June 2008 - Posts
The gifts of maturity are many. Having lived a generous number of years means I can look back and say “I lived through that, I can live through this.” I’ve learned to be easier on myself, though I’m sometimes ashamed of how hard I am on others. The alternatives to aging aren’t attractive anyhow, and fighting it can look pretty silly—Joan Rivers comes to mind.
That said, let me begin my rant: Oh my God, these hot flashes are killing me! “Night sweats” is the same kind of misnomer that morning sickness was for me; this has become an all-day and all-night affliction. Right now, I’m rolling on roughly 3.5 hours of sleep, and have been up since 3:30 a.m. Forgive any typos.
I’ve said I’d never do the hormone replacement thing, but that's maybe because I’m so confused about it. A few years ago, the word was that HRT is good for a woman’s heart. Oops! Turns out it’s bad for a woman’s heart. Admittedly, being a life-long smoker always made it sound like a bad idea anyhow. And, of course, I thought I had all the time in the world to get up to speed on the issue. Hah!
When the flashes started a couple years ago (and in case you get the wrong idea about my age, I was very, very young when they began), I rushed right out and bought an over the counter, herbal estrogen replacement. I never noticed any improvement, but then again, the box said it could take up to 10 weeks to notice a difference. Yeah, like I’ll manage to take that six times a day for 10 weeks just in case it works.
Ah, but I was young and impatient then…and the hot flashes weren’t nearly this bad or this persistent. Out of desperation I’ve developed a couple of coping mechanisms of my own. For instance, putting my head in the freezer brings almost immediate relief. And, when driving, shoving an icy cold Coke down my shirt works—the seatbelt holds it in place, and I can sip from the straw without taking my hands off the wheel.
The one thing that has sustained me (and made it possible to keep my clothes on in public during an attack) has been the knowledge that these hot flashes won’t plague me forever. While I can’t look back and say I’ve been through this before, I can say that millions of other women have been through it, and if they could take it, I can too.
But I talked to a woman the other day who looked to be in her early 60s. She said her hot flashes started at about the same age as mine. Then she went on to say that although it’s been 10 years since her last period, she’s still having hot flashes. I’m telling you, I felt like stuffing my head inside a major appliance!
So tell me: Is it hot in here? Did somebody re-light the pilot on the damn oven?
I warned my readers early on that I might rage a little bit about the war(s), and here it comes. Even if you think opposing the war(s) is unAmerican, please read on and reply. And, Liz, you probably don't want to.
My nephew originally signed up with the army as a chaplain's assistant. He felt it was God's work and God's plan for him to serve the spiritual needs of soldiers in a war zone. Unfortunately, he was later informed that the US Army is at 108% of their quota for chaplain assistants, so he is now working as a combat engineer. His job is to be the lookout for improvised explosive devises, IEDs, while he and his crew are out on patrols.
Duing last year's tour in Iraq, he saw all the IEDs in their path and kept himself and his crew safe; his base was regularly under mortar attack, but he was never injured.
But this year he's in Afghanistan. Remember Afghanistan? The war we're fighting for a reason. The country that served as a base for Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and the Taliban. Remember we went there because of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon? Remember we had support from our allies?
Unfortunately, the Bush Administration soon lost interest, and against the better judgement of our allies, focused military efforts and personnel in Iraq. The weapons of mass destruction rationalization is now known to be a PR ploy, as is the BS of Saddam Hussein's participation in 9/11. But thousands of American soldiers have died in Iraq, our allies have abandoned us in Iraq and Afghanistan, and there is no end in sight.
As tragic as this war is for America, the "liberated" Iraqis have suffered the deaths of tens of thousands of civilians, and their infrastructure is now almost totally nonexistent. I agree with the Bush administration only in their assertion that Saddam was a barbaric psychopath. But he certainly wasn't the only psychopath in a leadership position on this planet, and it could be argued that there were and are many who are worse and causing greater suffering for their people. This was not a humanitarian war.
This past week my nephew didn't site the IED in his path. Men with him were badly injured, perhaps mortally; miraculously, 120-pound Jimmy wasn't physically injured. There isn't much he can say about the incident on Army phones or computers, but we do know that he phoned in the helicoptor and performed emergency first aid until they came. I am tremendously proud of him for this.
My nephew was a gentle young man who joined the Army to serve God and country. But war changes people; he told his father the other day that he wants to kill all the Afghans and let God sort them out.
The number of US soldiers killed in Afghanistan surpassed those killed in Iraq in the past month.
Pray for peace and wisdom.
As I'm writing this, Jack is out by the koi pond catching tadpoles. We're going to pick up our new aquarium after his haircut, and then, when we get home we'll transfer his tadpoles from the styrofaom cooler they're in now to the new aquarium that will go on the table next to his bed. I'm praying that they live long enough to become the frogs he want to keep as pets. For right now I'm more concerned that they'll die, but later on I'll worry about what to do if they live
Jack's dad brought him here directly from summer camp at the YMCA. Apparently the ice cream truck came today, because Jack has gray streams running from his hands to his elbows. His shirt is spotted with pink and blue. He says his ice cream cone was lollipop flavored. He's sunburned, so I know he didn't use the sunscreen that's in his backpack. His shorts are wet, so I know he was too modest to take off his underwear when he changed into his swimsuit.
I gather all these clues to piece together a picture of the day he spent apart from me.