Thankful

I'm resting at home today after foot surgery this morning.

After dealing with foot pain for several years with less aggressive measures (cortisone injections, orthotics) not helping sufficiently, I decided to go forward with surgery to remove a neuroma in my left foot. The particular issue I have is known as a Morton's neuroma. My podiatrist says that mine is less common in being between the second and third toes instead of the third and fourth as in the diagram. I have several friends who have had this surgery and report that it was very helpful and they would do it again. I hope I will eventually be able to report the same! Right now I am still nicely numbed up, but I have great caregivers, pain medicine at the ready if I should need it, and the next few days emptied of commitments. I am already taking short walks with a protective shoe. I go back in Tuesday for a post-op visit. Until then, sponge baths only (so local people, be warned!).

I find myself feeling very thankful for many things today. First, for a son who is able to wait on me while his dad, who stayed home much of the day, goes in to church to practice a few hours. Another perq of homeschooling! Evan made me lunch: ☺

Second, I am especially thankful for a husband that decreed 2016 as the "Year of Cheryl" healthwise. Our health plan is such that we have great coverage for one person. It is a high deductible policy but has an expense reimbursement account that partially covers the deductible. The thing is, there are only enough funds to cover part of one person's deductible. If more than one person needs care, the family deductible kicks in and there are no funds for it. And given our current budget, to cover a second deductible would be a difficult thing to do.

So even though he is older than I and has some of his own issues looming, my dear husband stepped aside and pushed me ahead of him in line. Thankfully, no one else in the family has had any serious health concerns. So far this year I have had a full physical (first one in years) including blood work, female stuff and mammogram (other than some anemia and Vitamin D deficiency everything looked good); allergy testing (confirming I am pretty much allergic to every grass, tree and mold in the world) and desensitization therapy (third time I have done this, but allergens are different in Oklahoma); a bone scan to check for any signs of the osteoporosis my mother had so badly (all looks good); a baseline colonoscopy (good), and an upper GI scope to check on previously diagnosed issues (hiatal hernia, esophageal stricture).

I'm sure you were really interested in all that. I share it to illustrate several other things for which I am thankful--that the health issues I do have are quite treatable, that we have insurance that provides for sufficient coverage to treat them, that we have the freedom to choose the doctors we want to carry out the treatment, and that those doctors are providing excellent care. I was very nervous about both last week's scopes and this week's surgery as I have had very little in the way of anesthesia or surgeries in my life. But so far everything has gone incredibly smoothly (those drugs do what they say!) and the care has been great. I am looking forward to feeling much better next year, and with the foot and allergies under control, being able to get outside and exercise more. But I worry for the future of health care in our country and pray my children will be able to have the same quality of care when they are my age.

Next year is supposed to be the "Year of Phillip" but now he is talking about putting someone else ahead of him again, as Evan seems to have some of my allergy issues and could also benefit from allergy testing and desensitization. But maybe we can get him through another year with just antihistamines and staying indoors during the worst times. Dad deserves care, too, you know? I married a good man, and I want to keep him around a long, long time.

Thank you, dear husband, for being "God with skin on" for me. P.S. I am still a little groggy and disavow all responsibility for mechanical errors or poorly constructed sentences.

The Week

Trevor is home! Phillip will be home tomorrow night. Both of them have to leave again Saturday, so with fewer people around to eat leftovers, Thanksgiving dinner will be scaled back this year. I bought a spiral-spliced ham, the smallest I could find, and a French silk pie at the Jewel bakery. I will make our customary deviled eggs along with several other side dishes. That's it. Thanksgiving morning we are going to worship with our Trinity-Tinley Park family and in the evening we are invited to the home of some dear friends. It should be a nice day.

The house sale is proceeding, although we still haven't nailed down a closing date. We do know that it will be in January. We would like something earlier; the buyers would like later. I'm sure we'll find a date we can all live with. God willing, we'll be in Oklahoma by the first of February. Six months apart is six months too long.

Several days ago I received terrible news about one of my oldest friends. As I understand it, on Monday of last week she fell off a six-foot ladder and lacerated her head. She was treated and sent home but within days was back in the ER, where she was ultimately diagnosed with necrotizing fasciitis. In the last four days she has had four surgeries (called "debridements") to remove necrotized (dead) tissue from her head, neck, shoulders, and chest. More debridements may be necessary. Right now her friends and family are praying for her survival, as 25-40% percent of people who contract this rare condition die from it, even with treatment. Those who survive face a long, painful recovery along with skin grafts and plastic surgery in the affected areas. My heart breaks for my friend and her family.

Here is a picture of me and Shelley from high school.

