Well Past 50: The Weblog of Boomerful.com

One More Health Problem to Worry About!

I received this information via a press release the other day. Many menopausal women are not aware that loss of estrogen can affect their urinary tract. One more thing to worry about! But, forewarned is forearmed, so let's see what else the release has to say...

When a woman’s body decreases estrogen production, it alters the protective surface layer on the bladder that prevents bacteria from adhering to its lining, creating a perfect environment for bacteria to multiply and cause a urinary tract infection (UTI). Menopausal women may also experience a dropped bladder (cystocele), which occurs when the wall between a woman's bladder and her vagina weakens. Cystoceles can trigger an inability to empty the bladder fully and encourage the growth of UTI infection-causing bacteria.

According to Dr. Larrian Gillespie, retired urologist and author of the books, "You Don't Have to Live with Cystitis" (HarperCollins) and "The Menopause Diet" (Healthy Life Publications), there are ways to control or prevent the recurrence of UTIs associated with menopause:

1. Drinking plenty of water promotes regular urination, so it is very important to stay hydrated to help flush out bacteria from the urinary tract.

2. If you are menopausal and prone to UTIs, Dr. Gillespie recommends taking Cystex as a preventative, as it is the only OTC urinary tract medication that contains methenamine, an antibacterial agent that attacks bacteria and helps prevent it from adhering to the cell wall lining of the bladder.

3. When exercising, try to maintain good form while lifting weights or on exercise machines to avoid back injury, which can add to the problems mentioned. If you suspect a back problem may be contributing to your UTIs, ask your doctor to give you a “uroflow” exam to assess whether or not you are voiding efficiently.

4. “Holding it in” does not directly cause an infection, but it can cause overdistension that can damage the lining of the bladder, making it more vulnerable to bacteria. (So when nature calls, don't put that call on hold!)

5. Talk to your doctor about a low-dose estradiol treatment. Not only does estrogen therapy help build up the bladder lining, but when coupled together with the therapies above (i.e. Cystex), it will help reduce the incidence of UTIs altogether.

Some useful information to keep in mind. I wonder if men have similar bladder-infection problems when they get past a certain age? Well, I imagine I'll get a press release on that, too, eventually!

Stay Cool and Live Longer

An article in the New Scientist says that if we lower our body temperature, we could increase our lifespan.

"The refrigerator is used to lengthen the life of your food, and a new study suggests a similar principle could prolong your life, too.                                                     

Researchers have found that lowering the body temperature of mice by just 0.5°C extends their lifespan by around 15%. In the future, people might be able to take a drug to achieve a similar effect on body temperature and enjoy a longer life."

Wake Up and Set Your Goals

All this talk lately about death and funerals (granted, it was ME talking) has made me re-evaluate where I am in life. Do I need to make changes? How much can I expect to accomplish with such a short time left? I was chatting with a dear old friend, Julie, about untimely death when she pointed out to me that as healthy a we are we could realistically only expect another 20 good years – if we don’t drop dead tomorrow.

That realization makes those goal-setting rules I learned in my thirties far more important now than they were during the decade when I felt immortal and ignored the rules. Unfortunately my memory is gone and I only remember half the rules. At least I think I remember half the rules – I may only remember 1/3 of the rules. Well, anyway, I remember a few.

First:  Have dreams.  Do we even know what our dreams are anymore?  How often we get caught up in day to day survival and forget the things that used to put the spark in our lives. We deny passion as a youthful emotion, and accept our lackluster lives as normal "at our age."  "Our age" is when we should be free to enjoy passion in everything we do without the obligatory guilt that accompanied passion when it was more about matters of the flesh and less about self-fulfillment. 

In the movie, Joe Versus the Volcano, downtrodden Joe lived his life in shades of gray as he went to a job where he was anonymous, and dealt daily with a chronic illness that his imagination had created. Not until he was told he had a limited amount of time to live did he begin living his life fully. We’re at that point now. We have an incurable disease called old age and we must grab hold of life as Joe did and live every moment fulfilling our dreams. If you haven’t seen Joe Versus the Volcano, begin your goal-setting journey by renting the DVD.

If Joe doesn’t inspire you to question your life and find your dreams, find something that does.  A vacation alone, or even an hour a day in a bath by candlelight will help you define the way you want your life to be. Question every aspect of your life – your job, your hobbies, your marriage, your social life. Do they make you happy, can you improve them, do you keep them the way they are only because they are comfortable? Comfort is great in furniture, but it can really stall your personal goals.

