I’m Getting Better

People mean well…. Honestly, they do, but many who are well-meaning when someone is battling a health challenge can damage an already flagging sense of well-being.

The “sound” of a diagnosis can be like a death knell to some, and it does not help when someone says (meaning well), “You look so weak.” or “Your face just doesn’t have that old glow that glows!”

When you are someone like me and many friends, we were not expecting these late-in-life ailments. The extent of aging had a set of rules. There would be the onset of gray hair, not all at once, but gradually, giving us a chance to adjust to the compliments of our friends as they joked about silver foxes and such. Our weight gain would be minimal, our aches and pains would be manageable, and we might need a fashionable cane or swag our power chair.

We envisioned ourselves as the hippest, coolest seniors ever to appear on the scene. After all, we had lived through assassinations, bloody wars, inflation, free love, and musical choices that caused our elders to frown with disapproval.

No one told us many of our peers would pass on without us. I look at the faces of the former musical group; my heart throbs, and I can barely recognize them. “Who is that old dude?” I said the other day and realized it was Frankie Valli, for whom I had swooned at age 14, as he was a tousled-haired, falsettoed lead singer of the Four Seasons. And now he stood on the stage in an unforgiving spotlight, lip-synching “Walk Like a Man” with a look of befuddlement that made me sad.

If I was not ready for this, I was in no way prepared for “my” kind of Diverticulitis. The kind that sent me to the ER and the ICU for the last five years or so, with no warning, where I was treated to a hemoglobin drop of FIVE, a blurring and painful deal with low vision ( AMD and Diabetic Retinopathy) and then in this year, what began as severe shortness of breath in February, (maybe before then..just ignored) that turned into an emergency trip to the ER and the placing of two stents in my heart. By the time I arrived in the ER room, I was breathing with my mouth open, my eyes were fixed, and my blood pressure was high. Well, I was taken to various rooms, tested, poked, and tried, and ended up with stents.

My reward for all these shenanigans has been a cocktail of six (count ’em, folks) pills to be taken every morning, with a second one taken before bed. Pills with long names and frightening side effects.

I follow the eyes of my learned doctors, and they hold mine while informing me that, “You might have to take these here for life.” As a senior, these young doctors might think, “How long can you last with a bad ticker?” I “feel” their disinterest, and I see a wall of doctor visits that do not get me better but abate the symptoms and keep me mobile and upright.

Holding my faith in God is the ONE thing that gets me up each morning. There is a tightening in my throat, and I imagine lifting the broom or mop will cause those stents to break loose and zoom around in my body like deflated balloons.

There has been no real follow-up or instructions, so I googled everything. Foods I can eat, what to avoid, stool softeners versus laxatives, walking exercises, and most of all, long talks with God. I urge all people of “a certain age” to exhaust all avenues of so-called senior help. Do the work, and become your advocate because in a world that embraces youth more each day, our card can get shuffled into the deck like a failing magic trick, and if so, we become lost, and the game is over.

Be careful of spilling your symptoms all over the place to random people. You will get random answers, and if we are not careful, those too many cooks who can spoil the broth will creep up on us! I avoided reciting my “conditions”. There is not enough medication to take care of ALL the ailments and live in my one body in perfect harmony.

A bunch of instructions were pressed into my hands with fancy titles like Cardio follow-up therapy and “get” yourself a CARDIOLOGIST. Still, I had no clue where that particular animal could be found. Our insurance limits our choices, which is depressing as my rent increases. I rely increasingly on the kindness of food shelves, Meals on Wheels, and other food programs designed for seniors. We might not always get healthy stuff, but the veggies are always fresh, and sometimes we get personal items.

I belong to groups on FB that proclaim the dangers of statins, and we have quite interesting conversations about stents and heart challenges at any age.

Hang in there, kind people. I will return with anything I might learn and share. We must not sit complacently by and allow ourselves to wither on the vine. Currently, it is difficult for me to use my fingers to type this message, but I am filled with joy to do this. Hopefully, someone will regain their sea legs and realize it is not over. Keep living life!

It is always worth it!