My 50-something year old patient complained of irritability and impatience.
"I'm not myself," she said.
"That easy irritation, easy frustration, is common at this time of life," I assured her. "Snapping at your husband for the way he chews and stuff like that."
Her eyes widened with surprise and recognition. "Did I tell you tell you that?"
"No," I laughed, "I know about that because I hear about it from a lot of women our age."
"I feel so bad," she said, laughing harder than I was, "asking him how does he make an olive sound like a piece of celery."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Twofer honorary menopause moment
These from Dada:
I'm typing this while the charcoal is heating on the patio. (I'm having my Memorial Day cookout. It's two days late. Reason? When I went to the store on the holiday for my bratwurst cookout items -- buns, brats, potato salad, mustard, etc. -- I returned with everything. Everything except the bratwurst! (And I had a grocery list.) I joined my wife for a veggie meal instead.)
But that's not my point. After reading your very funny MM glasses moment, I just had to share mine from this morning. (BTW, men can have menopause moments too, right? Maybe if not from that, maybe from all the cooked egg whites?)
Today was a landmark day. I would head out early to the Central Appraisal District's office to finally apply for my "over 65" property tax exemption. Mrs. Dada volunteered to go along.
"No, you sleep in, this shouldn't take me long," was my response. To make sure everything went smoothly, I even thought to take a copy of my birth certificate. I drove the 12 miles to their office very early as Mrs. Dada slept. Everything went exactly as I'd planned.
There were no crowds, I immediately signed in and moments later, before a clerk, was all set to go. That is, until she asked, "May I see a photo ID, like your a driver's license, please?"
Hopelessly groping for my wallet was futile. "Oh, I think I left it at home," I said sheepishly, sliding my birth certificate toward her. We both laughed as she slid my rejected birth certificate back to me as I related how the last things my wife always asks me as I depart the house to go shopping are, "Got the cell phone?" and "Do you have your wallet?" (It's almost embarrassing.)
This morning I wish she hadn't slept in, that she'd been around to ask me that last question; to save me 24 miles, a lot of time, and maybe an embarrassing menopause moment.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
More adventures through the reading glasses
If it weren't for misadventures with readers, most days I'd have no menopause moments at all.
My patient and I wound up the annual visit with a little chitchat on aging and the challenges thereof. I gathered up my pen, my stethoscope, her chart, and prepared for a graceful exit from the exam room. Oh yeah, and my reading glasses, there they were on the desk by her chart.
"Whoa," says my patient, gently prying them from my grasp. "Those are mine...you're wearing yours!"
My patient and I wound up the annual visit with a little chitchat on aging and the challenges thereof. I gathered up my pen, my stethoscope, her chart, and prepared for a graceful exit from the exam room. Oh yeah, and my reading glasses, there they were on the desk by her chart.
"Whoa," says my patient, gently prying them from my grasp. "Those are mine...you're wearing yours!"
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Fat city!
A perfect Saturday morning for pancakes, cool and breezy, and I'm blowing off exercise class for a leisurely brunch.
Is it the coolness? The ambient humidity? Why is this batter so thick? Like bread dough thick. I add more buttermilk which briefly thins it out, then it gels back into a pasty goo. I add still a bit more liquid--cautiously, one teaspoon at a time as I'd once thinned a previous batch unto ruin--then I scrape three cakes-worth into the pan scarcely able to get the stuff off of the spoon.
My kids are way past pancake smiley faces, in fact neither one was even home for pancake anything. But listen, this plaster-of-pancake could've been sculpted into 3-D clowns at this point. Midway through cake one, I realize no one could eat two of these things and rise off the kitchen chair to tell about it. My husband graciously allows that "the consistency is atrocious."
Then he leaves his panbrick half-eaten and starts to put the ingredients away.
"Did you use heavy cream to make these pancakes?" he asks, holding up a half-empty quart of heavy whipping cream that looks suspiciously like the buttermilk container.
And I realize, with a literal lump in my stomach, that I've just put away nearly a half cup of real deal cream. Back to bed for a nap, too full for anything else.
Is it the coolness? The ambient humidity? Why is this batter so thick? Like bread dough thick. I add more buttermilk which briefly thins it out, then it gels back into a pasty goo. I add still a bit more liquid--cautiously, one teaspoon at a time as I'd once thinned a previous batch unto ruin--then I scrape three cakes-worth into the pan scarcely able to get the stuff off of the spoon.
My kids are way past pancake smiley faces, in fact neither one was even home for pancake anything. But listen, this plaster-of-pancake could've been sculpted into 3-D clowns at this point. Midway through cake one, I realize no one could eat two of these things and rise off the kitchen chair to tell about it. My husband graciously allows that "the consistency is atrocious."
Then he leaves his panbrick half-eaten and starts to put the ingredients away.
"Did you use heavy cream to make these pancakes?" he asks, holding up a half-empty quart of heavy whipping cream that looks suspiciously like the buttermilk container.
