Battling the beast

Maybe it’s human nature to want to “belong”, to “fit in”.  So what happens when we don’t?

I think, in one way or another, I’ve always been trying to “fit in”.  I’ve been a member of many different groups – Master Swimmers, Hamilton Operatic Society, Waikato Ice Skating Club, NZ Motor Caravan Association, Ulysses, Safety Institute of Australia – and every time I join a group I get involved.  I’ll take on anything.  I’ve been secretary, treasurer, event organizer, web page designer, newsletter editor, envelope stuffer, waiter, chief cook and bottle washer.  And vocal supporter and noisy fan.

And perhaps that’s my problem – I don’t seem able to be “just a member”.  Trouble is, groups are always bemoaning the lack of volunteers and how the bulk of work ends up in the laps of a few, so I’ve always wanted to do my share.  And yet, it seems the more I do the less I am accepted.  It’s as if I offer to do something no-one else seems to want to do, and I’m side-lined because I do that.  What is that about?

Yes, I’m passionate.  Yes, I’m outspoken.  Yes, I can be obnoxious.  So what makes me so different to everyone else on this planet?

Maybe I’m finally tired of trying to fit in.  It’s a demoralising feeling to be somewhere you’re known and yet to 99.9% of people you’re not visible, not even when they are looking directly at you.  Or maybe that is through you.  No eye contact, no recognition, no acknowledgement.

I’m not a forward person – quite the opposite, I’m not at all secure in myself.   I’ve never been good at small talk.  Perhaps that’s an extension of feeling like I don’t fit in – why would anyone be interested in what I have to say?  So often I don’t say anything, and that seems to be taken the wrong way.  Or I jump in feet first with a full-on discussion or debate, and that’s taken the wrong way too.  I shouldn't care, but I do.

So I'll just talk with my fingers, write it here where I can be free with my thoughts and I don’t give a crap if anyone reads it or not, or if they agree or even understand.   

I don't think I'll ever truly “fit in”.  Time to stop trying.

Understanding ageing

For a brief time in my late teenage years I worked a second job as a weekend kitchen hand in a retirement home.  The facility had wards for those who required full time care, and self-contained accommodation units for those who were more able bodied.  One lovely lady in the self-contained units baked every weekend for the residents in the full time care wards.  She amazed me with her determination because her hands were incredibly deformed from osteoarthritis, yet this was a weekly labour of love that she was determined to continue doing until she too had to move into a full time care ward.

At the age I was then, I had absolutely no mindfulness of the ravages of old age on the body.  I could sympathise but I couldn’t understand.   Now, in my 50s, I am only just starting to understand how older people feel when they start to lose the mobility we all take for granted when we are younger.

As I approach my own senior years, my body is starting to undergo degenerative changes that are related to age.  I quite probably assisted the early onset of my approaching atrophy with a life less than ideal in my younger years.  We treat our bodies for the most part with contempt.  Is it any wonder they get back at us as we age?  It’s not a process I am looking forward to, but I won’t let it wear me down.  

   

I have osteoarthritis in my thumbs, and sometimes I lie awake at night with the pain and stretch and twiddle my thumbs and fingers, determined that the loss of cartilage which causes the deformity is not going to win in my hands.  I’m probably too late, and I’m probably kidding myself that my stretching and twiddling will have any beneficial effect, but I’m still way too young to concede defeat to this insidious disease which has already caused me to stop riding, and sell my beloved V-Star 1100.

I have macular degeneration in both eyes, but predominantly in my right eye.  I use the Amsler grid to check the progress of this.  I’ve always had very good peripheral vision, and when the wavy lines take over as they sometimes do, I rely more and more on my peripheral vision.  Going blind is something that scares the crap out of me.  I surf the net for treatments, and find that dietary supplements containing high-dose antioxidants and zinc might help.   Apart from that there doesn’t appear to be much I can do but I’ll keep looking.

I have mild degenerative scoliosis in my lumbar spine as the result of an accident when I was 17.  When my spine goes out of alignment my legs seem to become different lengths and my hips move distinctly to one side.  It’s very painful but after many years of self-management I’ve developed a little routine for pain management which entails hanging – either using my arms or upside down if possible – stretching and walking.  Movement is essential.  

How I cope with these things and other age-related matters is entirely up to me.  I choose to stay reasonably fit.  I belong to a gym.  Until very recently I was a regular at Body Combat classes.  I loved the combination of martial arts moves to music, and I’d been doing it for 10 years but have finally decided I can’t sustain the energy required for an hour.  Instead I now do Sh’Bam, a group dance class, and I walk. 

