later. 

Afterwards, we got to meet the fellows. To hear Anderson introduce my husband to Andy was a definite highlight and is going to rank up there in my life's most fun moments. 

VIPs? Nah, we're just plain ole folks. Turns out they are, too. 

chIDOLhood

Last night I watched the series finale of American Idol and enjoyed every minute of it. It was fun to see all the contestants from previous seasons. Back then I was as young as them.

But I really wasn't.

When the show started I was 37. Hardly a kid and yet I still felt as if I was in the 15-28 age range just like the competitors. Well not so much the teenagers. When the show began in 2002, I could have been mom to the younger vocalists. So how can I feel more like their peer than their parent?

I had a theory at one tine that because I never had children I never crossed over to bona fide adulthood. But after asking several friends who are moms, they confirmed that they too still feel young and the same as they always have.

I've also heard the idea that you don't truly become a grown-up until your parents have passed away. Although my mom's death left me with a huge hole in my life, my heart and my spirit, I don't know that losing her has made me feel that I stepped out of my youth the moment she took her last breath.

Obviously, living life with all its continual ups and downs can teach you so much and it can certainly age you. But if anything, I still feel like the same girl I have always been with a few scars, some you can see and some you can't, and dare I say, a little bit of wisdom. But I sure don't have it all figured out. And there's nothing that can make you feel more like your twenty-something self than that.

A Perfect Storm

I have always been a perfectionist. It's in my DNA, my father was the same. I remember rewriting homework while in elementary school because it didn't look good enough to me. Now 50, nothing has changed in this regard except the homework, thank goodness.

What is it they say? That God has a wicked sense of humor? Well, they sure got that right. Oh, I see Sister Rain is a perfectionist. Let's shake things up and render her visually challenged. Make some popcorn, this is gonna be a hoot. 

Three years into this journey of vision loss, I still don't know all the lessons I am to learn. I am aware that perfectionism and significant loss of sight don't go together. I don't quite know how to lower my standards and the experts don't yet know how to repair my optic nerves. What that leaves in its wake are frustration and disappointment. And major avoidance when a project starts to go awry, in my eyes that is. Ironically.

An undertaking to create gifts for friends has sat untouched for months because more than halfway to completion, I wasn't happy with how they were turning out. My husband says they look great and that I am too hard on myself. He has been telling me this for 25 years. He possibly, sorta kinda, could maybe, on a day that ends in "y", just this one time, be right.

Maybe the solution is not to take on these ventures that will only cause me this internal battle. But that's me too: taking on projects and planning and executing to my personal level of quality. The desire to hold on to as much of me as possible outweighs the challenges that come with that. Before things went fuzzy, I was able to put my creativity to use at work. Now my need to produce high caliber "product" manifests itself in this blog and in different endeavors I throw myself into.

I will return to and complete these presents for my girls. Stubbornness and determination are also in my makeup. Unlike George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg, with no disrespect to the brave men they portrayed, the USS Sister Rain will not sink. The ocean that is my visual impairment and the hurricane that is my perfectionism will converge and I will persevere to bring the projects into port to the best of my ability and try to cut myself a break while doing it. Doesn't that sound perfect?

#heartfeltgratitude

Today we received unexpected news from my husband's cardiologist that his heart pump number has improved. Two and a half years after a virus attacked his heart we thought that this function had plateaued. We were wrong and never so happy to be so. He has done great since the diagnosis and immediate treatment began in October 2013 but hearing the increase was a heartsong to our ears.

He has an internal defibrillator but this was a different kind of shock, proving that relief, happiness and joy can be just a heartbeat away.

Anatomically Correct

Keep Your Friends Close And Your Enemy In The Breadbox

Superman and Lex Luther.
Batman and The Joker.
The Hatfields and McCoys.
Sister Rain and Twist Ties.

The great foe of my life is not blindness but a tiny wire wrapped in plastic that keeps my bread fresh. It packs a double punch every time I want a piece of toast or should I be so bold, a sandwich.

The first attack. As I try to untwist the tie, all I seem to do is make it tighter. I force myself to remain calm and slowly attempt turning it the other way. This direction yields the same result but how can that be? Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty noey workey.

Sweating, frustrated and enraged, I am considering the use of scissors or ripping the bag apart a la the Incredible Hulk. My opponent knows my breaking point and as I am about to enact one of these two plans, the tie begins to loosen.

The second attack. After I have retrieved the slices, having carefully placed the twist tie on the white drain board to the right of my sink, I reach for the tie. It's not there. I had specifically placed it where I was sure to find it, but now, having lost the battle but determined to win the war, my archenemy has hidden and lays in wait.

I feel all around the counter. No tie. I bend down and slide my hand over the floor. No tie. Ten times out of ten, I am forced to call for backup. My fully-sighted husband finds the tie and gently reminds me that there is no crying in sandwich making and although I feel defeated, the proof of my victory is the bread I have freed and plated.

Like friends, enemies come in all different packages. Mine, quite literally.

SisterRainhood Of The Many Maladies

In my closest circle of girlfriends, everyone is experiencing age-related physical problems. We are all in our 50s, although I am the youngest (love you, gurls), and we are, quite frankly, falling apart. Collectively, we have female problems, intestinal issues, funky looking skin areas, bad knees, bad feet, bad shoulder, bad back, sticking fingers, acne and muscle pain in areas we never even knew we had to name a few. Yeah, that's right, there's more. Including one of us becoming a grandmother. If that isn't an age-related ailment, I don't know what is.

We all thought we had more time before we started breaking down, as in another 15-20 years. We all hurt when we get up from sitting and it takes us all a little time to get going once we do hoist ourselves out of a chair. It is ridiculous.

Since I turned 40 over a decade ago, my philosophy has been this: if some part of my body falls off, I will just keep on walking. No stopping, no looking back to see what it was. If it's leaving me, I didn't need it anyway. Boy, if that's not true of a lot of things in life!

I'm hoping we all get our second wind for this second half of our lives, but if not, there is only one thing to do: get younger friends. I kid, of course, which leads us right into our true, solitary defense against aging: laughter.

We are there for each other through MRIs, mammograms, blood work, ultrasounds, procedures, surgeries, biopsies, x-rays, colonoscopies, physical therapy, injections and in the one case, a baby shower. And we laugh.

We can't all squeeze into the same pair of jeans like that other Sisterhood, but we can squeeze each other's hands as we hold it and squeeze each other in a hug. And our diaphragms squeeze as we LOL right through the ailments of the day.

Growing old is not for sissies but me and my sisters, we got this. This hood is full of laughter and love, two things that will never fall apart no matter our age. And anyway, I'll always be the youngest . . . Laughter, ladies!