When I was a twenty-something, I was always amused by the
Christmas letters my parents received during the holidays. They were usually
one of three varieties: 1. Bragging on impossibly perfect and successful
children and/or grandchildren, 2. Boasting about Amazing Travels (The Grand
Tetons! Peru!) or 3. Declining Health.
The first two of these varieties I could admire/laugh
at/understand. The third type, I found just sad. Was their deteriorating health
all the writers had to speak of?
Now, at the wise old age of 56 and 5/6th years
old, I may have crossed the line. You may not know it yet, but you have a line,
and you will cross it one day or another. It’s part of the package of being
human. If only the Almighty had given us individual instruction booklets at
birth that foretold when and where we would cross ours.
The line is Before and After. It is Before we have had a Health
Crisis and After we have had a Health Crisis.
I thought I had crossed the line when my thyroid went wonky
a couple of years ago. But, I drank an atomic cocktail, killed off my pesky gland,
replaced it’s hormones with a pill, and wham, bam, thank-you-mam, it’s all
better! I had tiptoed up to the line, put my toes over for a little while, and then
jumped back, safe and sound.
But this time, ahhh, this time, I’ve skidded over the line on
a poorly maintained Ducati and am stumbling around with my helmet off trying to
find the damn line to step back over.
The short of it is, I’ve got silent reflux, which is a kind
way of saying the valve at the top of my stomach is loose and allows reflux to
come up my throat, damage my vocal chords, sneak up into my sinuses, and spew
into my lungs. I cough like a 4-pack-a-day-smoking demon out of hell. I am
never able to sleep more than an hour or two without getting up to cough and
clear my throat. Mr. Sandman, RIP.
Yes, I’ve seen a specialist. But it’s not a straightforward path
to recovery. Meds must be tried for months at a time before being switched out.
Other specialties must be consulted. Diet and Behavior must be changed
dramatically. Weight must be lost. And it all takes T - I – M- E. And if all of
the meds don’t work, maybe surgery in my future.
It sucks.
But I’m learning a lot along the way.
- I miss Diet Coke. I used to worry about the artificial sweeteners. but it was the ph on par with stomach acid, carbonation, and caffeine that did me in. Like Pavlov’s dogs, all I have to hear is the pop of a can of soda to imagine that crisp, clean, cold caffeine bolus rushing down my throat. The perfect accompaniment to movie popcorn or pizza.
- Netflix is the bomb. Currently, during my middle-of-the-night coughing sessions, I’m working through seven seasons of Parks and Rec. I’m getting to know Leslie Knope quite well.
- Pants are overrated. Turns out pressure on my abdomen makes things worse. I’ve pulled out my old flannel nightgowns and if you show up at my house unannounced, you’ll likely find me in one. At my son’s suggestion, I’ve started shopping online for tunics and tights. Never say never.
- I gathered my rosebuds while I might. Shout out to fond memories of Buffalo chicken, Vindaloo, tomato-based-holy-trinity of spaghetti sauce-pizza-salsa, fried ANYTHING, and hot and spicy soup. I’ll never forget you!
- When you cough like a she-devil in public, people assume you are contagious. Which leads to lesson number 6.
- You are never isolated when you have internet and/or mobile service. I pretty much decided to wait out the 10 days until my next appointment at home since venturing out seems too set me off in coughing in multi-hour jags. But I’m not alone – texts, email, Facebook, and Skype keep me connected to those I love. And to those I disagree with politically.
- Bland foods can be delicious. Like potatoes. Or potatoes.
There’s more to be learned. And more to share. So stay tuned
while I hunt for that damn line.
And yes, this year, I’m gonna have one hell of a Christmas
letter.
