Every now and then a piece of writing grabs you by the heartstrings and won’t let go. This is one of those pieces of writing.
In today’s post Wendy Scherer provides an important lesson about time, filling it, desiring it and being careful what you wish for. What’s your 3.0 version???
For nearly 20 years, my most important life’s focus has been to prepare my three boys for independence. A lofty goal, I admit. There were years of carrying them around until they learned to walk and then following closely behind as they toddled and fell. There were pep talks and boo-boo kisses and Band-Aids. And there were lots of hugs and encouraging words as they started interacting with other kids. When each started preschool, I was so sad when he was gone; but the hours went quickly and each would be home soon after he left. Sure, there was crying when the carpooling started. And I cried, too, as I watched the other moms’ cars driving away. It seems that every minute of my life those days was focused on hands-on motherhood. The kids needed me (and Andrew, when he wasn’t traveling) for everything. Every. Thing.
I worked hard to give them freedom. I watched them ride their bikes until they rode out of my sight. I kissed them at the door as they left for the neighborhood tot lot. And soon, elementary school started and the days were longer. But they needed me after school. And on the weekends and evenings, they needed rides – and cheerleaders – for sports and activities.They were branching out a little. But, I had a lot of their attention, their time, and their cuddles.
When they started going to summer camp, the weeks were long without them. But they came back and I felt needed as I washed the clothes they wore doing things I only vaguely knew about and I felt joy and a mild ache as I heard tales of the new friends whose parents I didn’t know. It was starting. The independence. I wanted it for them, and yet, it terrified me. At night, I wondered and worried and hoped for the strength to know how to guide them and teach them while allowing them the space they needed to grow.
Fast forward – in a blink of an eye – more than 19 years have passed since my first son was born. He is now at college. In his second year. I’m sure he’s making good choices, but I have NO IDEA where he is most of the time. The other two boys are busy. They have active lives in BBYO. They eat dinner with us – most days – but then, they’re gone doing homework or stage crew or eco club or whatever they do. When their chores and school obligations are complete (and admittedly sometimes when they’re not), the boys are all about being social and, since our middle son has his driver’s license, they have some real freedom.
It’s not that they never need us. They do need us when they’re sick or overwhelmed or have something on their minds or when they need new clothes. Or when they’re hungry. But all this has led to a really big change for me.
I have time.
Until recently, I filled that extra time with work. I love my work and I love my clients. I can always think of new ways to do more and better for them and it could fill every waking moment. But it’s just not right. And as much as I love my clients, work is not enough. All these years, I’ve wanted more time. More time. And now, I have it. So what to do?
Swim more. I love my swim time. Golf lessons – I don’t know if it’s my thing but I know I love that I can try. Enjoy our marriage – we’ve waited for this time with baited breath and it’s great, but still a little weird and hard to find my balance. It’s a huge shift. It’s like the opposite of nesting. I’m preparing for the next stage – the stage when it’s just me and Andrew and I’m finding who I want to be; what I want to do. I always want to be a mom to by boys. It’s my heart. But I have the chance to be me again, only better and more seasoned and more free.
It’s Wendy 3.0.
It’s a little shocking, actually. It’s not as if I didn’t know they’d grow up because, of course, everyone knows that happens. But, as I’ve said for years, the days are long but the years are short and here we are… with our kids almost leading their own lives. Our evil plan of teaching them independence worked. And now, I’m paying the price and trying to figure out how to not be needed.
Stay tuned.Read More
I can’t believe I’m writing a post here inspired by Rob Ford. And yet, here I go.
This is not about Rob Ford’s politics, or about his consumption of various substances both licit and il. This is about male denial around health issues. The famous (notorious?) mayor of Toronto’s 2014 re-election campaign was derailed by the announcement that a tumour had been discovered in his abdomen on September 9. The tumour is, apparently, being analyzed in preparation for treatment at a Toronto hospital.
One of the things that leapt out at me from the first stories about this latest roller-coaster development in the Ford story was this quote from a story in the Toronto Star:
Ford was complaining of “left, lower quadrant abdominal pain” for three months before the pain became “unbearable” Wednesday morning, Devlin said.
Since the initial tests on Ford, he’s also apparently had a lung biopsy, and an update on his health is expected later today (September 17, as I write this.)
Combine this with two other facts: one, that Ford’s father died in 2006 of colon cancer, and two, that Ford had a tumour on his appendix in 2009 that necessitated the removal of his appendix and part of his colon, and you have what appears to be the classic case of a man refusing to seek medical assistance. I’m no psychic, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.