Here's a picture from about three years ago:

And here's an article about necrotizing fasciitis. If you are not familiar with this killer, please read and become informed now. It is rare, but no one is safe from it, and the best chance for surviving and avoiding the extensive surgical removal of diseased flesh or even limbs is to diagnose and treat it early and aggressively. The primary warning sign is pain that seems out of proportion for the injury. After her initial treatment my friend returned to the doctor with pain and swelling and was given pain medication and steroids and sent home. Her condition worsened and by the time she went back to the ER she was in septic shock with respiratory distress. I can't help wondering how much better her condition might be today if she had been properly diagnosed on her first return visit.

Trevor, Caitlin and I are going to see Catching Fire tomorrow. I also want to see The Book Thief. I am curious how that book is going to make the transition to screen, since I have a hard time envisioning Hollywood's managing to preserve Death as the narrator.

Caitlin is working on her college applications. As we did with Trevor, we are starting to get a "feeling" about one of the schools on her list. That school seems to have the same feeling about her, as the correspondence from their admissions office has kicked into high gear. It is so exciting to see my daughter dreaming about the next stage of her life. I am refusing to think about a day in August of 2014 when we will drop her in a dorm room and return to a house that will then be emptier by two. . . .

Then there's Evan. A little while ago he asked, "Mom, can you get me some socks?" I told him, "Evan, I think you can get your own socks." He replied, "OH, YEAH. I keep forgetting I'm ten years old!" And here I thought I was the one who was an expert at selective amnesia.

This Modern World in Which We Live

This just struck me as funny, and reflective of a world that has exploded with allergies and sensitivities. Yesterday Evan decided he wanted to make scrambled eggs according to the recipe in the Dr. Seuss book Scrambled Eggs Super. That recipe includes things like ginger, horseradish, nuts, and I can't remember what else. I prevailed upon Evan to make his scrambled eggs the normal way, suggesting that if he really wanted to add something, he could toss in a little cheese. So he took my advice, and his eggs were quite palatable. He was proud of the outcome and decided he would share his recipe with the piano students later in the day. "I bet they will like it," he mused, but then added, "unless they're lactose intolerant." I can't remember giving any thought to such things when I was nine years old!

Detour

I have previously written about my foot issues. I have managed them fairly well the last few years through the wearing of better shoes or shoes with orthotics. But last week within several days of returning from Washington, D.C., I was having the most trouble I've had in a long time. I can't point to any one moment the trouble started. I didn't notice it while we were walking around the city (other than what I would consider normal fatigue) or even for a couple of days after. But by Tuesday of last week I was having enough pain in my left foot* that it hurt to stuff my foot into a shoe and it hurt to walk and bear weight. I wasn't able to get to the doctor until Thursday. The x-ray looked good, so no fracture (I would have been really surprised if there had been one). I will have an ultrasound in a few days, but my podiatrist's working diagnosis is injury to my posterior tibial tendon.

If you look at the tendon in the drawing, the place where it curves around the inner ankle area before disappearing under the foot is the place where I am having pain. It may just be that all the walking on my aging, out of shape feet (walking that I did in my Birkenstocks rather than my orthotics) caused some tendonitis**. Worst case scenario is that my tendon is torn. At any rate, here is my new friend for the foreseeable future.

It does not surprise me that my left foot is the one that is protesting. It is the same foot that has the Morton's neuroma. The left side of my body is the side that provides me with all kinds of fodder for complaining. When I have shoulder, back, hand, or knee pain, it is on the left side. My D.O. (Doctor of Osteopathy) has told me that my left leg is shorter than my right leg. Kind of surprising that I lean to the right, huh? ;-) The hidden blessing is that since it's my left foot I can still drive and use the damper pedal! (The soft pedal is another story--sorry that final chord on the choral offering was louder than it should have been this morning, honey.)

The boot has helped a lot, making it possible to walk without pain. It has also complicated my life, making it harder to get around, harder to get dressed, and harder to keep my foot dry in snowy, rainy weather. But I'm walking, and that's a good thing!

*It probably did not help that on Monday I dropped an exercise weight on it.

**This is how I want to spell this word. I don't understand the logic of spelling it "tendinitis."

Pain

I have been blessed to have been quite healthy during my life. Oh, I have had my share of issues. Severe seasonal and environmental allergies. Recurrent iritis. A lifetime of fighting cystic acne. Jaw and TMJ problems. Some swallowing and GI issues. Bad feet. But modern medicine has provided tools for dealing with all of these maladies, and for that I am extremely thankful. I know that compared to the health challenges faced by many, my problems are mere annoyances. Yes, there have been times when they have challenged my quality of life. But none of them are life threatening or truly debilitating.