After you identify the dreams that could make you truly happy, write them down. Make the dreams very specific. The more specific your dreams, the easier it will be to create a plan to attain them.  Then, of course, you have to work on the plan. Remember that the steps to getting what you want should make you happy while you’re on your way.  The little elves that sang, “Whistle While You Work” had the right idea. The journey is part of the dream. Make it fun.

Check your progress regularly.  Not once a year – you don’t have time for that – but once a week.  Have you taken any of the steps in your plan this week?  Give yourself a mental grade on your progress. If you got below a B, promise yourself you’ll do better next week. There’s always room for improvement, but if you’re getting a B or above on your life goal report card, you’re doing better than average. Keep it up.

Give yourself a reward for your progress. Promise yourself an afternoon in the park, coffee with friends or a facial every time you get a step closer to your dream. We were meant to dream. We just have to wake up and do it.

Taking Candy From A Little Girl

At five years old every new person we meet offers an opportunity to learn a little bit about the world and a little more about ourselves; and we embrace each lesson with the awe and enthusiasm our innocence allows.   

Unfortunately, most of those lessons burrow deeply away in our psyches leaving little effect.  But now and then a memory hangs on to our hearts so resolutely, it demands to have its lesson acknowledged, if not completely understood.  I wouldn’t have guessed that a casual acquaintance with a kindly old man who liked giving candy to a little girl would prove to be an encounter I would remember so well 45 years later. I remember even the lines on his face, the stooped and labored way he walked, and the tilt of his body as he leaned down to speak to me. 

The first time he approached he caught me by surprise. I was riding my tricycle up and down the sidewalk in front of our house. I loved the feel of forcing the wheels along the cement at lightening speed with just the strength of my legs. I sang loudly as I rode my tricycle, oblivious to strangers who might be sharing my sidewalk.   

“Hello, there,” his voice jolted me from my world of joyous abandon.  “I don’t suppose pretty little girls on red tricycles like mint candies.”

He held out a hand with wrinkles stretched almost smooth over swollen joints. Inside his hand was a single pink mint candy – the kind that was thick and chalky, with an initial carved in the top of it.
I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what he meant.

He chuckled slightly.  “Would you like it?”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. I studied the gentle old hand as I reached into it to retrieve the candy.  He watched as I popped the mint into my mouth. He stood smiling and watching until I had finished it completely. He didn’t appear to want to leave.

“Thank you,” I said again and smiled at him.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, and touched my hair. 

I rode my trike down the block, singing again. At the end of the block I turned to ride back and saw him turn the corner and disappear.

Every day we repeated the activity, adding conversation as our familiarity increased; until finally we were having lengthy talks about rabbits and castles and other topics of vital interest to us both. I never grew particularly fond of the mints, but I looked forward every day to seeing him turn the corner of our block and walk toward me with the offering hidden in his hand.

When winter came and my trike was stored in the basement, I didn’t think much about the end of his visits.  But when spring arrived and I rode my tricycle down the block for the first time, I instinctively looked around for a sign of the familiar figure. When I didn’t see him, I went on with my riding and singing as I had always done.  Finally, there he was, walking toward me with his fist wrapped around my piece of candy. I rode to him, grinning with joy. His look of confusion perplexed me. He straightened as I approached, and stared at me. 

“Perhaps you can help me, Miss,” he said.  “There use to be a little girl who rode her tricycle here.  She was just a little thing and had a tricycle very much like yours. I have something for her.”

“It’s me,” I insisted.  “It’s me you give the candy to.”

“No, no,” he seemed completely sincere.  “This girl was little.  You’re much bigger and more grown up than she was.”

“I got bigger during the winter,” I protested.

He shook his head convincingly.  “Oh, I’m afraid you can’t be the same little girl I’m talking about.”  He paused. “Well, since she’s not here, I guess I’ll give the candy to you.”  He smiled and offered me the mint. 

Although he may have thought we shared the joke, I felt as if a part of me had ceased to exist.  I didn’t want to be grown up. I wanted him to recognize me as he had before.  Our relationship continued for a short time, but it was never the same in my mind. I was convinced that he saw me differently and somehow that made me act different in his presence.

One day, he stopped coming by. I watched for him day after day. I still rode my trike up and down the sidewalk, but I didn’t sing with such abandon anymore. Instead I kept an eye on the corner of the block and wished that someday he’d turn the corner, see me and say, “There you are – the little girl I give my candy to.”  But he didn’t come again. 

