Me? Defending Prescription Drugs?

A dear friend, Caroline*, recently announced that she chooses to live her life without prescription drugs. A few years ago, her doctor told her she had high blood pressure, and advised her to begin a regimen of blood pressure medication. Caroline never went back to the doctor, and currently has no firm plans for a checkup. 

When I read this declaration on her popular blog, I was stunned and worried about this woman, a lady with an extraordinarily beautiful soul, who is as precious as a sister to me. Although I share some of Caroline’s views that prescription drugs can possibly cause harm and prolong life without maintaining an acceptable quality of life, I hope I can convince her to rethink her choice to avoid doctors and completely refuse any prescription medicine.

In her post, Caroline cites the experiences of her brother and father. Both men died too young. Her brother underwent a time of kidney dialysis, until his life was an endless round of visits to the dialysis center. His quality of life was miserable, and he finally chose to refuse treatment. Caroline’s father began his decline with the simple step of taking blood pressure medicine that led to more and more prescriptions, and death at 67. Knowing Caroline’s loving nature, watching these adored family members succumb to ill health was heartrending and hellish for her.

She has a valid point when she rebels against the idea that there is a pill for every minor-to- major blip on our health radar, and that sometimes the smart thing to do is to say no or at least get a second opinion before embarking on drug therapy. Our nation is awash in a sea of pills. With a Walgreens, a CVS, or a Rite Aid on nearly every corner, drug ads on prime time TV, and even children taking prescriptions in record numbers, we are over-medicated, as Caroline implies. Having had some unfortunate experiences with drugs, I can understand why she is wary of being made sick from prescription pills.

My own best example of prescription troubles started when I was in my late forties and was diagnosed with slightly elevated cholesterol. My doctor prescribed statins, and I remember being hopeful that these common drugs would lower my lipids. After all, many people take statins, they are considered safe overall, and some doctors believe so strongly in them that they propose adding them to the public water supply! At this time, I also got serious about my diet, added more exercise, and lost twenty pounds, bringing me into a healthy BMI. Proud of my lifestyle changes and sure that along with the statins, my cholesterol levels would be the envy of all, I had another blood test. My cholesterol had gone UP!

First, I was incredulous, then dismayed and discouraged. How was this possible? My physician, Dr. D., was unconcerned, and told me that some people had hereditary high levels that were stubborn to treat. Over the next eight years, she tried me on four different statins, and on increasingly higher doses. At the highest dose of the strongest statin, my back, wrists, and muscles began to ache. Brushing it aside as too much time spent commuting and working at the computer, eventually I complained to Dr. D. She advised me to stop the statins, and a scant week later my painful back, joint and muscle pains disappeared. 

The pain that I thought might be my lot to bear for the rest of my life—after all, old people have aches and pains, right?—had been caused by the pills that were supposed to make me “well.” The statins had caused me to ache all over, and had NOT reduced my cholesterol to “healthy” levels. This experience shook my faith in the marvels of supposedly safe modern drug therapies.

So I approach any prescription drug with caution, and with the thought that if the drug does not accomplish its stated goal within a reasonable amount of time and with a minimum of negative side effects, it’s time for a second opinion. But I feel bound to add that over-the-counter drugs, vitamins, and herbal supplements need much the same caution. Tylenol can be deadly to the liver, vitamins can be toxic at too high levels, and herbal supplements should be considered as potentially as powerful, and as prone to unpleasant side-effects or interactions as any prescription drug.

We can’t be passive consumers; we must do our research and due diligence. It exhausts me to put so much thought into health, but I haven’t found a shortcut around working with my doctor while also trying to stay reasonably well informed about any drugs she prescribes. Additionally, I attempt to keep up with ongoing research for my health conditions.  Alternative therapies can help in some cases—I also get therapeutic massage and I’ve tried acupuncture.

After my sobering experience with statins, one might expect that I am living a happy-go-lucky, drug-free life. I was, for about six months. Then some other conditions reared their ugly heads; I now take 3 prescription drugs on a daily basis. I’m not thrilled, but I have realized that my current prescriptions are necessary for me to function. The drugs keep me going; without them, I would not be able to work, to be here for my husband, or for my aging mother. 