This past week a new annoyance came knocking on my door: back pain. There have been times in my life I have had a little bit of back pain, particularly after a marathon session of practicing piano. I was diagnosed with mild scoliosis many years ago, and I'm sure that that combined with my flat feet doesn't help things. But last week was the first time the back pain came and stayed for so long. And not only did my back hurt, but so did my neck, shoulder, arm, hand, hip, and knee, all on the left side of my body. I kept waking up every day expecting things to get better as they always have in the past but each day brought not relief but more of the same. It wasn't awful pain, but it was nagging and constant and hard to ignore. And after a week I was very, very tired of it.

So, what to do? Several friends whose opinions I respect suggested a chiropractor. So did my husband. But having never been to a chiropractor before and having been advised that chiropractic approaches vary greatly and therefore it is important to research and ask a lot of questions before choosing a doctor, I found myself defaulting to the family doctor, at least as a starting place. I called and to my surprise discovered that the family practice we have long patronized has recently added a new M.D. who is also a D.O. (doctor of osteopathy). To my further surprise and good fortune I was told that the D.O. happened to have an appointment that day due to a cancellation. I saw her and for the first time in my life was told that not only do I have scoliosis, but my left leg is shorter than my right. So maybe that's why the whole left side of my body has been hurting . . . .

My new doctor prescribed a course of Prednisone along with Relafen for pain and scheduled me to go back next week for a "manipulation" (in chiropractic parlance, an adjustment). She said that I would need that time to get to the point that I would be able to stand having her work on my back. When she touched my back during my visit it was so sensitive I could hardly tolerate it. There are probably 30 or more years worth of knots in that baby.

What amazes me about this whole experience is the relief that came within 24 hours of my doctor visit. I have not even gotten any hands-on treatment yet, but the medication alone has helped immmensely. I don't think I realized until the pain went away how much it was coloring my outlook. Now that it has substantially subsided I realize how uncomfortable I was. I think I was hurting more than I knew. My husband says I have a high pain tolerance and that for me to complain and actually go to a doctor was telling.

Having gone through a week of pretty constant hurting rather than off-and-on type hurting, I wonder at people who have truly serious, chronic pain. I can't imagine what it must be like. I was exhausted by my one week of minor pain; how must it be to face not a week but months and years of pain that is far worse?

I hope to not find out. Yesterday I renewed our expired membership at our local recreational center's fitness club. I am renewing my commitment to exercise and increase my strength, starting with my back and shoulders and arms. There are certain things I cannot control or change when it comes to my body, but there are other things I can, and exercise is one of them. Maybe this time I will see it through better than I have in the past. Now in addition to all the other good arguments for exercising that I have always known to be true, I have discovered another one: avoidance of worse and future pain. Talk about a motivator.

Making Some Changes

I have been working on Christmas cards the last few days. (They're all in the mail! Yippeee!) As usual, we are sending out a family photo (actually, this year it's just the kids) along with a year-end family newsletter (you know, the kind that it's lately become fashionable to ridicule).

I approached the letter a little differently this year. Instead of organizing it by person or chronology, I decided to approach it thematically. And without a doubt, our family theme the last few years has been change. So the letter introduces that theme, talks about how humans in general don't like change, outlines some of the major changes in our family's life, and points the reader to the One who doesn't change. "If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny himself." (2 Timothy 2:13)

I'm not going to rehash all of that. If you're a very close friend you probably know some of it. If you're not, count yourself blessed to be out of the loop. But I thought I would share a couple of more trivial areas of my life in which I have this year come face to face with the unavoidability of change and the consequences of trying to ignore it.

First, my feet. For the past year or two I have been experiencing foot pain that started out slowly but has gotten worse and worse. So how did I respond? As any self-respecting middle-aged woman with too much to do would, of course. I ignored it. I kept on wearing the same shoes and behaving in the same ways as I have for my entire life. After all, my feet never hurt before. Why should I have to change the way I live and walk and care for them now?

I learned that the answer to that question is that if I don't change I am going to be crippled some day. So finally, unable to ignore the pain any longer (it's not normal to be nearly unable to walk for the first 5-10 minutes when you wake up in the morning), I went to the foot doctor and discovered two things. First, I have something called a Morton's toe, which has led to a complication called Morton's neuroma. Some Morton's neuromas require surgery; mine is not too far progressed and should respond to PROPER CARE.

The second cause of my foot problems is something I already knew but didn't connect to my feet. I am getting old. I have flexible feet that flatten out when I stand or walk on them. Over my 46 years of life, I have done a lot of standing and walking, and the combination of that and aging means that the natural cushioning in my feet is playing out. It's like a mattress that has lost its spring or a pillow that has flattened out over time. So, as the doctor described it, when I walk on bare feet it's like walking on bone (and it feels like it). There's no cushion there anymore. He made an analogy to trying to support my body weight on knees and elbows. It would start to hurt pretty fast. That's about where my feet are.

