I Look Just Like I Did Ten Years Ago, Only On Steroids

I went to physical therapy the other day and found myself in front of a three way mirror, diligently doing my rotator cuff exercises. I would blame the rotator cuff tendinitis on getting old, but there were a bunch of high school and college aged kids in there with me with the same injury. I will leave alone the fact that they are varsity athletes and I am a vintage athlete.

Anyway, there I was with nothing to look at but me, pretty much everywhere I turned and I couldn't help but notice that I looked like a puffed up version of my original self. Now, back when I was my original self (read before I turned forty), I always thought I would take this aging thing quite gracefully. Now that I am actually a victim of it, I must say it is rather disgraceful.

Like most things, it is easy to say and harder to do. So what of it? As Nora Ephron suggests, one can simply try to avoid mirrors, but that is a little hard to do (especially when one injures herself and ends up in front of a three way mirror...). As much as I don't like being Puff Mommy, I wouldn't become a botox pin cushion or worse. So, there is nothing to do to except accept that this is the new me. Puffy and proud. Well okay, not proud, but strong, healthy (except for the rotator cuff, which is coming along) and pretty much too busy to care too carefully what I look like...most of the time.

Zit Happens

Watching Thing 1 enter the wonderful world of puberty, I would have thought that I would have to have dug back in my mind to remember what it was like to deal with acne.

Turns out, I don't have to dig back at all. Guess who gets to experience acne twice? Moi. Sure, there are worse things that I could be experiencing and part of the reason that I continue to battle this acne thing is that I am suspect of some of the heavy duty meds they prescribed for me. I was given three things, one, a benzoil peroxide medicated wash that I was told would bleach my towels, a topical treatment called Clyndamicin, and Retin-A, which I was informed, would make my skin photosensitive, read: stay out of the sun (ha! as if we had any this summer...).

I dutifully went along with this regimen for maybe 4-5 weeks. Maybe my skin was getting better, probably it was.. However, right around that time, I became more and more uncomfortable about putting all of these things on my skin, including my chest, where of course the acne has decided to flourish. As you may know, my older sister battled breast cancer last year. So, I am not too comfortable with the use of unnecessary chemicals in general, but particularly topically applied to my chest.

In the end, I decided to stop using all but the Clyndamicin. The medicated wash was not only annoying, but I noticed it contained parabens. Parabens have been shown to be estrogen mimickers, or technically, endocrine disruptors. My sister's breast cancer was disruptive enough, thank you. I chucked the Retin-A too, for similar reasons. I am suspicious of the chemicals, and when I used it, due to the photosentive thing, I started getting darker spots on my face, despite the pronounced lack of sunshine this summer as opposed to most summers.

So, here I am alone with my acne. I am okay with it. At least the zits come and go and I know they won't leave lasting consequences or toxic buildup in my body. Zit happens, and if that is the worst of it, I'll be fine.

Back To The Blog!

Okay, so Thing 2 never did end up sick and stayed at school all day. But, you know how that works, it is called Murphy's Law. Had I assumed he was fine and went about my business, he definitely would have been sick and in the nurse's office.

You are probably wondering, why, if he wasn't sick and I wasn't forced to hold my nose and try not to gag while cleaning up his vomit or any of the other possible sundries our kids eject when sick, I did not post to my blog in so long?

The answer: not one but two four-letter words. "work" and "sick." I mean that I have been too consumed by my "part-time" position and that took what energy I had which wasn't much. The low energy came from a general feeling of malaise. I was able to function on the most basic of levels. Yet, it was candidly a struggle. I just haven't felt myself. I thought the lightbox would be a quick cure, and it has definitely helped, but thanks to the change of seasons, IBS and these iron pills I have had to take to counteract heavy periods (thanks to going off the birth control pill and perimenopause, welcome to my world), let's just say my stomach has been off and thus, so have I.

I have been doing really uncharacteristic things, like napping and forgetting to meet a friend for a lunch and museum tour, which I had suggested! Yikes. I was horrified when I woke up to hear her message on my machine and her wondering if she had the date screwed up. Something was screwed up alright, that was me!

Anyway, after I called the doctor's office to complain about the havoc being wrought on my system by the iron pills, the nurse there told me I should stop them for a few days and try another brand. Since I was due for follow blood work 5 days later, I figured I would define "a few days" as "five days" and would just stop them altogether and take my chances. I went for my ritual blood letting at the blood drawing station yesterday and sincerely hope my iron count comes back normal.

This whole slippery slope began when I went off of one pill, the birth control pill, due to fear of breast cancer. My sister, had just been diagnosed with aggressive pre-menopausal breast cancer when I made that decision. I figured I didn't need extra hormones to increase my risk, so out went those pills. And in came the heavy periods. When I say heavy, I mean heavy, and will leave it at that. Pretty soon after that, I was anemic and guess what? Started taking more pills, this time iron pills. The risks and side-effects of the birth control pill were long term and theoretical. The side-effects of the iron pills, at least the brand Target sells, were pretty immediate and concrete (really, no pun intended).

