(Hormonal) Fire and Fog

A new report has surfaced, although I have yet to find its source except for a dozen online news services and some of them seem to be quoting one another, that what women have reported for years is true -- heading into menopause fries your brain, at least temporarily.  They found that the shifting hormones and associated biochemical imbalances mess with memory and  concentration.  Testing of women having various levels of hot flashes proved it.  Like I really needed some study to tell me this.

I started perimenopause in 2008 and what a wild ride that was.  Irregular periods started to kick in along with some hot flashes that may have contributed to global warming.  But of all the things I lost, I missed my mind the most.  There's a blog entry written during that time to that effect.  Couldn't focus enough to do the simplest of tasks and my memory was a such a serious example of Swiss cheese that even I wondered in moments of clarity if it wasn't something very serious.  A battery of medical tests later with no clear-cut answers, I was left to fend for myself.  Yeah, that was a less than enjoyable year and a half.

I didn't know what was happening to me, but was later told by a fellow female that many go through it, but that it's not officially recognized by the medical profession.  Well, maybe not by the male side of the profession that, until recently, didn't openly acknowledge that shifting hormone levels in middle-age men is a medical problem as well.  Well, duh -- mess with any biochemistry of the human body and of course there are going to be issues.  It's the body's way of telling you there's something wrong.

It's vindicating to be told that perimenopausal/menopausal brain fog it isn't all a mental health issue.  It's also reassuring to to be told that, once the ovaries officially go belly-up in terms of reproductive duties (that's making eggs, for those who need the explanation) and the body either adapts to the hormonal changes or has them replenished through HRT that the memory and concentration abilities should return to normal.  I found this to be the case, although I still lose track of where I put things 30 seconds after I put them down.  That's a lifelong problem, however, and will never improve.

I wish someone would have told me at the time I was going through it what it was, that it would get better and how to deal with it until then.  They say that to acknowledge there is a problem is the first step toward recovery.  Perhaps now that someone has done the testing, done the math and reported their findings that things will be better for the next woman whose brain fogs over like London in the morning.

Working Out My Way

Regular push-ups are not for me, at least not yet.  Much as they're a strengthener of all the muscles that we really want to be at their most sculpted, getting there for the out of shape is not only not half the fun, but can also cause injuries.  I asked a friend who is a physician's assistant specializing in sports medicine about it and because of my still big beautiful woman status, he felt standard push-ups would put too much of a strain on my previously damaged lower spine as well as multiple other joints, including the shoulder I already had surgery on.  I was actually happy to hear that because doing just the five push-ups required of Bill Murray's character, John, to make $3 in the movie "Stripes" was an impossible task at the time.  I could do three before my body would have a "What the hell are you doing?" moment of rebellion and collapse.

Modified push-ups were suggested.  You know, the so-called girlie push-ups where you do them on flexed knees?  Nothing feminine about them, trust me.  However, my less than perfectly functioning left knee protested the kneeling pressure too much after just a few days, so they got abandoned. 

Wall push-ups were then suggested.  Wall push-ups were very do-able.  A little too do-able, a little too easy.  No resistance, no challenge, what's the point and what else you got?

On my own, I came up with the answer -- one-handed wall push-ups.  Now, these challenge the middle-age old girl.  Muscles respond to the additional work of pushing off more, but not all, of the body weight from the wall with one arm instead of two.  The threat of injury is lessened when done in reasonable numbers (30 for now, thank you).  In addition, tightening and strengthening of the abdominal or core muscles of the body requires conscious, voluntary effort with the two-handed wall push-up.  With my modification, I find they tighten whether I like it or not, something expected to happen with a regular push-up.  My arm muscles are also getting more of a workout as well.

My friend the PA was pleased.  I'm sure my orthopedic surgeon would also be happy that I'm not threatening all the nice work he did a decade ago.  Eventually, I'd like to be able to do regular push-ups without fear of things going snap-crackle-pop-ow! on me.  That's down the road a bit, though.  For now, my workout will continue to work toward that point, with my push-up solution part of the process.  It's all progression toward fitness, regardless of how it's done.

And the Winner Isn't ...

No, it wasn't me.  I don't live in Florida and have never been there.  I'd like to take a wander through it and every other state in the U. S. A. before I die, but it won't be on last night's Powerball winnings. 

I live in upstate New York, where big lottery winners rarely dwell.  Statistically, more lottery sales and wins in the Empire State occur below the Dutchess and Orange County lines -- you know, Westchester and Putnam counties, New York City and its boroughs, Long Island, etc.  Places where this country mouse hasn't been in more than half a lifetime.  But hey, those southern New Yorkers didn't win it, either.

So, as per usual, my lowly single ticket didn't win.  Yes, I only bought one.  Only one set of numbers wins and if I can't pick it or be at the machine in that cosmic moment when it spits out the winning combination as a Quick Pick, then I shall remain markedly less than rich.  Touching on the odds of the matter, to improve my chances, another $2 for a another six numbers isn't even a drop in the improvement bucket.  I'm not even sure it's a mist that hovers over said bucket and then evaporates.  If I can't spend hundreds or, even better, thousands of dollars to actually slightly increase my chances of winning in one game, then screw it.  I've got bills to pay and groceries to buy.

I sincerely wish the person(s) with the winning ticket in Florida all the best. I don't know if they'll take it as a lump sum or as payments.  I did the math, and had the fantasies, for the latter.  After taxes ('cause you know they're gonna be first in your line to be paid), there would still be a guaranteed income of at least $12 million a year.  I'm sure whoever won can and will live well on whichever option they take.  All I ask is that they keep these paraphrased words from "Hello Dolly" in mind:  Money is like manure.  It can't do a thing unless it's spread around, encouraging young things to grow.

Ah, well -- back to the work grindstone.

The Birthday Post

What a way to start the day -- I have a raccoon in the house.  At 11:30, I interrupted while he was eating cat kibble. There's no mistaking that loud crunching. Unfortunately, my coming in on his dinner sent my unwelcomed visitor into a state of panic and unable to find his way out the way he came in (cat door).  He's presently in the main room, leaning into the northeast corner as though sent there by mommy. Finally, a self-punishing raccoon!!! Guess I'm up for a while longer.

I stayed up until midnight and welcomed the day like it was New Year's, sparkling apple cider and all.  Technically, it is a new year, just a personal rather than global one.  Some might call it self-centered to view it that way.  But, if you can't give the day some meaning and just a little hint of fanfare, even if you're the only one who gets to appreciate it, then it becomes just another day on the calendar and nobody should give into that for their birthday.

I tried to stay up until midnight last year, but didn't make it.  I'm hoping this year's success translates into other areas of my life.  I arrived alive at 55 (years), but it was a lackluster age for me.  I'm hoping and shall work toward better for the next 365 days.  The numbers geek in me is actually looking forward to next year, when this woman born in '57 will in fact turn 57.  Aw, come on, it's kinda cool.

Well, time to go downstairs and see if my cat food bandit has left the building.  I hope so.  I had plans for the day and they didn't include being groggy past 6 AM.