What does this mean? Three things, essentially: better shoes, orthotics, and no more barefoot walking. I am going to be working on the first item on the list over time, trying to replace some of my shoes with better ones. (Might be a good idea to start by replacing those Skecher sandals that I have worn every day all summer for the last 5 years or so.) I have already been measured for orthotics and last week received a call from the doctor that they are in (just haven't had time to pick them up yet). And I have become religious about not going barefoot, ever. Not even to walk from my bed to the bathroom in the morning when I wake up. My slippers are ever-present. I even took them to a friend's house this week so that I would have something to walk around in after removing my snow boots. It's interesting how after only a few weeks of this new habit it feels normal. Now if I go barefoot I feel literally naked. And it's helping. My feet are feeling better. (Except when I spend all day walking around in unsupported, orthotic-less snow boots while running errands and Christmas shopping. Ouch.)

This post has actually gotten longer than I anticipated, so you will have to wait to hear about the other change I mentioned earlier. Here's a hint, though: it also has to do with aging. Imagine that.

A New Beginning

Have you ever had the experience of being really ill, so ill that you didn't realize how bad off you were until you finally started feeling normal? Then because "normal" felt so darned good, you started thinking you were Superman (or woman), able to immediately return to full strength, scaling this mountain, traversing that plain, and plumbing the depths of the sea?

You may have then realized that no, you weren't back to "normal" yet--you were just emerging from the ruins, and it might have been wise to take a little time to finish climbing out before you started trying to rebuild.

This is kind of how I have been feeling of late. For some reason Revelation 7:14 comes to mind.

As I think back over the last couple of years I have to shake my head in disbelief. I would prefer not to rehash all that has transpired, much of it being rather personal in nature, but it has been an epic installment in our family chronicle, a conflation of many diffuse squalls into a perfect hurricane of a storm, and I think we are all a bit scarred from the experience. But I also have the sense that maybe, just maybe, the storm is finally abating. Shall we aphorize? Yes, let's. It's time to turn over a new leaf, find an open window, look for the rainbow after the storm, get a new lease (NOT leash!) on life, take stock, and plant some seeds.

So that is what I have been trying to do the last few weeks. I recently concluded a one-year contract working as a part-time staff accompanist at a local high school. On an almost daily basis for this last academic year, I have started my days by driving a half hour to school, working several hours, and driving a half hour back. What this meant, of course, was that the things I used to do in those 3-4 morning hours now had to get done by someone else, or at some other time, or perhaps not at all. Certain things, like laundry and dishes, give no quarter and will always get done, if not in the morning (which was my wont), well then, at some other time. Other things are easier to push aside (a fact which reflects not at all on the importance of those things but rather on the sinner's capacity for abrogating that which should be most valued). And one of the easiest things to push aside is personal care, both of the body and of the mind. So sleep suffers, diet suffers, exercise suffers, the pursuit of thing intellectual and artistic suffers, and personal devotion and prayer suffers. Relationships also suffer, because the exhausted (drained, used up, depleted, emptied) person is not effective at either listening or communicating and, himself in survival mode, has less to give to others.

I'm tired of merely surviving, of getting through the day in one piece. I want to thrive again.

Maybe it's too much to hope for. Shall we deliver another aphorism? Why not? Life this side of heaven is no bed of roses. But a rose here and there can go a long way toward making a lumpy bed more tolerable.

So the girl who couldn't bear to think of New Year's resolutions in January is ready to make some summer resolutions now. I have my mornings back, and here's what I plan to do with them:

1) Pray. First thing.
2) Read the Bible.
3) Read something else for my own edification--in a book, NOT online. (That is not to say that I'm swearing off online reading. But my written word consumption has been out of balance for too long, and I need to address that, for my own sake.)
3) Exercise.
4) Do some intentional rather than path-of-least-resistance meal planning (I'm talking with cookbooks and everything!).
5) Do at least one thing (besides the usual cleaning and maintenance) that contributes to the beauty and comfort of the home.
6) Work on my piano technique (i.e., play some scales).

That's it. I'm keeping it simple. But these are some areas of my life that I feel I have sorely neglected this past year (and beyond), and if I can succeed in putting them back into perspective I think a lot of other things will follow.

Here's to good health!

You Can Thank Me At the End of this Post

Some recent health-oriented headlines:

There is no good reason to do abdominal exercises. In fact, they are not good for your back. Just take a walk instead.