I try to move beyond the irony of this situation, that even when I am not bleeding, some lab tech makes me bleed. Still though, I know that my medical problems are more annoyances than actually problematic. There would have been no real harm in taking a nap every once in a while as long as I had remembered to call my friend ahead of time and told her I was wiped out and down for the count. The struggle of having no energy and my stomach feeling very bad are not pleasant, but not generally debilitating. My sister's struggle through treatment of breast cancer puts my own issues in proper perspective.

In the final analysis it all comes down to one thing, or shall I say a few things: hormones, oh yeah, and getting old.

Get Thee A Light Box

It is just past the middle of October and like clockwork, I have turned into a complete and utter grouch. Yes, we have a new dog in the house, but lately it is I who have been doing all of the barking. I behaved this way despite going on a long walk on a sunny day allegedly to relieve stress. What gives? Seasonal Affective Disorder. I never would have suspected that I was susceptible to this syndrome until a few years ago when I was asked by my then MD how I was feeling. I answered honestly that I felt pretty lousy and that the odd thing was I remembered feeling just the same way at that time the previous year.

Feeling how? Very, very tired. Tired as in constantly yawning, all day long, no matter the activity, even in the middle of an exercise class. Go figure. This despite the fact that I succumb to sleep at ridiculously early bedtimes, like 9:15pm. Upset stomach-as in waking up with abdominal pain every morning. Really bloated. So bloated that I have no appetite in the morning (sadly, the appetite comes back later in the day and I make up for it-losing weight would have been a nice benefit of this malaise).My MD listened to my symptoms and when I asked him if there was anything to them, he replied matter of factly that this was because I am a 'summer person.' A what? I never really thought of myself that way, despite the fact that I love being warm and hate being cold. It used to be that fall was my favorite time of the year. Cozy sweaters, warm cider, beautiful leaves. Until I first realized I have primary Reynaud's syndrome. Reynaud’s is a harmless but annoying and painful affliction which causes numbness and pain in my hands and feet whenever exposed to any small amounts of cold.

So I asked him what I could do with this knowledge that I was a 'summer person.' He told me that I should try using a light box everyday during the fall and winter. He admitted to first being skeptical of light boxes initially until one of his longtime patients who had been on depression medication for years tried own and was able to wean herself off of the depression drugs. I decided to try it and did some research and ordered a Golite portable light box so that I could walk around with the light while getting the kids breakfast (it is important to use it at the same time everyday and you can take an online quiz to figure out what that time should be (http://www.golite.com/)Now things are a bit different. I am now on my third fall/winter season on the light box. I just started this weekend at the strong urging, okay actually, begging, of my husband. As I stood in the kitchen yelling at the family for something I can't even recall, he pointed to the light box( which I did actually take out myself that morning, anticipating that it was time to use it.) His response to my rantings was "maybe you should start using that light box again!" He was so right, so the next morning, I started using it. Last night, after two mornings of using it, I realized that I was not sleep despite it being 9:30pm. This after only using the light box for 12 minutes at 50% power for the two days. I guess I am pretty sensitive to changes in the amount of daylight.So now I have my lifesaving (and marriage saving) lightbox. But why did I need it in the first place? Just as every time my children were cranky or under the weather I blamed that on teething, I am chalking this one up to perimenopause. After all, this whole thing started in the fall/winter before I turned 39. When will it end for me? Probably during some October in the future when my husband or the kids don't beg me to dust of the light box and start using it. For now, I will bask in the blue light. If you have experienced similar seasonal problems, get thee a light box! By the way, these boxes are covered by many insurance policies.

Does "ShenMin" Mean "Desperate Fool" in Chinese?

Tired of having clumps of my own hair in my drain, on my floor and in my hands, I decided to take instead, matters into my hands and investigate herbal supplements to stop the mass follicle evacuation. What I settled on was an herbal supplement called "Shen Min."

I read about ShenMin in one of my magazines and checked it out at Whole Foods. According to the Whole Foods lady, it is the product that gets the best reviews from people she encounters. So I thought, okay I will give it a try, and a try, and a try. Turns out you have to use it for three months to see if it works at all. At $30 a pop, that is not a cheap experiment. Nevertheless, the plumber is coming over today to unclog our shower drain, and that isn't going to be cheap either, so maybe this is an investment of sorts.

Still, the skeptical side of me wonders if I am just being taken in by yet another health and beauty company that is marketing to our desperation to revert to the way things used to be, and not face reality. In this case, the reality that I am losing lots of my hair. Does Shen Min mean Desperate Fool in Chinese? I will let you know. I did check out the internet and found mixed reviews for Shen Min. Were all the good reviews written by Shen Min employees? That is what the skeptical side of me always presumes.

Maybe it will just stop the excessive shedding, without adding real volume. But if it does, that will be fine. Anyway, I have embarked on the experiment, so "hair goes!"

"Is This The Hysterectomy Hotel?"

I survived yesterday's hysteroscopy and D & C just fine. I thought I was pretty out of it when I woke up. Apparently that was the second time I woke up. According to one of the nurses, the first time I came to I asked her "is this the hysterectomy hotel?"