And I realize, with a literal lump in my stomach, that I've just put away nearly a half cup of real deal cream. Back to bed for a nap, too full for anything else.
Friday, April 24, 2009
"Dying for a hamburger"
What a fascinating and highly readable book--when was the last time you raced through a non-fiction treatise?
Dr. Waldman and Ms. Lamb have written a winner, and I'm sorry to see it buried in the Amazon stacks without notice or acclaim. I don't even remember how I stumbled on this title but I'm glad I did. In the process of explaining how a hamburger may permanently alter your brain--for the worse--the authors take the reader through the history of cognition and aging as found in scientific textbooks, philosophy, and literature to prove that losing your marbles through the years is a relatively new phenomenon.
Then they move on to cannibalism, horrific neurodegenerative diseases, the germ theory of disease, the biology of prions, the evolving nature of the human diet, the complex relationship of humans to cattle, the meat-packing industry, and international food standards.
Consider the elegance of their explanation of misfolded proteins (the biological basis of neurodegenerative diseases) as seen in the common egg white:
"Imagine a large bowl of raw egg whites. These whites are made of a protein called albumin, which is folded in a unique way.. Because of its shape, this protein is a translucent liquid and can be dissolved in water, Now place a tiny amount of the egg whites in boiling water, where it cooks immediately. The protein is still albumin, but now it is a solid instead of a liquid...there is no way that the cooked egg whites can be made to revert to their uncooked state. All these changes happen because the protein is now folded in a different manner."
Want to better understand how you might possibly cook your brains with a misguided modern diet and the inattention of those to whom we entrust our food supply? Order one of Amazon's bargain-priced, used copies--this book is great food for thought.
Dr. Waldman and Ms. Lamb have written a winner, and I'm sorry to see it buried in the Amazon stacks without notice or acclaim. I don't even remember how I stumbled on this title but I'm glad I did. In the process of explaining how a hamburger may permanently alter your brain--for the worse--the authors take the reader through the history of cognition and aging as found in scientific textbooks, philosophy, and literature to prove that losing your marbles through the years is a relatively new phenomenon.
Then they move on to cannibalism, horrific neurodegenerative diseases, the germ theory of disease, the biology of prions, the evolving nature of the human diet, the complex relationship of humans to cattle, the meat-packing industry, and international food standards.
Consider the elegance of their explanation of misfolded proteins (the biological basis of neurodegenerative diseases) as seen in the common egg white:
"Imagine a large bowl of raw egg whites. These whites are made of a protein called albumin, which is folded in a unique way.. Because of its shape, this protein is a translucent liquid and can be dissolved in water, Now place a tiny amount of the egg whites in boiling water, where it cooks immediately. The protein is still albumin, but now it is a solid instead of a liquid...there is no way that the cooked egg whites can be made to revert to their uncooked state. All these changes happen because the protein is now folded in a different manner."
Want to better understand how you might possibly cook your brains with a misguided modern diet and the inattention of those to whom we entrust our food supply? Order one of Amazon's bargain-priced, used copies--this book is great food for thought.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Well maybe a backhoe...
Power Point slide at a continuing medical education conference I attended today:
"A Tough Road to Hoe"
Ho, ho, ho. Maybe the lecturer was too young to know her way down a row.
"A Tough Road to Hoe"
Ho, ho, ho. Maybe the lecturer was too young to know her way down a row.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Were both our oars in the water?
I went out to lunch today with the mother of my daughter's boyfriend (if there's not a word for such a person in relationship to oneself, there should be!). She was in town for a convention, and it was high time that we bonded. We had a lovely talk over salmon salads and several cups of coffee.
After lunch, next agenda item was a trip to the art museum, but first stop was an urgent visit to the restroom there. While I was finishing up my business in the stall, I heard a woman singing. As we were the only ones in the room, I thought "Good lord she's singing in a public restroom." Simultaneous thoughts included "Are we old enough for that sort of thing?" and "That's something my mother would've done."
As I came out, H had a funny smile on her face and asked "Did you hear that?"
"You mean the singing?" I answered. "I thought it was you."
As I said this, I stuck my hands beneath the motion-activated faucet and it began to sing 'Row, row, row your boat' in a deep baritone. H stuck her hands back under the stream in her sink and a woman's voice chimed in, singing in a round along with the man in mine.
I kid you not. The sinks in the Denver Art Museum sing. And H and I bonded in a menopause moment of laughter.
After lunch, next agenda item was a trip to the art museum, but first stop was an urgent visit to the restroom there. While I was finishing up my business in the stall, I heard a woman singing. As we were the only ones in the room, I thought "Good lord she's singing in a public restroom." Simultaneous thoughts included "Are we old enough for that sort of thing?" and "That's something my mother would've done."
As I came out, H had a funny smile on her face and asked "Did you hear that?"
"You mean the singing?" I answered. "I thought it was you."