Dark chocolate is healthy for you. It's the flavonoids, stupid.


Caffeine may prevent or reverse Alzheimer's. It may also have a positive effect on memory and blood pressure.

There you go. No more crunches. Get up off the floor, put on your walking shoes, pour yourself a cup of coffee, slip some Dove dark chocolate in your pocket, and head outside for some fresh air, sunshine, and deep breathing.

You're welcome.

Will No One Rid Me of This Troublesome Cake?*

I have a major sweet tooth. It is very hard for me to pass up a dessert. And I am blessed with a fairly high metabolism. So I can get away with a cookie here and a piece of cake there. But this has been the Month of Cake in our house. We had three birthdays in October, and last weekend my 6-year-old and I won a cake in the cakewalk at church (we had an All Saints/Reformation "This Is Your Grandfather's Church" party). Evan picked it out for the way it looked on the outside, but then decided he didn't like the inside (it's a lemon-flavored cake). I, on the other hand, like it very much. And I have slowly been making it disappear.

This is not good. Saturday Evan will get together with some of his friends for a belated birthday party (he was sick on his actual birthday last week, but we still had a family cake). So that means yet another cake is coming--the fifth to come through our front door in a month. Thanksgiving and Christmas are only weeks away, as is the likelihood not only of holiday meals and parties but of multiple edible gifts from the wonderful people that my husband and I work with in church and community music ensembles. I don't have the money to go out and buy all new clothes. There are already a number of things in my closet that I am avoiding these days because I dread trying to squeeze into them. Thank goodness for stretchy jeans (I never, ever thought I would say that). But I have got to quit eating.

And yet . . . dark chocolate truffles from Trader Joe's, chocolate covered raisins from the Girl Scouts, French Silk pie from Market Day, homemade pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving (which no one in the house eats but me), egg nog, Bailey's Irish cream, Christmas cookies . . . they're all coming. Sigh. What is a dyed in the wool sweet tooth with no self-control to do?

*Name that allusion.

Swine Flu

Usually I love where I live, but this is one of those times that I don't. Right now I'm thinking Montana would be nice.

The Illinois State Public Health Director has announced that there are currently nine suspected cases of swine flu in my state. Five are in Chicago and four are in outlying counties, two of them very near the county in which I live. Boy, this thing isn't wasting any time.

I know that it remains to be seen how serious this will get. But in my opinion now is the time to start taking precautions. I have reviewed with my children things they can do to protect themselves from germs when they are out in public. For example: avoid touching your face. If you have to use a public restroom, don't turn off the faucet after you wash your hands, but instead get a towel and dry them first and then use that same towel to turn off the faucet and open the bathroom door to exit.

I have purchased some hand sanitizer for each of our cars and will start having people use it after we have been in a public place. Today I ordered a package of these, which I know aren't foolproof but are better than nothing. And I have for some time now been trying to stock up on non-perishables so that if we need to hole up at home for a while we'll be able to. I also plan to keep the car filled up with gas and to make sure we are well stocked on our prescription medications.

For several years I had a piano student who was immune suppressed. Whenever anyone in our house was even slightly ill, I would inform her mother and she would skip that week's lesson. Sometimes during cold and flu season she would take her piano lesson wearing a mask. When she left my house and got in her car the first thing she would do is put sanitizer on her hands. She and her parents weren't being paranoid but simply taking reasonable steps to protect Katie in an environment that was potentially full of dangers to her health.

I think right now we should all take a lesson from Katie. Better safe than sorry.

Be Careful, Everyone

Swine Flu in Mexico Has Pandemic Potential

Quick and Healthy Breakfast

Not long ago, my Lutheran homeschooling email list spent some time discussing breakfast. One of the list members asked for easy breakfast ideas and received such suggestions as bagels with cream cheese, toast with fruit spread, yogurt with granola, oatmeal, and boiled eggs. I have another suggestion to add to the list:

Dark chocolate covered raisins.

You think I'm kidding.

I'm not kidding. I had them for breakfast today. Just think about it: by eating dark chocolate covered raisins, you get to enjoy all the health benefits of both dark chocolate and raisins. And if you have them with coffee while you're reading email and blogs, I can guarantee you will start the day off with the right attitude.

Go ahead. Try it sometime, with my blessing. (Just don't tell my 5-year-old, okay?)

Six . . .

is how many repetitions I did on the abominal crunch machine at our community fitness center yesterday (10-pound setting). That may not sound like much, but considering that on my first try I couldn't do any at all, I'm feeling empowered. Yay for me!