Wow, who knew that I could crack jokes even when drugged? But why was I asking about a hysterectomy? I was only in there to get a polyp removed. Must have been some kind of a Freudian slip ("don't need that equipment anymore, so just take it all away while you're in there?"). Who knows?

Actually, the experience was as pleasant as possible. Everyone there was really nice. I especially liked Nurse Mary with whom I bantered. I scared her half to death when I changed quickly and sat back down in the chair in the next room while she was checking the results of my (mandatory) pregnancy test. After I scared her by sneaking back in the room she told me that the pregnancy test was negative, but by rights she should have told me it was positive to get even. Mary is my kind of gal.

Estrogen (Sung to the Tune of "Yesterday" by the Beatles)

Estrogen

Estrogen, should I or should I not take estrogen?
There's a debate just check my search engine, oh estrogen, should I take thee?
Suddenly, from what I read your all around me, should have plenty, but not apparently
oh, Estrogen, your plaguing me

Why I had to go and dump my pills, I do know, my sister's breast tumor
Now all that seems to get me through is more drugs and some humor

Estrogen, when you were in my pill I slept alright,
Now I'm bloated, hot and can no longer feel my hand
Thanks to progesterone, I'm like a stranger in a foreign land
Oh Estrogen, your plaguing me

Estrogen, my period used to be a trickle, now its like the Red Sea,
single handedly boosting the tampon industry,
yes that's me, oh estrogen, I love/hate thee.

Sweat Dreams

I made the mistake of wearing regular pajamas to bed last night. Ever since about 35 years old ( I was born premature and seem to do everything that way), I have been plagued by occassional night sweats. It used to be pretty tolerable when I was on a birth control pill with estrogen in it.

However, ever since I have been on the progesterone only pill, I could be my own water source most nights. Thus, the special wicking pajamas I now usually sport to bed. While they don't exactly keep me completely dry, I have never woken up soaking in them either. I will wake up clammy sometimes, which is a vast improvement.

Prior to wicking pajamas, some nights, I would wake up and the sheets underneath me would literally be soaking wet. This was particularly problematic when it happened the first time at a B & B in Vermont. What do you do when you essentially "wet the bed" in the middle of the night at an Inn? There was no front desk, open twenty four hours. Even if there was, I was going to be a very uninviting sight going down there at that odd hour to ask for extra sheets. Who knows what they would think? Probably that I did actually have bladder control issues, or worse.

Plus, having to change the sheets, even if I did have them, would involve waking my husband and making him get out of bed. Anyone who knows him also knows that he is not the easiest person to wake up. If he were asleep near train tracks, he would slumber away as the train went by.

So, what is a soaking wet, cranky girl to do? The quickest thing possible to try and get to sleep. I grabbed one of the bath towels and put it on the bed beneath me. It was a little weird and kind of beachlike to sleep on the towel, but it did the trick and provided the necessary barrier.

These night sweats don't seem to be affected by the temperature of the room, or the rest of my body. It can be a delightful New England night where we are being buffeted by arctic winds outside and the temperature is below zero. Add to this lovely scene that my hands and feet are freezing and I have donned socks and am seriously contemplating mittens-in bed! So, I finally fall asleep, and low and behold, I will wake up in the middle of the night, drenched. Go figure, if someone could just tinker with the wiring, the heat could be distributed to my hands and feet, and I wouldn't even complain if they got a bit sweaty or clammy.

Maybe instead of having doctors trying to figure out the mystery of night sweats and hot flashes, we should be looking at plumbers or HVAC guys. We could use their lingo and tell them that zone 1 is hotter than hell, where zones 2 and 3 are being frozen out. I am guessing they could figure out a solution quicker than the doctors, but I wouldn't want to see the bill.

Everyone Knows It's Windy

No one told me it was going to be like this. I mean, when you are pregnant, you expected it. Of course, you only expected it because you read “What to Expect When You Are Expecting” religiously. But, not in perimenopause. Hot flashes, yeah, moodiness, okay, memory loss, I think I remember hearing about that, but flatulence? No one told me I would be a burping, farting, mess. You expect it in old people. Who doesn’t remember their grandfather letting lose? Or maybe for you it was grandma, but 40 years old? That is around when it started for me.

These days I think people see me coming and they could break out into that old song “Everyone Knows Its Windy.” My friend Rick and I had to joke about my belly bubbles when at a “Dirty Dancing” concert (a british dance concert based on the movie “Dirty Dancing”, don’t ask) Anyway, we redubbed the song “She’s Like the Wind” to “She Passes Wind” and that really could be my theme song these days.

The new lyrics go something like this:

She gets that look in her face, and gives her buns a squeeze, we try to escape but end up on our knees, she passes wind…

You get the idea, and it isn’t pretty. It’s also hard to feel sexy when you are so bloated. Some nights I feel that true love would involve handing my husband a respirator before bed. Of course, he is a good sport about the whole thing. He hasn’t pointed out that “in a fog of toxic fumes” was not actually in our wedding vows. Somehow, he managed to find me the most appropriate card ever last birthday. It said “Your farts have hospitalized small children.” I am not sure he can top that card ever again.