As I said this, I stuck my hands beneath the motion-activated faucet and it began to sing 'Row, row, row your boat' in a deep baritone. H stuck her hands back under the stream in her sink and a woman's voice chimed in, singing in a round along with the man in mine.
I kid you not. The sinks in the Denver Art Museum sing. And H and I bonded in a menopause moment of laughter.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
At a lost for words at the dry cleaners?
Oh this was too rich to relegate to the comments section. I recently wrote a post about a hare-brained encounter with the kindly Korean lady at my local dry cleaners, and wondered therein how I could explain my 'menopause moment' to her lest she suspect I was losing my mind.
MidlifeMidwife came to my rescue with this language lesson:
MidlifeMidwife came to my rescue with this language lesson:
"geng nyeon gi ga wa so, mi chyeot na bwa yo. shirl soo hes so yo "
Literally, "because of menopause I went crazy and made a mistake" More like I wasn't in my right mind because of menopause.
(sorry, couldn't resist, my son speaks Korean)
(sorry, couldn't resist, my son speaks Korean)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
How's this for openers?
This menopause moment brought to you by Wendy, a blogger friend whose exploits rival mine; either neither one of us is losing it, or we both are!
I was walking round the neighbourhood this morning. The sun was out and the air was nice and warm. We still have snowbanks all around, but they are fast receding. Coming to a muddy ditch, I stopped to watch the fast-moving, icy-looking water, as it ran downhill towards the village.
Smiling and happy, I reach the end of my street, where our post-boxes stand like soldiers by the side of the road. Reaching into my coat pocket, I grasp my set of keys and nonchalantly push the button.
Nothing happens.
I push again.
Oh no!
Quickly, I look around. Nobody has seen me.
Whew!
Fitting my key into the lock on my mailbox, I take out the day's mail.
I can't believe I just tried to open my mailbox with my car door opener!
And my car, of course is at home, sitting innocently in the garage.
I was walking round the neighbourhood this morning. The sun was out and the air was nice and warm. We still have snowbanks all around, but they are fast receding. Coming to a muddy ditch, I stopped to watch the fast-moving, icy-looking water, as it ran downhill towards the village.
Smiling and happy, I reach the end of my street, where our post-boxes stand like soldiers by the side of the road. Reaching into my coat pocket, I grasp my set of keys and nonchalantly push the button.
Nothing happens.
I push again.
Oh no!
Quickly, I look around. Nobody has seen me.
Whew!
Fitting my key into the lock on my mailbox, I take out the day's mail.
I can't believe I just tried to open my mailbox with my car door opener!
And my car, of course is at home, sitting innocently in the garage.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Non-neurotic extraverts don't dement!
Just untangling the conclusions of this Swedish study was a brain workout in its own right, a downright 'how much wood would a woodchuck chuck..." sort of puzzle:
Neither high neuroticism nor low extraversion alone was related to significantly higher incidence of dementia. However, among people with an inactive or socially isolated lifestyle, low neuroticism was associated with a decreased dementia risk (hazard ratio [HR] = 0.51, 95% confidence interval [CI] = 0.27-0.96). When compared to persons with high neuroticism and high extraversion, a decreased risk of dementia was detected in individuals with low neuroticism and high extraversion (HR = 0.51, 95% CI = 0.28-0.94), but not among persons with low neuroticism and low extraversion (HR = 0.95, 95% CI = 0.57-1.60), nor high neuroticism and low extraversion (HR = 0.97 95% CI = 0.57-1.65).(1)
Got it? So do we fret and socialize, stay home and calmly knit, or placidly go out drinking with our buddies? Don't freak out while you discuss this conundrum with your friends because, as you will see once you sort out the various possibilities here, being a Buddha of a buddy is your best bet for the brightest brain.
_____
Wang, HX, et al. Personality and lifestyle in relation to dementia incidence. Neurology. 2009 Jan 20;72(3):253-9.
Neither high neuroticism nor low extraversion alone was related to significantly higher incidence of dementia. However, among people with an inactive or socially isolated lifestyle, low neuroticism was associated with a decreased dementia risk (hazard ratio [HR] = 0.51, 95% confidence interval [CI] = 0.27-0.96). When compared to persons with high neuroticism and high extraversion, a decreased risk of dementia was detected in individuals with low neuroticism and high extraversion (HR = 0.51, 95% CI = 0.28-0.94), but not among persons with low neuroticism and low extraversion (HR = 0.95, 95% CI = 0.57-1.60), nor high neuroticism and low extraversion (HR = 0.97 95% CI = 0.57-1.65).(1)
Got it? So do we fret and socialize, stay home and calmly knit, or placidly go out drinking with our buddies? Don't freak out while you discuss this conundrum with your friends because, as you will see once you sort out the various possibilities here, being a Buddha of a buddy is your best bet for the brightest brain.
_____
Wang, HX, et al. Personality and lifestyle in relation to dementia incidence. Neurology. 2009 Jan 20;72(3):253-9.
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