Stress Eating

Speaking of food, I have been consuming too much of it lately. And it's not just the result of friends cooking for us the last few days--this has been going on for weeks. I am attributing my growing appetite (and waistline) to stress, but this is a shift for me. In recent years my tendency when stressed is to stop eating. I look at food and it just turns my stomach--the appetite is not there. But lately the opposite has been happening. I want to eat all the time, everything in sight (the sweeter and doughier the better).

As much as I don't like the result (5 or 6 pounds at last check), I think my eating frenzy is a good sign. It's the result of stress, but not depression (which, as I have entered middle age and premenopause, has come knocking forcefully on my door the last few years). It would appear that when I'm depressed, I stop eating; when I'm merely stressed, I eat more.

I'm glad that in the midst of all that life has wrought of late I have not succumbed to a depressive episode. But as I search my closet each day for something I can squeeze my flesh into, I realize I have to stop this free eating. I can't afford to buy all new clothes! Especially not with the hyper-inflation that is just around the corner!

Hmmm--maybe that's part of what's fueling my eating frenzy. I'm instinctively fattening myself up for the coming economic (not emotional) Depression!

This is pathetic

I have been trying to get more exercise this year. And although I'm still not getting as much as I should, I have taken a step in the right direction. It has helped immensely that back in the fall my family joined the local community recreation center, removing the excuse of bad weather. I think the fact that we are exercising together has helped, too, by introducing the element of peer pressure and cameraderie. We don't all go together all the time, but usually whoever is going has a partner. Finally, having an mp3 player has been a great motivation, since going to exercise also means an opportunity to listen to my favorite music or podcasts.

So in spite of the fact that I'm still not where I would like to be with respect to my fitness, I've been feeling pretty good about this whole exercise thing. The fact that I'm exercising at all is a great improvement over last year!

But a few days ago I experienced a major downer. My main goal in exercising is not to lose weight but to increase cardiovascular fitness and strengthen bones and muscles. As a small-boned person I am at high risk for osteoporosis (my mother already has it), and exercise is one of the best weapons I have in that battle. So in addition to spending some time on the treadmill, bicycle, and rowing and skiing machines, I am trying to introduce some weight training into my routine. So far I have mostly lifted free weights (very little ones) to work on arm strength. But this week for the first time I tried an abdominal crunch machine. Heaven knows, if there is any part of my body that could use some toning, it is my middle.

I was a total failure at using this machine. It's hard to describe in words how it worked; here's a link that illustrates it pretty well. I set the weight at what I thought was the lowest possible--ten pounds--and gave it my best shot. I couldn't do one single repetition. Well, maybe I could have, but I was afraid to force the issue for fear of serious injury.

The obvious question is whether I was using the proper technique. Both of my teenage children demonstrated and then watched me try to use the machine, so I think I was approaching it correctly. Still no success. What that means, of course, is that my abdominal muscles are apparently nonexistent.

So what now? I absolutely hate sit-ups & leg lifts and such (I suppose that's what got me into this situation in the first place). I guess I could just resign myself to a flabby middle (you'll still love me, won't you, family?). After all, I don't think there's such a thing as osteoporosis of the belly. But a flabby tummy now means a pot belly in twenty years, and I really don't want that.

So I guess I'm going to be hitting the floor. Maybe in time I'll be able to do a few reps on the crunch machine. My husband did inform me that I overlooked a 5-pound setting.

So, help me out. What are your favorite EASY abdominal exercises? Please, be kind.

Four Eyes

For most of my life I have not worn glasses. Then a few years ago it started getting much harder to read the the dosage instructions on medicine bottles and the ingredient listings on grocery store products. So I went to the eye doctor and was told I could use some reading glasses (translation: "You're getting old.") I got my first pair and gradually got used to wearing them. I remember feeling self-conscious the first time I wore them to accompany a choir rehearsal (as if anyone really noticed or cared--how silly is that? I guess we're all insecure adolescents at heart.)

A year or two after the first pair it was suggested that I should consider bifocals. Not only was the close-up vision deteriorating, but the distance was as well. (Translation: "You're really getting old.") The optician suggested progressive lenses ("a lot of people like them because they look younger and more stylish") but the insurance didn't cover them. So I picked out a frame and, lined bifocals in hand, entered the world of having multiple pairs of glasses. It was kind of nice. The first pair still worked, so I kept them by my bedside and carried the new pair in my purse.

Round three. At my eye check-up a few weeks ago I was told it was time for a new prescription. Seems my wayward eyes have still not found an oasis where they can just sit for a spell but are continuing to wander around the desert of deteriorating vision. But lo and behold, the insurance plan now covers graduated lenses! And the doctor said they would help out with computer reading (which I do a bit of), so I signed on the dotted line and awaited my new eyes.