I used to have concerns, as Caroline does, about “what if I have to stay on these drugs the rest of my life?” For me, and for many people, if prescription drugs are what it takes, so be it; we are resigned. Sometimes, we’re even grateful. At least these drugs are available, and the alternative for me is near complete disability. Without these drugs, there would be no “rest of my life” to worry about.

Further, I would tell Caroline that yes, she is her own woman and she has the right to refuse treatment. We have the freedom to choose how to live, and how to die. However, she is not an island. She has a loving husband, children, grandchildren, and many friends who all love her. We don’t want her to die too young. We don’t want her to suffer anything remotely near the fates of her father and brother. We do want her to consider finding a doctor she has can develop a trusting relationship with,  and who in turn answers her questions about high blood pressure, possible treatments, and recommended lifestyle changes.

We want this for her not because we are trying to tell her what to do or because we are trying to make her feel guilty, ashamed, or unreasonable for her choices. We want her to be WELL, to live a long time among us, and when the time comes, to be able to have a dignified, pain-free death.

Prescription drugs are not inherently good or evil. They are chemical compounds, as are OTC drugs, herbal supplements, and the food and drink we consume daily. Our own physical bodies, at the most basic level, are chemicals. Prescription drugs are sometimes useful chemical tools that can help to decrease or delay many diseases. Life expectancy was a bitterly short 47 years for an average American woman in 1900 (University of California, Berkeley, n.d.). The average woman today can expect to live 33 years longer, to over age 80. The CDC (2008) says Caroline, as a Hispanic woman, can expect 3 years more than that, on average, 83 years! 

Prescription drugs are certainly no guarantee of longer life. However, many people would agree that when used judiciously under the supervision of a knowledgeable, caring physician, drugs are an option we sometimes must consider.  Caroline—please make that doctor appointment soon. We love you and want you healthy, happy and with us for many, many years to come!

*not her real name

This blog is not intended as medical advice. Consult your own health care professionals for advice related to health and prescription drugs.

Staging My Comeback, Maybe?

I picked up a book by Christopher Hopkins the other day: Staging Your Comeback. His topic of midlife makeovers for the style-impaired tied in perfectly with a self-improvement project I’ve embarked upon. 

I’ve been on a mini-campaign of spending more time on myself. Trying to enhance my midlife health and self-esteem has me eating Greek yogurt, taking more walk-breaks than sit-breaks at work, getting deep tissue massages, doing a little yoga.

Most importantly, I’m trying to keep my self-talk as kind to ME as I would be to a FRIEND, instead of looking in the mirror with a sigh or a groan.

On Mr. Hopkins’ advice, I reviewed my wardrobe. I’d been following the folks over at The Great American Apparel Diet who vowed not to buy any new clothes for a year—surprisingly easy to do with my aversion to shopping and those badly lit, evil mummy-crypt dressing rooms in particular.

So my wardrobe was in a particularly grim condition. My knit shirts are pilled and droopy, or shrunken. My black slacks have been washed so often they’re dark gray. Don’t even ask about my undergarments—they aren’t even suitable for dust rags.

So I clicked the computer mouse a few times, the UPS man came, and I had a couple of new pairs of fun printed capris, knit sleeveless layering tops, and some ¾ sleeve open weave, tunic length cardigans that I was sure were all the rage.

Yay! I can totally have a comeback! The internet was built for GOOD, if it can make pretty capris show up on my front porch lickity-split.

I care about my appearance, even at 55! I’m going to stand up straight. Look out, world! I am sexy, I am a real woman, power to the feminine, this earth goddess has wings! And I’m out of breath!

Later that day, still basking in the new glow of my mid-life confidence, I accompanied my mother to church. A lovely, but quite elderly lady of 80+ years was walking with a cane in front of us as we went in. Her hair was as white and puffy as a dandelion ball. And she was wearing my butterfly print capris with a sweet crocheted sweater that bore a remarkable resemblance to the one Mr. UPS had delivered to my front porch.

