From One End to the Other

As I shared on Facebook this week, I learned last Thursday I had a small hole in the retina of my right eye.  Today I had laser surgery by a very kind eye surgeon to seal the hole.

It was a procedure that gave me the willies.  I mean, a blinding (literally) heated light seared eye tissue closed to create scars so the vitreous humor doesn't leak behind the retina, causing it to pull away from the wall of the eyeball.  I shudder writing that.  Gross.

The amazing part is that this procedure doesn't really hurt.  It's uncomfortable, and warm, but not painful.  My procedure lasted only five minutes.  The dilation of my pupil took 20 minutes.  Once I disappeared into the doctor's procedure room, my daughter had just enough time to text my husband that I had just gone back, when I appeared again.  It's miraculous what a physician can do with a laser beam and a coal miner's hat.   
 

SOURCE

                            
How did I get a hole in my retina, you ask?  Apparently I have thin retinas, a condition called lattice degeneration.  It sounded pretty with the lattice part, then I heard the degeneration part and thought, of course, another aging issue.  As I wrote on Facebook, at least I have one body part that is THIN.

I'll just have to give up those weekend boxing matches.

In other news this week, I heard from the editor who had requested to see my manuscript, The 12 Days of Christmas Adventure.  After having it for six weeks, she decided it was not for her publishing house at this time.  To my surprise, that email of rejection was not too painful.  It was disappointing, but not excruciating.  It was kind of like eye surgery - uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

I don't know what I'll do next.  I might blog the book here.  Part of me finds this very appealing.  Part of me thinks I'm tired because a laser burned my eye this morning.

I'll think about it tomorrow.  Tomorrow's another day.  Another uncomfortable day, because I can't eat anything but Jello and Popsicles.  I'm having a colonoscopy on Friday (it's been such a fun week.)  Tomorrow night, the real fun begins because I get to drink that tasty fluid that precedes hours in the bathroom.

I'm so grateful there are doctors who like to poke around eyeballs and colons.  You could not pay me enough to do either one.  

SOURCE

                                

15 Shades of Gray - part 2

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Eek.  I'm having some withdrawal symptoms this week.  I'm giving up the bottle.  L'Oreal #5AR.

I'm talking to women everywhere for support.

I got new glasses this week and spoke to the woman who helped me about her beautiful white hair.

Her name is Terri.  She used to dye her hair, until a friend got cancer.  "That scared me away from it," she told me.   "She had dyed her hair for years.  The argument is still out about what all those chemicals might be doing to the brain, but I just decided, it wasn't worth it."   To her surprise, Terri discovered she loved her natural color.

"That's the color I want," I told her.

Then, there's my friend, Cindy.

She has a hint of grays appearing on the sides and sprinkles throughout.  She could not care less about her hair color.  "This is what God gave me," she grins.

Then there's Theresa, the wonderful woman who works at my parents' ALF.

She's Italian.  Has snowy white hair and a lovely accent.  I want both of those things.

This week, I approached women (some I know, some I don't) about this hair color thing.  I told them I'm writing about this ritual we women have of painting our heads, and that I want to stop doing it.   I asked for their thoughts on the subject.

At first, they kind of looked around to see who was listening.  They stepped closer and spoke softly.  The topic of hair coloring is a sensitive, private, almost ceremonial practice and we all feel protective about its secrets.

But, then, they shared from the heart.

"I'd like to quit dyeing my hair, too," one woman said.
"I don't think my husband would want me to," said another.
A third one said, "When I started going gray, people told me, 'you need to dye your hair.  It looks awful'."

Good grief.  Are we under pressure to maintain the illusion of no-grays-here, or what?

No one ever remarked on my incoming grays.  I spotted them first and immediately thought, Oh my, we can't have this.  My mother never dyed her hair, so I don't know where the repugnance came from.  Somehow, somewhere, I just came to know that gray hair was not wanted.  I'm trying to get to the bottom of this.

This morning, I tried to get a picture of my roots and the new growth that is showing.  I have to admit, I'm not crazy about it.  

I think some of the problem is I don't like the color gray in general.  I don't own anything gray because it's not on my color wheel.  It always looks dull to me - flat, boring, dirty.  It's just not a color I relate to.  That's why I want white, angel hair.  Like Theresa's.  Like my Irish maternal grandmother had.

In reality, my Cherokee blood is going to override the Irish in me, and I suspect I'm going to have battleship gray hair.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

 

FIFTEEN SHADES OF GRAY (part 1)

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I've been thinking about something for about six months - a decision that, on the surface, seems easy to make.  However, because of society's standards....I've wavered.

On some days, I'm sure I want to make this change.  On other days, it seems...well, unacceptable.  Or, at least unwise.  I mentioned to a friend the other day what I was considering, and she immediately shook her head.  "Oh, no, you don't want to do that.  You won't like it, I promise you, you won't like it."

