On With the Show

The crap storm that is my health has made my practice and self-identification as a writer rather a thing of the past of late. Not only has it affected my books, it has also waylaid my intention to be a better blogger and post at least one entry each week. Too, having lost everything I'd written (five chapters) of Beyond The Bridge's Book Three, With A Song, I was knocked to my knees with the thought of having to start all over. Energy is still at a premium, but things appear to be looking up.

After a terrified run to the hospital emergency room last Saturday evening due to hypertension spikes that reached up to 173/98, I was given a series of tests, which all came back fine. But that's chronic autoimmune disease for you. I could have told the doctors my heart and brain were fine and saved myself the bill. But ER doctors know nothing about this disease...

Aging With Style

Not Gloria Steinem,
although she's
beautiful, too.

"Every place I go I tell my age because it's a form of coming out." Gloria Steinem, aged 80.

Saying 60 is the new 50 isn't accepting 60, it's saying younger is better. And lying about your age is a form of self-loathing. It's ageist and sexist, besides. I'm 62 and I can tell you that outside of my own health issues (which many women don't have), younger is not better, younger is just... younger. Growing old gracefully isn't about submitting to an accepted set of standards of what Madison Avenue purports an older woman should be, or by giving up who we are and who we want to become. We're evolving beyond that. It's about continuing the ride we began when we were young and just staring out...

Life On a Limb

Some days are just like this. You get used to it, but not really. Usually I'm wrong, but it doesn't matter because whether I'm wrong or right I still feel like this. I know that anyone living with chronic illness goes through their share of days when they feel like a burden. When a good, energetic phase passes and they're right back where they were before and, besides their own coming-to-terms, they sense the disappointment in their family and friends. That's when it becomes work again. For everybody. But mostly for the one who's ill.

People get tired of carrying the load and of not enjoying a normal life. They have to vent to someone and it's better if it's not you, right? Trouble is, that leads to paranoid imaginings. You begin to imagine your doctor is tired of hearing you whinge and that anyone who once wanted to help has begun to reject you...