It is what it is. It has been a rough week for me. The comorbidities that have been plaguing me for some time decided to ramp up the dizziness and nausea. I spent a lot of the time sitting up straight on the love seat in the living room trying not to provoke the symptoms by not moving my head or body.
Finally, I threw in the “I can deal with this” towel and I went to the doctor begging for some kind of diagnosis and attack plan. The doc revisited the symptoms, initiated some testing culminating in a wait and see plan plus one medicine. OK. I am taking some medicine and will go back in a week.
I know, being elderly and dizzy is a common occurrence, but not for this old lady. While I was waiting, I worked on my own plan for getting things done. I mean, someone has to clean out the refrigerator. A carton of milk should not stick to the shelf. Right? The inside of my car could be made off limits by the board of health. Dust will not remove itself nor will the clothes in the hamper wash themselves.
I was determined to rise above the awfulness by force of mind. This was my challenge. I could break down my chores and projects into smaller segments that I could attack while holding on to something and thinking good thoughts. It seemed to a be a sensible, reasonable plan, but that strategy limped because you can’t weed your garden while holding on to something. You have to bend over to do this and bending initiates dizzy. How do I get the laundry down to the basement where the washer and dryer are? Getting down stairs means holding on to railings on both sides of the staircase. I only have two hands. Is the laundry on its own?
Most of the stuff that you do to maintain a home causes dizzy, especially cooking dinner. ( I am probably exaggerating the cooking thing)
OR .. I could sit on that love seat and day dream about aspirational things, like winning the lottery and hiring someone to paint the house and sand the floors and fix the porch. I could dream of lying on a sandy beach with a stack of good books and adult beverages at my side. In that dream I would have reached my Weight Watcher goal…but even dreams aren’t that rediculous. I could be strolling through the park or Baltimore Woods, playing with my little grandsons on the floor or watching the older ones play sports. I could be the toast of the Riviera, sing with a symphony orchestra, have nice hair … so many options.
There is one thing I would never consider in my wildest thoughts … to dream of becoming a Sports Illustrated cover model at my age. After all, I am not Martha. THE Martha. The 81 year old Martha. Martha Stewart announced that she will be on the cover of the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated. “ I have never had any plastic surgery, only a little filler twice a year.” Martha, and I do have one of those love-hate relationships with Martha, says she practices Pilates, has two dermatologists, a daily routine of skin care, eats clean and healthy and has good genes. She discussed how the swimsuit was chosen for the cover. She refused anything frilly and wanted something more modern. She saw this as her challenge.
So, being that I am trying to figure out what happened to me, not only because of the dizziness, but also because I couldn’t be on the cover of the swimsuit edition of any publication that was read by human beings. Why? Well, I don’t’ have a dermatologist. Have you tried to make an appointment at a dermatologist lately? I have no idea what Pilates is. I do have an exercise bicycle, a very good one, but have been warned not to use it because of my loose artificial hip. Bet she doesn’t have one of those. I do have a skin care routine. It is called washing my face with soap and rinsing well. I don’t’ think that is what Marta was referring to. My diet is lousy. I eat over the sink when I am not cooking for my spouse. Too many carbs. My genes are not stellar either.
Oh, and my swim suit is an antique. I bought it for $35 in 1966. It is in the chest at the foot of the bed in my daughter’s old bedroom, a reminder that one time in the long ago, I could wear something like that.
Martha is not holding on to furniture and walls to get around nor is she looking in a mirror and wondering how what she sees has happened. There is no amount of filler that can fix me.
What I do share with Martha is that I too have not had any plastic surgery. My version of fillers are chocolate. There is that. Explains a lot.