I'm not a woman who has ever obsessed about her age. Just like everyone, I do recall the ages in my life when I stopped and took notice.
- The first time was when I turned 10 years old. I was so excited to hit double digits.
- 13 followed letting the world know that I was finally a teenager.
with my cousin
- I recall 16 because I was so fearful that my mother would have a Sweet 16 Party for me. Really, I should have known better. It didn't happen and wasn't even a thought.
- At 17, I could finally drive.
(with my cousin Charlie) - At 18, I was old enough to legally drink in a bar in New York. I had been hanging in the bars for a few years by then, but I was now legal.
- At 20, I thought of the lyrics from a Neil Young song, "You can't be 20 on sugar mountain". A friend from high school sent me a card with the song lyrics in it. It drove the point home. I didn't know where sugar mountain was, but I couldn't go there.
- When I turned 21 I was now of legal age to drink in Indiana where I attended college. I didn't have to use my fake ID any more. I was now back to being Sharon instead of Carol.
- I paused for a moment at 30 and thought of the statement that I heard a lot during the 70s, "Don't trust anyone over 30". I really didn't know what that meant, so I just let that thought go and moved on.
Other than those thoughts or events, I didn't think much about my age or the aging process. I never had big birthday celebrations, it just wasn't important to me. There were times when someone would ask me my age and I would have to pause and think about it because I wasn't sure. I didn't feel any different as the years went on. I related to people of all ages, young and old.
The years went by bringing me many good times, as well as, times of struggle and growth. Obsessing about my age just wasn't one of them. It was sometime in my 40s, I don't recall the exact age when I began to notice physical changes. The first thing I noticed was not being able to read a serial number on the back of a television. No big deal, I only needed to read small print like that once in a while for work. Then I began having trouble telling the difference between the letter G and the number 6 on my computer at work. Hmm, I thought……No big deal, I'll just enlarge the font. Then I couldn't see all the letters that made up the words in the book I was reading in bed at night. I finally cried "uncle" and bought a pair of cheaters at the local drug store. I was OK, because I only needed them on occasion.
At about the same time, I noticed that when I rolled from side to side in bed my hips and shoulders would hurt. It wasn't like I had been to the gym. Hmm, I thought….Aches and pains and I didn't even workout. No problem, ibuprofen was readily available. Then there were those rare occasions where I stayed out very late. I would wake up the next day and feel like I had been drinking all night. The only problem was that I hadn't had any alcohol to drink at all.
Well, as my 40s crawled forward I found myself wearing prescription glasses. In an effort to continue to hold on to my youth and look cool, not that I was ever cool, I decided that I would get prescription sunglasses. There was no way I could bring myself to get the economical clip ons. I have to be honest, I really thought I had it going on. The cool factor didn't last long. When our youngest daughter, Erika saw me in the glasses she looked at me and said, "Oh my gosh, you look like that guy. You know the old singer who is blind. Elton John." Really, Elton John. I look like Elton John. He was cool when I was growing up. I'm not in denial, he's older and not in the best shape, but I look like the old blind guy. My response, "Elton John isn't blind that's Stevie Wonder." Erika, "Then why does he always have those dark glasses on that blind people wear." Me, "They're not glasses blind people wear. They're sunglasses and he wears them all the time, even inside because he's Elton John. He's cool." Erika, "Yea, not really." I'll have to admit, I haven't felt the same about those sunglasses. Every time I put them on I hear those words, "You look like the old blind guy." Elton John, the old blind guy. UGH!!!
During this time, on occasion I would see a chin hair. No big deal, grab the tweezers and its gone in an instant. Then it happened, I started to get clusters of hairs on my chin. I'm not talking little thin hairs. I'm talking Thick Black Man Hairs. YIKES! Shirl was regulated to nightly plucking duty. Why? Because I couldn't see well enough in the 10X magnifying mirror to get those suckers myself with the tweezers. The last thing I wanted to be was the bearded woman of Clifton Park. I recall my Italian grandmother when she was in the hospital and she was too sick to be aware. The hairs on her chin were prominent and no one plucked them for her. I totally understand that they were the least of her problems at that time, but really. I never thought it would happen to me. I'm of Swedish and Italian decent. I have fair skin and blue eyes. I thought I was spared and just assumed I didn't have any of the dark Italian hair below the surface. I was in a tailspin. It was then that I made Shirl promise that if I was ever in the hospital or a nursing home, she would make sure my chin hairs were maintained. Better yet I thought, I'll go and have them zapped off with a laser. After all, it was guaranteed. So, $1,000 later and many painful zaps to my chin and I thought I was set for life. Well, they came back. OMG, how could this be? All that time, money and pain. OK, next-Electrolysis. "I have to do what?" I have to let them grow in, or you can't remove them. How can I go to work like that?" Well, I sucked it up, pushed my pride aside and went to work with whiskers. Then the painful, pore by pore electorcution and extraction of each hair began. After 2 years and a close personal relationship with my neighbor who does this out of her house, I realized I was still going and although most of the original hairs were gone, there were three times as many new hairs popping up to take their place. Why????? Apparently, my estrogen was running out. A woman with no estrogen and a gun can be a dangerous combination.