In this, Ford is far from alone. A 2005 literature review in the Journal of Advanced Nursing showed that men are much less likely to seek medical help than women for disorders ranging from psychological disorders to physical disabilities. One UK study identified men’s refusal to seek help as the most important medical issue for men. And another UK report points out that while men are considered “advantaged” in many areas (salaries, for example), our health outcomes are worse than women’s.
Whether it’s machismo, stoicism, putting work or other factors before health, or something else, too many men are ignoring symptoms, assuming they’ll go away, or simply lying to themselves about their health. And it’s costing people their lives. One of the saddest findings of the Men’s Health Forum report is that when men do present themselves for assistance, the disease in question is too often at a later, more serious stage. Another sad fact is that men are far less likely to seek assistance for psychological conditions like depression.
When I first saw blood in my urine in 2006, I did two things: told my partner and went to my clinic. My bladder cancer was discovered at an early stage, and I’ve been lucky enough to not require radiation, chemo, or catheterization from more severe forms of cancer. If I’d shrugged off that first sign, what might have happened?
For your own sake, and the sake of those who love you: go to your doctor, your nurse-practitioner, or whatever other health professional you ought to go to, especially when something unusual happens.
Creative Commons-licenced photo by Flickr user Alistair Gilfillan.Read More
I remember the first time I had a cigarette. It was a Kool, purchased surreptitiously from the candy shop across the street from McKinley School. The year was 1969 and I was eight years old.
Yes, I said eight!
It used to be cool to smoke. My girlfriends and I would pretend we were in the teachers’ lounge (remember those?). By the time I got to college, I switched to clove cigarettes. And then afterwards, Marlboro Lights. I was up to a pack and a half a day by the time I stopped smoking. At the age of 30.
This means that I smoked, on and off, for 22 years.
At the age of 46, I had my first night sweat. I turned 52 this past May, and the sweats continue.
You may wonder why I’m sharing these intimate details of my covert and then overt smoking life, and my sweaty journey…
Researchers say that first- and second-hand smoking not only increases the risk for death from heart disease and cancer, but may also significantly increase the risk for starting menopause at an earlier age (i.e., around age 45 rather than the average age of 51).
Data from a cross-section of 5,029 women aged 25 and older participating in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey III have shown that women who were current smokers (as measured by self-reports and blood levels of nicotine) started menopause at a mean age of 47, while women in service industries who were exposed to nicotine in their jobs started menopause at a mean age of 46.
Black women who had been regularly exposed to cigarette smoke had 12 times the odds of other racial groups of an earlier menopause age compared with smokers and nonsmokers who had not had any exposure. The investigators attributed this significantly increased risk among Black women to the body’s inability to clear nicotine from the blood as quickly as their peers.
The purpose of this study was to demonstrate that women in the workplace who are exposed to second-hand smoke are at increased risk for many of the same diseases as smokers. They’ve now added early menopause to this list.
What is less clear, however, is the risk for “former smokers,” since they were taken out of the analyses.
Makes you wonder if many of us who are former smokers or were exposed to second-hand smoke on a regular basis in our homes (a good percentage of women our age, as my sister in law pointed out), are at a higher risk as well.
Sort of like poster children, right?
It concerns me that a new generation of women who are into vaping might end up in the very same place that I and perhaps you did. It’s too soon to tell. However, time to put the myths to risk. Smoking not only kills but it may be setting you up for an early bout of sweats and flashes. Trust me, they’re not fun.
Inflammation. It’s our bodies’ revenge in response to daily habits and exposure to stressors. Left unchecked, an increase in inflammatory markers in the bloodstream significantly increases the risk for chronic diseases and death. Increasingly, researchers are pointing to psychological distress — factors like hostility and depression — as playing a key role in inflammation. Yet, there is a silver lining to this story: positivity. In fact, Penn State researchers are reporting that they have found evidence supporting an association between mental wellbeing (e.g. positive social relationships, purpose in life and positive emotions) and lower levels of inflammation throughout the body.
Until now, most of the research in this area have relied on measures that don’t necessarily fully reflect emotional and stress in daily life. But these daily stressors are important and appear to affect physical functioning in the short term and over time, accumulate to wreak havoc on our health. Research has also fallen short when it comes to the benefits of minor positive events — called uplifts — that occur during daily; examples include dining with a friend, sharing a good laugh or taking a leisurely walk.