And finally, I quit watching for him.

Younger Next Year: Good Food, Good Health and Good Clothes!

My friend Mary told me about a book on the New York Times Bestseller list, titled Younger Next Year for Women, by Harry Lodge and Chris Crowley.

The claim: You can turn back your biological clock. You can become functionally younger every year for the years to come and continue to live with the vitality and grace you had when you were young. You can avoid up to 70 percent of the decay and eliminate up to 50 percent of the injuries and illnesses associated with getting older.

Their first book on the subject was actually a book for men, but the fact is that women have even more to gain from Younger Next Year. Just as the average woman lives longer (three decades past menopause) than the average man, the average woman has more anxiety about aging.

The book covers menopause and postmenopause at length, cardiac disease, osteoporosis, sexuality, even finances. It adapts its simple, lifesaving motivational rules—Exercise Six Days a Week, Don’t Eat Crap, Connect to Other People—to contemporary women’s lifestyles. Their mantra is simple: Instead of letting age happen to you, take the bull by the horns and choose growth over decay.

They also have a very comprehensive, health oriented Web site that will map out meal plans and give fitness advice (with your doctors approval) and also explain many of the changes that our bodies go through as we age. Dr. Lodge also give fashion advice: don't dress like a little old lady: stay away from the frump! Clothes matter much more as people get older. It may take a bit more work, but nothing boosts the attitude more than knowing you look good - like the hot and fabulous Well Past 50 women we are!

www.youngernextyear.com

The Secret of Longevity

I have discovered the secret to longevity. It is not seaweed or growth hormones or bovine spleen.  What it is may surprise you. But we’ll get to that.  First, let me tell you how I came to the revelation about my simple secret to longevity.

We were visiting my parents at their home in North Carolina. As always, Mom had chosen some wonderful hike that would lead us to yet another breathtaking waterfall in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  My mother is about the biggest waterfall junkie ever born, but that’s okay because it provides us with a destination and I am so goal-oriented that a destination is important to my enjoyment of our hikes.

This particular waterfall was a popular tourist destination, so our usual family hike that involves me singing, “I Love to Go A-Wandering” at the top of my lungs, was interrupted by other hikers passing us, us passing them, etc., until we convened at the base of the waterfall.

One woman around my age, who had crossed paths with us several times along the way, awkwardly approached my mother at the waterfall. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I’ve been so impressed with your endurance…may I ask how old you are?”

My mother puffed up like a barnyard rooster. I love it when people rave about her youthfulness and she pulls herself up to her full four foot eleven inches, throws her head back and gets the cutest little smug smile on her face. “I’m 83,” she said proudly. “My husband is 85.”

“Oh, my,” the woman was genuinely shocked. “My husband just turned 60 and he made me take this hike alone because he was certain he couldn’t make it. This is a very strenuous hike.”

“Oh, this is just a short hike for us,” my mother stretched even taller. “Last Sunday we hiked 6 miles up Mount LaCont.”

“I can’t believe it,” the woman seemed determined to completely satiate my mother’s ego. “What is your secret?”

“We don’t have a secret,” mom answered. “We stay busy and active. We just don’t let the problems of aging bother us.”

The woman was so impressed that when we saw her later at the town diner, she dragged her poor besieged husband over to introduce him to the couple that made him look like the biggest age wimp ever.

I thought about her question all afternoon. Yes, mom and dad stay physically active, read, travel and stay involved with their grandchildren – all good methods for staying young.  But what is the one thing that they do differently than all the other oldsters that sets them apart. What do they do regularly that every other 80+ year old doesn’t do.

The answer hit me one night at dinner.  “This pork roast is so delicious,” I said.  “Now tell me how you cook it.”

“Well, I just sear it in bacon grease, then pop it in the oven for a couple of hours.”

“It’s so much better than mine,” I commented.  “Pass the green beans please. What’s on these beans?

“Crumbled bacon,” mom answered.

“And this wonderful salad dressing?”

“Just a little bacon grease with some red wine vinegar and spices.”

“Mom,” I said. “How much bacon do you and Dad eat anyway?”

“Oh, we don’t eat much bacon,” she replied. “It’s not good for you.’

“Are you kidding?” Dad piped in.  “We eat bacon almost every meal.”

