TURN, TURN, TURN (part two)

[queenoscots]

I went to the doctor's office with a handful of vague symptoms and a heartful of apprehension.  I left diagnosed with the Great American Disease:  Stress.

Every complaint I shared with my MD--and I won't bother you with them--can be laid right at the feet of big, bad, anxiety.  Stupid anxiety.  Seems middle aged people are prone to it; who'd have thought it? 

So what is there to feel anxious about?  Well, there's money, of course.  No matter how much we make, there never seems to be enough to go around.  And it's not as though I want to be rich--oh, no--but I'd love to have enough left over after paying bills to take a nice family vacation more than once every couple of years.  I'd like enough to put my kids through college without jeopardizing the well-deserved retirement Hubby sees just down the road a bit. 

Then there are the kids, whom I love with all my soul, whom I love so much it makes my heart ache.  With daughter C in college and son T not far behind, I'm getting my first real taste of what it means to be the parent of adult children.  It's not as freeing as I'd hoped. . . although I'm proud to see the buggers getting out into the world and trying to define themselves as grown-ups in their own right, the whole process has made me feel rather obsolete.  Once a mother, always a mother--but I'm going to have to hone a whole new set of skills for this stage of parenting.

At the other end is my own mom, who's struggling to care for her ill husband.  Stepdad is in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's disease, and has lived for the past year in a personal care home.  That doesn't stop Mom from being his primary caregiver, though; she spends at least six hours a day at his side, feeding him, bathing him, dressing him, giving him oxygen and breathing treatments. . .Mom says she's ready for God to take Stepdad whenever He chooses, but it looks like God has chosen to do it in bits and pieces, with little dignity intact.  I'm not going to quibble with God on this one, but I can see the damage it's doing to Mom's health and mental state.  And I can do nothing to help.

Everyone I know seems to be having health scares right now; that's what comes of belonging to a middle-aged peer group.  In my workplace alone, there have been heart attacks, various cancers, strokes, clogged arteries, diabetes, high blood pressure, raging menopause, and all manner of upsetting health-related episodes.   The result is we all feel we're living on borrowed time, and speculate on who will be the next winner in the diagnosis-of-the-week derby.  I'm the youngest in my family, and I've always felt shaded by the umbrella of youth.  No more, baby, no more.  And it sucks.  Like Mick Jagger, who is 17 years my senior, I can no longer sing Time Is On My Side without a hopeful nod to the gods.

So there you have it.  My doctor, whom I trust, ordered a few pints of my blood siphoned off so she can run the full battery of diagnostic tests. . .thyroid, cardiac profile, blood sugar level, the works.  Shortly I'll know whether I'm in the clear for another year or some fresh hell is knocking at my door.  In the meantime, I've been ordered to take it easy, take life as it comes, take a chill pill.  Find an appropriate way to channel my anxiety.  Such as writing!  Ah hah!

Something cheerful next time, I promise.

[NannyB.]

Oct. 13, 2007 at 8:47 PM I think it's called life.  And yes, every stage of life has a different set of situations to deal with, but I have found them all to be exciting, though challenging.  The thing about middle age is just what you describe:  we are actually caring for three generations.  The only way I could have made it was by being able to let my Heavenly Father carry the load for me.