When they arrived I tried them out in the store and they seemed fine. But upon arriving home it didn't take long for me to realize that they were not going to work. You see, the eye doctor doesn't have a piano or a Book of Concord in his lobby. So those were untested waters. And the first time I tried to play the piano in the new glasses I realized I couldn't see the top line of music without throwing my head back. Same thing when I tried to read my Book of Concord (it's a hefty volume, so I don't tend to read it sitting in a chair with the book in my lap but at the kitchen table with the book held up in front of me).

Back to the eye doctor I went, and discovered that the problem is those fashionable graduated lenses. You see, "progressive" means what it says. It's not just that the line is gone. It's that there is a gradual change from the top of the bifocal to the bottom, including a gradual increase in reading power. So one doesn't get the greatest magnification until the very bottom of the lens. If I am trying to read something that is directly in front of me or even slightly higher than eye level (such as piano music often is) I am going to have problems.

The glasses have been sent back and I am currently using pair #2 and developing a new appreciation for my friend, the bifocal line. When I look above the line, I can see far away. When I look below the line, I can read. It's simple and straightforward, and I can handle it. Who needs stylish?

Thanks, Ben (or whomever). And Dorothy, honey? You were wrong.

Best News I've Heard in Months!

New research suggests long-term use of ibuprofen may reduce the likelihood of being diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Considering the fact that I have used ibuprofen for years now to manage headaches born of the treadmill of sleep deprivation and stress that seems to govern my days, and considering also my recent difficulties with memory (and the attendant worries about aging and threatening senility), this comes as exceedingly good news!

Coffee

When it comes to coffee, I love dark roasts--the darker the better. My local coffeehouse of choice generally starts the day with three choices of brew--dark, light, and decaf--but as morning wears into afternoon they cut back to only two--regular & decaf. Sometimes the regular blend is dark, but sometimes it is not.

Over the weekend I was in Mequon, Wisconsin with my son for a chess tournament (details forthcoming!) and lo and behold found myself only blocks away from a Caribou franchise. So at the appointed time (usually about 1:30 or 2:00 in the afternoon) I left the tournament site and braved the rain and snow to get my afternoon "fix." But wouldn't you know it--the brew on tap was a light, not dark roast. Sensing my disappointment, the barrista suggested I add an espresso shot for depth or try an "Americano"--a dark brew made with espresso and hot water.

I went for the Americano and was not disappointed. It was delicious! It wasn't until my next stop into Caribou several days later that I discovered why I may have enjoyed that medium Americano as much as I did. It's made with three--count them, three--shots of espresso! A medium cup of regular coffee at Caribou boasts 190 milligrams of caffeine; I often order a "half-caf," cutting those 190 milligrams down to 95. A medium Americano, however, has 270 milligrams of caffeine. The fact that I tolerated it so well has once again started me thinking about my caffeine consumption. When my husband and I make coffee at home in the morning, we usually make "half-caf," so my two 8-ounce morning mugs are the equivalent of one medium at the coffeehouse. I usually end up having the equivalent of another 8-ounce cup sometime in the afternoon. So a typical day finds me consuming at least 270 milligrams of caffeine, but sometimes more. When I had the Americano, I was probably over the 500 mark that day, and I didn't notice any particular physiological effect (other than that it tasted really good!).

I can't quite pin down when my coffee consumption got so heavy. When I first started drinking it in college, I had maybe one cup a day. In time that grew to two. In the last 5-10 years I have started drinking coffee almost daily in the afternoon. I love my coffee break. What I don't love is how I feel if I don't have it, and that has me thinking it's time to cut back. But when one typically wakes up between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m. and doesn't go to bed until 11:00 p.m., that's easier said than done. By lunchtime I am usually already dragging, and that afternoon cup of coffee, enjoyed after my post-lunch 20-minute catnap, energizes me for the many hours still to come. And because I have to stop whatever I am doing to make the coffee, the mere act of drinking it is like a pause button for my life, forcing me to take a little time for myself and symbolically proclaiming that "I am worth it" (HT: Meredith Baxter Birney). I would really miss that afternoon treat if I had to give it up altogether, and I'm sorry, but decaf is just not the same.

So I'd be interested in hearing from my fellow coffee addicts out there: compared to yours, is my caffeine consumption light, moderate, or extreme? Do you think I need to cut down? Is caffeine addiction really all that bad? If I'm drinking too much, how much should I cut back? And more importantly, HOW do you suggest I do so without feeling totally deprived and sorry for myself (not to mention exhausted)?

Well That Explains It

A new study out of Great Britain suggests that people around the world are most likely to experience depression in their forties and that the average age at which people are the most miserable of all is 44.

