Sidelined

I got a message from a friend who was looking for homeopathic doctors who might help her daughter with a serious depression problem. While I don't think homeopathy works (at least it doesn't do a damn thing for me, anyway), I do think there are alternative medical practices that are helpful. I want to offer advice, but my advice is probably not going to help. At least not today - tomorrow's advice might be OK.

I know because tonight I feel horrible. My depression is back with a vengeance, and every medication, alternative and conventional, I've tried drives my blood pressure through the roof, so I face this next round unmedicated. I exercise like crazy because it's supposed to be more effective than antidepressants and sobbed the whole time. My heart rate is awesome, but its hard to take your own pulse while weeping.  Of course I did choose to exercise in a cemetery which made me think of all of my dead friends, so maybe I ought to stick to the treadmill for now, but the cemetery was so exquisitely beautiful and the solitude was perfect.  Then I tripped coming in my own damn back door and took a fall that wrenched all the already painful parts of me and even some parts I didn't know could hurt. At this point if I thought homeopathy would help, I'd be snorting those tiny pellets like a junkie.

Tonight I feel awful, but someone I know and love may feel awful, too and so I throw this out there so we can feel horrible together until we feel better. And tomorrow we may think of something funny we wanted to say.

I don't feel like being funny tonight, but I did manage to get my ass inexplicably hooked onto one of my bedroom pillows today, which was pretty goddamn hilarious, in hindsight. 

Tonight I feel wretched, but I learned that at nearly 60 years old writing is my junkie pellet.

Go figure.

PS: I almost stepped on this dude on my "therapeutic" walk.

Etiquette

Advice for Young Doctors Treating Women of a Certain Age or Listen Up, Doogie, I'm Talking to You

Advice for Young Doctors Treating Women of a Certain Age
or Listen Up, Doogie, I'm Talking to You
by Sarah Gowan
who is almost 60 and just as Cranky as she was before the Side Effects

1. The Introduction: Do not attempt to engage or flatter by calling us, "Kiddo", "Young Lady", "Little Miss", or any other cutesy epithet. Our years of being charmed by precious nicknames are long past. Do it and I will call you "Doogie" till I die.

2. Listen: Tell me, why do these earnest young things think they have the answers? THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW THE QUESTIONS!!  You may have spent a decade in med school/residency, but when it comes to my body YOU KNOW NOTHING. Your medical degree earned you the privilege of listening to your patients, so use it! I've spent decades figuring out what works for me and what really doesn't. I've even figured out some things before the doctors did and will know the answer before you do. You will save us a lot of time if you listen. When we say Something Is Not Right, we are usually right.

example: My Mom went into her very experienced doctor and said, "Something Is Not Right. I have a blood clot in my leg." He could have brushed her off, but instead said, "You know your body better than I do, so I believe something could be wrong. Let's run some tests." Three positive tests later they discovered she did indeed have a blood clot in her leg that could have killed her if left untreated. He is never allowed to retire, as far as I'm concerned.

3. Speaking of which: Women of a Certain Age do not complain about pain unless there is pain and probably a lot of it. We know pain - we were born into it. We suffered menstruation, perms, childbirth, bad-fitting bras, child-rearing, pantyhose, surgeries, high heels, diets, assaults, and menopause, plus all the same crap men had to survive, too. (Except the testicle things, but childbirth is definitely worse, so I don't think that counts.) Listen to us when we tell you there is pain - we aren't making it up.

And guess what, pain isn't always consistent, so we can't tell you where it's going to strike next. Ankles today, that one spot next to the shoulder blade tomorrow, just the inside of the knees the day after, and then horrible leg cramps (not just a Charley Horse - the whole flippin' leg!) that night. My Pain rambles around my body like a sleepwalking night terror, randomly lashing out at invisible monsters. God I miss paregoric. It was the cure-all for everything in our day.

4. Oh and the sleep thing? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! None of us have had a full night's sleep since we turned 21. 

5. We are not fat - we are Traditionally Sized: Be very, very careful how you bring up weight, if you even need to mention it at all. Women of a Certain Age are keenly aware of their weight. We've watched it zoom up and down, up and down, up and down - and not in the good way - our whole lives. We could probably tell you what it is to the ounce when we're standing stark naked on the scale (always before breakfast, after the morning poo, but before the shower) and how it will have increased exactly 7.5 pounds by the time we get to your office. We don't need you you tell us to lose/gain weight. 

And if we've been judged by our BMI by others, we've judged ourselves even more harshly. Every one of us has tried diets, (excuse me, "nutrition plans") and know they don't work unless we become insanely obsessed with every damn morsel we eat. So when you ask me about my diet and I say, "Listen up Doogie - I've been cooking amazing, healthy, nutritious meals for myself and my family since before you were too much Jameson's on Christmas Eve. Do NOT lecture me on nutrition, if you don't want that stethoscope wrapped around your pimply neck." 

These youngsters, who can lose 6 pounds by skipping breakfast and playing a game of racquetball, have no clue how hard it is for a woman who went through surgical menopause to lose even a few pounds. Remember, WE HAVE NO HORMONES, not even a trickle. We're hungry all the time -  I mean ALL the time. Ever seen teenagers eat after a swim meet? Yeah, we're that hungry. So if we're a little cranky when you suggest we steam our veggies instead of sautéing them in a microscopic dab of olive oil, count yourself lucky that we haven't dope-slapped you with a half-slab of ribs and a side of steamed broccoli.

6. Stress: Stop. Just stop. Stop asking if we have we have stress in our lives - jesum crow, dude, any thinking person with a scrap of common sense has gnawed their fingernails to nothing and taken to spiking their wine slushies with extra vodka. The world is going to hell in a handbasket and we're all flipping out - and that's still just the baseline. Women of a Certain Age are managing this and more without any hormones. Really all you need to know is that under no circumstances should you to mention meditation or yoga and we'll get along just fine.