For the last few years I’ve taken part in the Bridge to Brisbane, the Mother’s Day Classic and other fun runs and walks.  I enjoy the challenge and they help to keep me fit.

I subscribe to sarcopenia.com so I can keep up with ways to keep my muscles active as I get older.  I know I don’t do enough resistance training, but the fact that I am aware of what I should be doing probably puts me way ahead of most other people my age and older.

I also work at keeping my mind active.  I read, surf the internet and contribute to a few forums, do Sudoku and crosswords and am enrolled in a post graduate study program.

Most people have choices about how to manage their own age issues.  Like my elderly friend when I was a weekend kitchen hand at the retirement home so many years ago, I choose to approach my age issues with determination that they will not wear me down, even as my body is determined to wear itself out.  If I can hit my 80s and 90s still upright and still cussing, I’ll be pretty damned happy with myself!

Choices

Recently A Current Affair had a story on scams which targeted the elderly. The general essence of the story was that scammers were somehow worse for preying on the more vulnerable within society. Personally, I believe a scam is a scam, no matter who gets caught up in it, and age and gender play very little part other than in the obvious relationship scams. But a scam can only work if the “target” allows it to.

Many years ago my ex targeted one of my sisters for a loan. The long term result was she had to sell her house to pay the bank, but until then no-one in the family knew what she’d done. She’d slept with him, kept his little secret from me – and everyone else – and yet when the crunch came somehow I was to blame because, despite the fact that he had a very questionable financial history known to the family, he was my ex-husband and he was only around – according to my sister – because I allowed him to be. She has never accepted that she made her own choices.

So it is with any scam. There are choices to be made, and when those choices involve handing over money, for whatever reason, I know I’d like to have all the bases covered – as much as possible – with written contracts witnessed by reputable legal people known to me.

I just can’t understand how someone can hand over thousands of dollars to an unknown entity in order to supposedly receive multi-million dollar lottery winnings from another country in a lottery they never even entered.

Or send huge sums to someone they met through an online dating site and have never met in person.

Or mortgage their house to give money to a person with a proven less-than-acceptable track record with finances.

I do know how desperate people can be, for whatever reason, and it is often the desperation that causes otherwise sensible people to take risks. Desperate for love, desperate for money – or maybe simply desperate to believe that people are intrinsically good. But that doesn’t excuse the foolishness of those who are on the receiving end of a scam. For a scam to work in the first place someone has to allow it.

The adage that keeps popping up is “if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is”. I can empathise with people who get caught, but I find it hard to sympathise with them because, ultimately, they made their own choices.

20 glorious months

A colleague at work recently had a death in his close family, his wife’s mother.  We were talking about the effect this is having on his children since they were very close to their grandmother. 

I have had a chequered relationship with my grandchildren.  Their parents cut us off after we moved to Australia, when the oldest was only a toddler and the youngest wasn’t even born.  Two years ago my son opened communication again and moved his wife and the boys to Brisbane.  When they came here the boys were 2 and 5.  We had 20 wonderful months with them until their parents once again decided to cut us off, and moved the boys back to NZ.  We weren’t told they were going, so were not able to even say goodbye. 

It’s been hard enough to deal with my own grief over the breakdown of this very special relationship, but after talking to my work colleague I looked at it through child eyes.  It must have been so hard for those little boys each time they have been moved.

Before they came to Australia they had already relocated within NZ three times.  Each time they had to build new friendships and acclimatise to a new environment, and they didn’t had the continuous relationships with members of either family that are essential for a balanced childhood.  

When they moved to Brisbane the older boy was enrolled in school and the younger in day care.  Again they developed friendships, as well as building their relationship with us.  20 glorious months, the most stability they had known in their short lives.

Their parents’ selfish decision to move them yet again has meant they have had to start new again – new home, new school, new friends, rebuilding relationships with people they hadn’t seen in two years.  We will never know the reason their parents gave them for moving or why they can no longer see Nan and Pop and others in Australia who love them dearly.

During most of their time in Brisbane they didn’t hear from their other grandmother, because she and their mother weren’t talking.  How sad that children have to be the meat in that sort of sandwich.  My disappointment is with their parents, and I see no reason why the boys should suffer because of that.  I have chosen to keep the relationship with the boys alive, so I write to them regularly and send photos and books and toys.  I know one day I will see them again – it may be many years in the future – but I want them to know that they will always be very special to us.

Life is short.  All too often those closest to us leave a huge hole when they die, and we have to adjust to life without them.  We can’t avoid those situations, but we can and should avoid situations which are within our control.  Why do we inflict a similar pain on our children unnecessarily through separation, simply because we adults can’t see eye to eye?