Oh, great. I'm 43 and my husband is 44. So I guess that means things are going to start looking up for him but for me the worst is yet to come?

No wonder it's been a tough year. But the good news according to the study is that once a person makes it out of his forties his happiness level steadily starts to increase and that once he reaches his seventies he experiences a sense of well-being comparable to that of his twenties.

So that's why my mom is having the time of her life these days!

This study really doesn't surprise me. It's just common sense that when the most financially and emotionally challenging decade of one's life (due to the demands of family most people face) meets up with the realization that youth is fleeting and that the body is starting to show its age, one might get a little blue.

According to the report on this study that I heard on the radio today, the best mechanisms for coping with fortiesh depression are exercise and alcohol (in moderation of course). Well, there you go. I'm working on the first and will be happy to continue incorporating the second.

Anyone want to join me for a rum punch?

Self-Pity Party

Warning: the following post is an exercise in total self-absorption and whininess. Please feel justified in navigating elsewhere at any time!

Can I feel sorry for myself a little today?

I have struggled with acne my entire life. During high school and college, it was of the nuisance variety--sometimes better, sometimes worse, but generally managed with over-the-counter remedies. I consoled myself by looking forward to that coveted day in the future--in my late twenties or thirties--that I would finally "outgrow" the acne curse.

That day never came. I got a job teaching public school and found myself wondering why my adolescent middle school students had better skin than I did. When I got pregnant, the acne worsened considerably. Interestingly enough, during my second pregnancy it got better! But after the second baby, it came back with a vengeance, unlike anything I had ever experienced. For the first time in my life I consulted a dermatologist.

For several years I underwent preventative antibiotic therapy, and it worked. But after a move, I had to change doctors, and the new doctor decided it was time to phase out the medication.

Having already tried several times to go off the antibiotics, I knew the strategy wouldn't work, and I told the doctor so. But he insisted, and as I remained off the medication, the acne returned, worse than it had ever been before. It's hard for me to describe the severity of it. It wasn't just a cosmetic issue. My entire face was swollen and throbbing. It was painful to talk or smile or eat. I didn't want to get out of bed. The lesions were more like boils than pimples. Once as I was eating out with my family one of the lesions spontaneously erupted and started running down my face. Sorry for the gross-out factor, but that's what happened.

Finally the dermatologist, still resisting a medicinal approach, decided to perform minor surgery. He put me on the examination room table and lanced and drained a number of the lesions (sorry, more gross-out). I had bandages all over my face.

The problem was that draining the existing lesions did nothing to prevent new ones from coming. And come they did. In desperation I went to my family doctor (my husband and I were soon to depart on an anniversary trip to Grenada). He took one look at me and immediately prescribed a fresh round of antibiotic therapy. It took time, but finally things improved.

A few years and a third baby later, I decided something needed to change. I didn't want to remain on antibiotics the rest of my life. I knew that part of the reason for the acne getting so bad in my adulthood was probably antibiotic resistance from so many years of taking medication. So as I approached my forties and considered that my husband and I were not planning on more children, I finally decided on a an extreme measure: isotretinoin (better know by its trade name of Accutane).

The isotretinoin made all the difference in the world. It shrank my pores, cut back on my overactive oil production (the root cause of my acne), and succeeded in banishing the acne! The only side effect I experienced was excessive dryness of skin, mouth, and lips--a small price to pay for the elusive dream of clear skin.

Now to the self-pity. In the last few months I have been having those teenage-style outbreaks again. I use Retin-A on my skin nightly, but it is no longer doing the job. I have been putting off seeing my dermatologist, trying to manage this myself, but each outbreak has been a little bit worse. So Monday I see the dermatologist. My fear is that if something is not done now, I will find myself reliving the nightmare of a few years ago.

Yet what are the options? Another round of Accutane? I am willing, but after the recent tightening of government regulations on that drug I am not sure if it is even being dispensed anymore. Then there is the antibiotic route. Again, I am willing, but will it work? And if so, then what? Antibiotic therapy until I finally go through menopause?

I always thought there would come a day that the acne would be history and the wrinkles a future event. Instead, I now have both, plus lots of lovely scars. And as the aging process has its way with my body and the skin sags, it is sometimes hard to tell where the scars end and the wrinkles and "fine lines" begin. Thank heaven for modern make-up. I know: vanity is a sin and beauty is only skin deep and true beauty comes from within and you're only as young as you feel and . . . . sorry, but none of that is helping right now.

So, class, since you made it this far, let's review:

1) My skin is breaking out.
2) I have a very special social engagement coming up this weekend (two of my best girlfriends are coming to visit).
3) I am 43 years old.

What is wrong with this picture?