Yet, new study findings show that experiencing daily positive events at work, at home, within your network and via interactions can lower the levels of inflammatory markers, namely interleukin-6 (IL-6) and C-reactive protein. In women, these daily uplifts appear to also affect the levels of fibrinogen, a blood protein that contributes to clotting. After the researchers took potential factors that might skew the results into account, such as race and income, only IL-6 continued to be significantly and beneficially affected by these daily positive events.
Let’s look at IL-6 for a minute. In certain contexts like exercise or in the face of infection, IL-6 actually has anti-inflammatory properties. Yet, when it comes to psychological stress, IL-6 becomes pro-inflammatory, which is why finding ways to counteract its Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde actions is so important.
Back to positive, daily events. The type that had the most impact were interpersonal positive events, particularly in women. I’ve written previously on the importance of friendships and social support as we grow older and these data help to bolster the evidence supporting this.
What’s lacking here is definitive cause and effect. But an association has been demonstrated and it’s never bad to step back, take stock and accentuate the positive on a daily basis. Not only does that strategy work to help our mental state but it may also help our bodies ward off disease.
Since I’ve been lucky enough to be born in Canada, and since I chose not to enlist in our armed forces in my life, I’ve never experienced war. But there is lots of service in my family. My brother collected a pension after a career in the Canadian Forces; my father piloted a Sherman tank through Holland and Belgium in 1944 and 1945; his brother landed on Juno Beach in Normandy and fought the European campaign all the way through; and two of my mother’s brothers joined up for WWII. Sadly, only one of them came back. And that’s really where this story begins.
My mom died on August 29. She was 89. And part of the family mythology that I grew up with was Uncle Bill. When we went to our summer cottage, she’d remember how Bill would swim from one shore all the way across the lake and back (a swim I was never fit enough to manage, likely two miles or more), worrying my grandmother greatly.
He commanded shore defences in Cape Breton, where my family was from, and gave up a commission so he could go overseas. A land mine grievously injured him, and he died at the age of 33, a bachelor, in Belgium, October 26, 1944. He was buried in a Commonwealth cemetery in Holland.
As my brother and I and our partners prepared my mother’s house for being vacant for a while (neither of us live close by), we came upon a few stacks of letters in the basement, sent by my mother’s uncles from 1942-1945, and a number of other things that related to their service. I’ve barely scratched the surface of the letters so far, but they are remarkable. First, the quantity of letters that Bill produced was amazing for a modern person, who puts pen to paper occasionally at best. He wrote to his parents, to his sisters, to his brother, and probably to friends as well.
Second, the tone of the letters. Ones to my mother, his baby sister, are teasing and affectionate. He calls my mom “Ebby” or “Eb”, a play on words for her name, Evelyn. He teases his other sisters as well, but reserves a more respectful tone for his parents, my grandparents, although he teased them on occasion too. He appeared to have a pretty good handle on what would be censored, because there are only a few passages cut or blotted out. And, likely in part because soldiers were told to be positive in their letters home, he was almost entirely positive, rarely speaking even of the minor difficulties of wartime life, deprivations, cold, wet. His biggest complaint was lack of mail from his family, and it seems his biggest hobby throughout his war was girls.
As I delve into these letters, I’m beginning to see why my mother mythologized my uncle. To use the parlance of the time, his letters paint him as a “really swell fellow — simply grand.” I would love to have had the opportunity to meet him, but we missed each other by 22 years. And I am again struck by the differences — at least the superficial ones — between the men of that time and the men of our time. My father’s uncle Cam, a veteran of the entire European campaign never shared his war experiences with anyone, to the family’s knowledge, and it never seemed to have affected him. It feels as if the men of that generation returned from a global conflict and got on with life. I think I could take a lesson or two from the men of that time in simply getting on with things.
Were the men of that time perfect? Undoubtedly not. They were products of a different time. Some of the attitudes and behaviours not even noticed back then would be considered abhorrent today. But it’s kind of neat to be given the opportunity to glimpse through a window into your family’s history, to imagine meeting a long-since-lost man in your family, to hope that you would find him up to your expectations, and that you would meet his.Read More
Bet that you think this is a piece about going green. It’s not.
Does anyone remember the scandalous New York socialite Joycelyn Wildenstein and her obsession with endless plastic surgery in an attempt to look like a wild cat? I still recall when I received the issue of New York magazine that had her as the cover; honestly, I thought it was a promotion for the musical Cats or the Lion King.
Check this out:
And this is the before and after shot:
The reason that I am focusing on this today is that I was up in NYC over the weekend visiting with friends. I managed to catch the preview of ‘It’s Only a Play,’ featuring among other notables, the brilliant Stockard Channing.