Hmmm.  I mentioned it to another friend, who said, "Why do you want to do that?  Oh God, no."

A third friend said this:  "Oh, gosh, I couldn't do it.  I don't know if I'll ever do it."

These reactions surprised me.  I assumed friends would be more encouraging.  I hate to think I might have to walk this journey alone.

When I tell you what I'm considering doing, you might laugh.  Or, say, Oh, who cares what others think?  Or, say, Oh God, no, why do you want to do that?

I'm going to stop coloring my hair.

What is your first reaction upon reading that?  (I really want to know.  Please leave your letter choice in the comment box.)

a.  Are you nuts?
b.  You're going to look 10 years older.  ACK!
c.  Oh my goodness.  Well, it's your hair.
d.  People are going to treat you differently.  You'll regret it.
e.  I can't imagine such a thing.  Let's don't talk about it anymore.
f.  There, there now.  You're clearly out of you mind.  Here, have some chocolate.
g.  Good for you!

Hmmm.

To me, my reasons for giving up this ritual seem reasonable.

1.  I'm tired of it.  I've been doing it for 12 years.
2.  I'd like to put the money to other things.
3.  What's wrong with looking my age?  I don't even know what I've really looked like the past 12 years.
4.  I'd like to be free of presenting a colored version of myself.
5.  I think I've reconciled that I'll look older.  Older than what?  My fake hair color?
6.  I'd like to encourage other women to think about ditching the dye job too.  When did we come to believe we had to look younger?  Men don't do this (some do, but not most.)
7.  My hair dresser told me we still don't know the long-term effects of repeatedly painting chemicals onto our scalps.  What if, someday, we learn that fat cells, or wrinkles come from hair dye?  The ultimate irony.

Anyhoo...this is what I'm thinking about.  I want to try letting my natural hair color - whatever it is (it might be purple for all I know) - grow in unpainted. And because I want input about this sensitive issue, I'm going to write about it here.  Even if, six months from now, I run, screaming, into CVS for a box of L'Oreal #5AR.  It might be just be too horrific.

But, I want to see.  I think.  I want to be able to look into the mirror and just say, hello, you.  This is what 57 looks like. 

 Will you join me on this journey of self-discovery?   I might need your help.

PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
PART 6
PART 7

May Days

According to my May posts, in May, I learned I have fibromyalgia, and I made Biscotti and Puffy Biscuit Rolls.  Lest you think all I do around here is develop odd syndromes, and then bake, here's a few other things that happened in May.

1.  I gave up extra sugar.  Crazy, right?  Especially, since I love to bake (and eat Biscotti and biscuits rolls.)  But, it was time.  The big surprise - it hasn't been that difficult.  In three weeks, I've cheated twice.  I'll get better.  It helps that I CAN have an ounce of dark chocolate a day.  Whoo-hoo!

2.  I researched and started ingesting glucosamine sulfate, Curamin, and ribose.  These are supplements that supposedly help fibro.  Isn't that fascinating?  I'll keep ya' posted.

3.  I visited eight doctor's offices.  Between the folks and myself, we're keeping the physicians in town hopping.

4.  I attended a womens' retreat with a good friend.  We had quiet time, prayer time, and a great meal that I did not fix.  That was the best part.

5. My daughter and I made soup and homemade bread for a women who was fading from this life due to cancer.  She passed the following day.  Our gift to her was probably her last meal.  I pray it soothed her body and calmed her spirit.

6.  Our girl celebrated a birthday.  Here she is at age five, exploring life though a magnifying glass.

Today, she teaches high schoolers science and character.  She doles out Jolly Ranchers on test days and gives extra credit points for observed kindnesses. If I had a science teacher like her, I would have almost liked high school.

7.  Our baby boy had a birthday.  He weighed nearly ten pounds at birth, and my bladder has never been the same.  He's now the tallest one in the family, but he'll always be my little bubba.

Here he is getting caught in the rain with his lovely wife.

8.  My Dad had a birthday.  Here he is enjoying his favorite thing on earth - a night out with our girl getting frozen yogurt and double hot fudge.

Have you ever seen a happier 91-year old?  We have several May birthdays, but we make the biggest ta-da over this one.

9.  We spent an hour at Starbucks with our financial advisor.  A cup of sweet chai tea makes the number-crunching go down more smoothly.

10.  My brother, the ex-clown, was in town with his colleagues.  They like to visit our local pie shop and come to our place with the goods.  We all eat like pigs before they go back to work.

This was the cream of the crop.

LEMON MERINGUE

Is this gorgeous, or what?  We have the best pie shop in the country.  Sadly, they don't ship because it's cost prohibitive, but if you're ever near Melbourne, Florida, Sweetie Pies is the place to go. 

June already has four doctor appointments listed, as well as a colonoscopy.   I'll spare you the details on that one.

Summer has arrived!