I actually thought about getting in touch with a transgendered woman to find out how they deal with the situation. I mean Donna Rose is a beautiful woman and I don't see any evidence of facial hair. Then again, she takes estrogen and that's probably why she doesn't have to fight her former man hairs.
I decided to give up the weekly appointments. Shirl is now delegated to 20 minutes of nightly hair plucking. My neighbor thinks I'm cheating on her with another electrologist. Go figure.....
I realized there were a lot of things going on at the same time. I noticed one day, that I had a white eyebrow. "Shirl, look at this. How odd, I have an eyebrow that is white." Shirl, "Ah Sharon, that's a grey eyebrow." Me, "What, how can that be?" When I look back I wonder how could it be that I was in shock? Really. I had been dying my hair forever. I don't even know what my original hair color is anymore. I have to admit, by this time in my life it felt like every two weeks Shirl would say, we have to do your hair. I'm not one who fusses over my hair. Now, it's become a project. The last thing I needed was another project. I recently suggested that I should go natural. Shirl's response, "You'll look ten years older." Well, I'm not ready for that although I do see many women who can rock the grey hair.
Then one day when I got to work, I looked in the rear view mirror before exiting the car and noticed that the little bit of eyeliner that I had on was practically smeared on my forehead. How could this be. OMG, my face was in total collapse. I remember when I went away to college and would come home, I noticed collapse in the faces of my mother and aunts. How could this be happening to me? I have been on a mission since then to find an eyeliner that stays where it is supposed to. I've even taken a look at some plastic surgery sites, but that's not an option. One visit to the "plastic surgery gone wrong" site and you're cured. I've been to Sephora and every drugstore. I'm still searching for the eyeliner that I like and stays where you draw it on. For now, I still do the finger swoop on my upper lids before I exit the car. I've never worn much makeup anyway, so I don't know what other women who really paint their faces do.
Then there are the physical issues again. Shirl and I always pride ourselves on doing most of the work in our house. So, we were finishing off the basement and my back went out. I was able to make it to the bathroom where it spasmed again and I was down for the count. "Shirl, don't call an ambulance. I just need to rest and the spasms will stop." Shirl is not one to waste precious time, so she let me be for what I thought was a short time. Shirl, "Sharon, it's Sunday night. You've been on this bathroom floor for 5 hours. I've cleaned the entire house and fed the kids." We have work tomorrow, I have to call the ambulance. Me, "OK, no lights or sirens." After being carried out on a stretcher, ambulance ride and administered 5 different pain meds at the hospital, I was finally able to crawl into our car and come home. My back has never been the same. It always hurts. Some days more than others. I'm supposed to follow this stretching routine every day. I don't, but I really should. It's just part of who I am now. I've learned to pre-medicate with ibuprofen before a tennis match or any other activity. I noticed that most women my age do the same.
Ah, tennis. That brings me to another confusing time in my life. When I was about 46, I had people in the tennis club coming up to me asking me if I was 50. My response, "Not yet." I never wondered why I was being asked this question. Instead I thought to myself, Damn, do I look 50? Well, after being asked again and again, one woman explained to me that she was recruiting for her friend's Senior WWT Team. You qualify to start playing the year you turn 50. I thought to myself.... senior tennis starts at 50? What do they call it when you turn 60? Oh silly me, that's the Super Seniors. I was thrilled to be recruited and am now a proud member of an awesome (senior) team that is undefeated in this area. However, the picture was beginning to get clearer.