This is what Stockard used to look like:
Beautiful, talented, a picture of aging well. Perhaps she has had a few things done here but she looked natural.
This is the Stockard I saw on Saturday:
Both my friend and I were stunned when she walked onstage for her first line.
And then, we went to dinner, where four couples, clearly old, old friends, were meeting for dinner. Several of the women were sporting almost as much plastic as Jocelyn and Stockard. And it showed.
According to 2013 statistics from the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery:
- Over 11 million surgical and nonsurgical cosmetic procedures were performed in the United States. Since 1997, there has been a 279% increase in the total number of cosmetic procedures.
- Women has more than 10.3 million procedures, accounting for almost 91% of the total. These include breast augmentation, liposuction, tummy tucks, breast lifts and eyelid surgery.
- 42% of the procedures were done in people between the ages of 35 and 50, while people between the agers of 51 and 64 accounted for 30% of the procedures.
- The total bill exceeds $12 billion.
- The use of injectables — botox and fillers — saw an increase of 21% in 2013.
What has happened to aging gracefully?
I am a true believer in feeling good and looking good and if a few injections or a nip here and a tuck there makes you feel better, go for it! But when we become so obsessed that it becomes an addiction, when as a society, we are spending tens of billions of dollars on looking differently rather than seeing differently, it implies that our priorities are a dollar short and a day late. Unfortunately, I spent more time astonished by Stockard’s new face than by her performance. We even googled her image at intermission to see if it was make up to accentuate her character’s flaws. Rather, it was plastic that accentuated her surgeon’s character flaws.
I find that sad. I find it even sadder that the obsession with selfies has translated into a growing demand for procedures that are focused on a younger clientele. Indeed, surgeons are reporting that growing numbers of people under the age of 18 are having surgery done. Considered by some physicians as ‘hyper-vanity,’ the increase apparently reflects an increasing obsession with how peers and followers view young women among various social platforms; if you want to grow your following, focus on your looks — pouty lips, booties and cleavage.
While the media focus has primarily been on celebrity clientele, social media is changing the mirror reflection and it’s not a pretty sight, especially when rejuvenation is hitting the under 18 set. Oxymoron, anyone?
The brilliant Joan Rivers (R.I.P) was quoted as saying that she has had so much plastic surgery that when she died, they would be donating her body to Tupperware.
Is it time to ban plastic?
Back in 2010 I wrote a piece about a woman’s egg supply and its role in predicting when menopause may start. There’s some new information to add to the story so thought I’d rerun the piece with a few highlights.
So eggs and baskets. What, pray tell, do they have to do with menopause? Let’s break it down, step by step (or, year by year, as the case may be). The bottom line is that roughly 69% of the total reserve of eggs that a woman has and how that varies throughout her lifetime can be determined by age alone.
While still in the womb, a female will develop several million eggs. Up until age 14, the eggs will continue to increase in number, accelerate around puberty (i.e. ages 9 through and then the reserve steadily declines until menopause (around age 50 or 51).
Using computer modeling of data taken from about 325 women, researchers determined that by the age of 30, 95% of women will only have 12% of their egg reserves remaining. By age 40, only 3% remain. What’s more, age remains the primary influencer of the number of eggs up until about age 25. Then as a women grows older, other factors, including smoking, body mass index, stress and previous pregnancies start to play more important roles.
Back to the menopause component. The majority of readers of this blog are of the age where pregnancy is no longer a consideration an the number of eggs in reserve, pretty irrelevant. However, by considering and mapping how the ovarian reserve of eggs is established and then diminished in the first place, researchers hope to be better able to predict when menopause will start individual women. This strategy compliments the anti-Mullerian hormone blood test (check out information on that here) and closely follows the way that scientists used the blood test to predict menopause.
However, geeky science aside, by having a better idea of when menopause will start, you may be able to take appropriate steps in a timely fashion to both stave off vasomotor symptoms such as hot flashes and night sweats and maintain body weight and physical health. What’s more, imagine the possibilities in terms of mood swings and depression. The potential rewards are endless.
According to the researchers, they might also be able to predict which women treated for cancer are at highest risk for early menopause as the result of treatment. Since many of these women are young, this might provide opportunities for proactive family planning.
And finally, by measuring ovarian volumes, a key factor in the computer modeling, researchers believe that they may be able to predict young women who are at risk for developing premature loss of their ovarian function, a common side effect of cancer treatment. The benefit here is that it may be a way to help these young women preserve their eggs early for later fertility efforts.
So, all those eggs in one basket? You might not be able to control how many but you may be able to control certain outcomes. Nice!Read More