“No we don’t,” Mom protested.

“Sure we do,” he insisted. “You put it in everything.”  And over the next three days of our visit he appeared to be right. She made us fried rice with bacon in it, stir fried our Chinese vegetables in bacon grease and served a full pound of it for breakfast. And these two people are absolute icons of geriatric fitness.

“It’s bacon,” I told my husband.

“What’s bacon?”

“The secret to longevity. It’s obviously bacon.”

He gave me that look he so often gives me following one of my revelations. “You don’t think it’s because they hike three times a week, your dad chops his own wood every day, and they get excellent medical care?”

“That’s part of it. But they eat bacon every day. We need to eat more bacon!”

He put his glasses back on and went back to reading his newspaper.

I gave his suggestion careful consideration before dismissing it in favor of the bacon theory.  And I’ll tell you why. It’s true that my mom loves her hiking. My dad loves the challenge of chopping his own wood. They both love their quick-witted internist who often kids them out of an imagined ailment. They love these things that keep them fit and healthy.

But they also love their bacon. It makes them happy to eat bacon. They eat it every day and feel good doing it. I’m sticking with my original theory on longevity. For them, it’s bacon.
For me, it’s a glass of good wine and a bag of chocolate covered orange gels. If it only gets me to 60, I’ll be a happy 60.

In The Now

We are past fifty. We are deeply into the age of sagging skin, brown spots, love handles, spider veins and a plethora of discolorations, alterations and frustrations over the loss of our once taut, freckle-free bodies.

The panic started for me around the age of 45. Everything was heading South, thinning and wrinkling. I watched other women to see if they were aging at the same rate as I. I asked everyone who looked better than me what they were doing. I started reading articles about products and procedures that would stop this horrifying decay.

At fifty the panic turned to action. I bought the products, scheduled the procedures and started working out like crazy. It certainly helped, but the decaying process still continued. By 57 I had tried everything that seemed practical, but something else had happened as well. Several friends were suddenly faced with life threatening illnesses. My closest friend died. My parents began to lose their consummate youthfulness.

I became somewhat less obsessed with youth and beauty, and a little more focused on living in “the now”. I began looking at new procedures more skeptically, and concentrating more on a diet of fruits and vegetables, only having meat occasionally. A new reality has set in. I find myself reading articles that reflect the change – articles that question the efficacy of lasers, infra-red and radio-frequency treatments. Most doctors say they do very little to tighten our sagging skin or remove our cellulite.

I’ve noticed negative articles about special diets and weight-loss pills. I’ve begun to really hear the advice from trainers to tone down your work outs to avoid hurting yourself. I’ve settled in to a new phase of life, and it feels much more comfortable than the last one.

I’m not giving up my Obagi products. I’m still having my hair highlighted, lowlighted and glossed. My teeth will still get whitened occasionally, and I will still attempt to work out regularly. But I’m determined to learn to love these love handles, and view the brown spots on my hands as signs of 57 years of work well done.

Like Wine, Our Brain Mellows with Age

Posted on the BBC is an interesting article based on a brain imaging study in individuals aged 12 to 79 found that emotional stability continues to improve, even into the seventh decade.

And older people were found to be less neurotic than teenagers. Go figure.

Aging is a Journey Worth Taking

I prop myself on one elbow, beginning the process of getting out of bed, still groggy from my sleeping pill. I roll into a standing position and wait for a few seconds until the blood has reached my legs and the kinks have begun to leave my muscles. The first step, as always, is the hardest - working the arthritic stiffness out of the knees and ankles. 

The real challenge still looms ahead – that first glance in the full-length mirror that I cannot avoid on my way to the bathroom. I knew a long time ago the mirror should go. That reflection can set the tone for a depressing morning.

Worse yet is the next reflection I see – my face. Eyes puffy and red, age spots illuminated by bright overhead lighting. Who is this person??  Fortunately the eyes have dimmed enough that the horror is only partially visible.

I shuffle into the kitchen and groan as I reach down to grab a diet soda on the lowest shelf of the refrigerator. Bending didn’t used to be an ordeal. The caffeine gives me the energy required to step onto the treadmill and start it on low. Realizing I must move my feet or be thrown off the back of the treadmill motivates me to walk. Grudgingly I take the first step. The body is beginning to come back to life.