Then it happened. My son was visiting. We were sitting in the living room and I was on my cell phone trying to change a setting. After some time, my son reached over and said, "Give me that," and he pulled it out of my hands. In less than 30 seconds, he changed the setting and gave it back to me. I remember doing something like that to my grandmother when I was in my 20s. What happened? I love technology and always felt that I was cutting edge and now I can't handle a cell phone setting. It wasn't looking good. I'm not going to even get into the music issue. If I did this blog would never end.
So, the day was approaching when I would turn 50. My family decided that I should have a party, so I went along with it. I remember telling my son that by the time I turned 50, I was going to be in the best shape of my life. He advised me that my goal was unrealistic. I assured him it wasn't. Four months before my b-day, I found myself having bunion surgery on my left foot. Really, bunion surgery? Was it necessary for me to fill every stereotype of an aging woman?
Well, 50 came and my family and friends helped me celebrate that my life was more than halfway over. I mean that I reached this wonderful milestone. My son was right, I wasn't in the best shape of my life. I was still recovering from my foot surgery and a little over my comfortable weight limit, but I felt OK. I got dressed for the party, but got very hot and changed to my Bruce Spingsteen T-shirt. Heck, I was cool. Oh yea, the hot thing. I didn't mention that yet. It's such a fascinating phenomenon. You go to bed and all of a sudden you start having waves of hot flashes that make you want to jump up and rip your skin off. I never liked AC and I could never sleep with a fan on. The AC is now on all the time and the fan never goes off. Not even in the winter when the window is left halfway open, no matter how cold it is outside.
Fast forward and this spring I crashed my motorcycle. It was bad, I had a helicopter ride to the hospital and I don't even remember. It was my first helicopter ride and I would have definitely taken pictures with my cell phone. I don't remember three weeks of my life. Apparently, I was up and about, but it's not even a distant memory. I now struggle with post concussion syndrome. I don't know what is part of the aging process and what is from the concussion. Perhaps it's better that way. I've decided to blame it all on the concussion.
I've been talking to Shirl about the aging process. She's four years younger and has had a different experience. I told her that I'm even feeling old at work. I was in training for my new position with over 50 people who appeared to be 12 years old. Shirl tells me that it's because our company recently hired hundreds of young people and we're not use to it. I have met some really nice people over the last few months. When they tell me that they are 24, I think to myself "I'm old enough to be your mother".
Shirl, Erika and I were recently at the NYC Ballet where we ran into some friends. One is about my age and one is 10 years younger. We started talking about the aging process. I don't know how that happened. It's not like it's on my mind all the time, just 99% of the time. My friend started sharing the stretching exercises that she does every night in bed in an effort to stretch out her hips that are also running out of synovial fluid. Wow, I thought…I like the sound of that exercise, I could do that while I watch TV. Next, we went on to the new routine I had adopted from a book I was reading about turning 50. I had incorporated a new facial cleansing/hydrating routines in an effort to try and look the best I could. My friend then mentioned her routine for her teeth. "Oh yea," I replied, "I have to do that too." What about all those yearly doctor appointments, the routine check-up, the bone scan, the mammogram, colonoscopies, blood work, flu and pneumonia shots and an occasional x-ray or MRI. I shared my thoughts that the running around is so stressful that I planned on making all my appointments next year to that they were scheduled in one week. I would just take a week off from work to take care of everything. It seems so much easier than scheduling appointments before or after work. Wow, if that doesn't sound like a statement from an older person. Now that is so not my idea of a week's vacation!
I realize I'm lucky to be in good shape for "my age". Here is a picture of my great-grandmother, Beata, who immigrated from Sweden. The first one was taken during the 1st few years she was in the United States. I've been told I look like her and that makes me smile.
Here is a picture of Beata at 50 with her dog and me at 50 with my dogs. She died when she was 51. I'll be 51 in October.
How lucky am I. I know that she had a very hard life and mine is so blessed. I have a wonderful wife. Heck, I can have a wife. I adore our three kids and I have a life that many people dream of. I may struggle with the aging process, but I'll take it over the alternative.
I then had my Ah-Ha moment. Not the big "Oprah Ah-Ha moment" that I've been waiting a lifetime to have, but an Ah-Ha moment indeed. My new life routines of hair plucking, facial regimens, teeth cleaning, stretching, counting points on Weight Watchers, getting our fans in place at night and going to doctors does eat up a lot of time. That's why there are "Blue Light Dinner Specials." The restaurants get older people in the doors earlier by offering a great price. For us, it's right after our doctor appointments and its early enough to allow us enough time to get home and do all "aging" people things before bedtime.
Now, that was therapeutic.