Facing the day is still impossible until the shower is finished and the makeup is on. Finally, the eyes are fully open, the hair has been molded into place, and the eyebrows have been applied. I look presentable again. People will meet me and say, “Why, you certainly don’t LOOK fifty-seven!” They should have seen me an hour ago.

This is the period of my day when I hate being “older."  There are too many comparisons to the way my body was before the onset of this wonderful mid-life period. I didn’t use to require sleeping pills that leave me groggy. The joints were not always stiff. I once was greeted with a perky reflection in the mirror – even the first glance in the morning. There was a time when putting one foot in front of the other did not require the assistance of a caffeinated beverage.

I had eyebrows then, and baby smooth skin without age spots. But I didn’t like my reflection – perky as it may have been. I think because I didn’t like the person inside all that much. That person still thought that every evil in the world needed to be corrected before I could be happy, that every rejection was cause for self-loathing, and that no one would ever love me the way I needed to be loved.

Getting the body moving was easier, but I didn’t have a clear picture of where I wanted it to go.  Life seemed always to be a journey upstream, uphill or up-for-grabs. I didn’t need substances to help me sleep. I didn’t even really need sleep.  But when I climbed into bed at midnight or 1 AM, it wasn’t with the untroubled contentment of the person today who knows the children have been well-raised, the house is paid for and the marriage is rock-steady.

We trade so much for the comfort of these “later years."  I miss many of the things lost, and sometimes despise the pains that aging has brought. The body hurts more, and my heart hurts more – from friends and family, and even beloved pets that I loved deeply before they left this world. But, oh the wisdom each of those loves and losses brought me. Every single love now is valued a thousand times more than the loves I had in those self-obsessed days before I knew that love could be lost instantly and forever. 

I savor every movement of my body – painful or not – because I have seen it deteriorate enough to realize that the time is now to appreciate this gift of a body that still works, when some at my age have lost the ability to swing a badminton racquet with the kids, or roll around on the floor with a new puppy.

I care more now about who I can love than who might love me.  And even though I miss my eyebrows, I truly have come to believe in my heart that I am more than eyebrows, unlined skin, and a longing need to be loved. I am still growing - but complete - and grateful every day for the lessons I continue to learn on this wonderful journey.

I'm No Sissy

When I was 35 I looked at myself and determined that my former good looks were just that – former.  I had gained ten pounds since turning thirty, I had Crow’s Feet starting to show up around my eyes, and my skin had lost that youthful glow.

At 42, when I surveyed the same aging face I realized that my hair had lost its luster, my upper eyelids were beginning to droop, my eyebrows were fading and my boobs were less perky than they once were. I looked at pictures of myself at thirty-five and was amazed at how perfect I had looked at that age.

At 50 all hell broke loose in the looks department. I started looking at makeup designed for women over 50. My neck had developed a serious case of chicken skin, my butt had slid down the backs of my legs, and my lips and eyebrows had all but disappeared. I looked at pictures from my forties and was struck by how attractive I had been at that age.

It’s no different at 57. I watch videos of myself at 50 and wish I had the same skin and eyes now that I had then. At every age I think I’ve lost any attractiveness I once had. Then at the next stage, I look back and can’t believe how good I looked then, and how devastating the changes have been since then.

I suppose that means that when I’m 70 I’ll look back at 57 and marvel at how good I looked. And at 80 I’ll look back at seventy…etc. etc., etc.  I think at 90 I will stop comparing myself to former selves and embrace my wrinkles and jowls as a sign of a life well-lived. Or not. 

Our vanity is so deeply ingrained I’m not sure it ever goes away. My adorable little Mother still belts everything to create a smaller waistline. She stresses over her hair, and loves to get makeovers in department stores. Doggone it, she was a petite, cute, sexy little thing once – and in her mind she still is. Just as, in my mind, I am still 29 – a good age for me. I feel as cute and sexy as I was then.  Unfortunately it is very clear when I walk into a room that men are not “wanting” me, they are respecting me, if not totally ignoring me. Respect is a good thing. And so is wisdom - and confidence.

Bette Davis said, “Old age is no place for sissies.”  But, you know what?  It’s easier than being young again. I no longer cry over lost loves and career disappointments. I no longer have to win at racquetball or hate myself for all the things I’m not. 

The changes are going to keep happening. I will keep looking back and wondering why I didn’t appreciate myself at all the ages that preceded this one. But with every new stage I will embrace who I have become: a wiser, more balanced, confident woman, belting my blazers to create a waistline and wishing that men still found me HOT!