I was the balloon, and she was the needle. Pop! Her comeback was going quite well, but mine was dealt a setback, let’s call it. I guess it’s better to be dressing too old for my age rather than too young. Bah.

So you don’t need to worry about me getting vain, peeps. My humility is intact. My comeback has been temporarily postponed.

But I did hear Kohl’s is having a BIG sale this coming weekend….

Say What? "American Voters Don't Like Older Women"

Why should I care?

Why am I letting it bother me that I heard yet another conversation telling me older women are distasteful and irrelevant?

The source of the specious judgment was a commentator I formerly admired, Melissa Harris-Perry, age 39, educated in my home state at venerable North Carolina colleges Wake Forest and Duke University. She’s a professor of political science at Tulane University in New Orleans.

Some Sunday mornings I watch Melissa Harris-Perry’s political talk show on MSNBC. Bright and savvy, she has guests who spark lively conversations. Related to their prospects of making presidential bids, a discussion of the age difference between Joe Biden, 69, and Paul Ryan, 42, came up, and segued to Hillary Clinton’s possible candidacy in 2016.

Melissa drew back in dismay at the mention of Mrs. Clinton’s name, pulling away as if burned. “No,” she said.

No? What does she mean, no? What is going on here? I wondered.

“American voters don’t like older women. We won’t even buy makeup from aging women…as an aging woman, Hillary Clinton becomes less and less appealing to American voters, not in a way that’s fair….”

One of her panel members, Republican strategist Robert Traynham, broke in, defending Hillary, proving once again that politics make strange bedfellows. A male Republican defending Clinton? Whoa.

Mr. Traynham wanted to argue that Harris-Perry’s concern about “aging women” didn’t apply to Mrs. Clinton for a number of reasons. Unfortunately, he was cut off by another commentator who took the conversation in a different direction.

I sat there in front of the TV, coffee cup in hand. Did I misunderstand, somehow?

Surely Melissa Harris-Perry was not dissing older women? I must have been mistaken.

So I’ve replayed the video several times since Sunday. Harris-Perry’s facial expressions, intakes of breath, and body language belied her attempts to temper her comments with “not in a way that’s fair,” and “no, she’s [Hillary Clinton] enormously popular right now.”

Harris-Perry even threw in a further tidbit: “it’s not hard to be popular,” dismissing all Clinton’s years of public service as a mere popularity contest which anyone could pull off.

It's not hard to be popular?

What?

Now, read my lips, my outrage is not so much for Hillary Clinton as an individual, as it is for all “aging women.” Hillary can take care of herself—she doesn’t need me to make her relevant or to tout her impressive resume.

My outrage is for how little attitudes have changed towards women at midlife and older. An enlightened woman like Harris-Perry taking such a dim view of older women is truly sad.

I would love to be around in 15 years, when Harris-Perry is 54, to replay this tape for her. I’d like to ask her then what she thinks of “aging women” and whether she thinks that whatever the “American people” think of older women means that we should dry up and blow away. We don’t need to consider running for president, because we offend the general public so much they won’t even buy makeup from us.

What will "older woman" Harris-Perry say then, do you suppose?

(The video is available at MSNBC’s website. The segment is called “Generation gap between vice-presidential candidates” on Melissa Harris-Perry’s Oct. 7^th show.)

Playing the Fool, Being Un-cool, Comma Splices, & Teddy Pendergrass

After nine years of commuting two hours daily began to get to me, I recently broke my resolution not to incur any more monthly expenses. The lure of endless oldies on satellite radio finally seduced me. I figured the monthly fee for Sirius would pay for itself if some jazzy radio tunes helped me hang on to a shred of my sanity.

 I got a satellite radio and installed it in the aging minivan all by myself(!), complete with a bird’s nest of dangling wires. A whole new world opened to me. Not to mention I’m sure I'll save money on various prescription mood altering pharmaceuticals.

That middle-aged woman you see singing and banging the steering wheel to the disco beat of The Seventies on Seven at Sirius? That would be me. I don’t even care if I look goofy as heck to observers at stop lights; I’m in another world as I get my groove on to Earth, Wind, and Fire. After all, I’m already driving the arguably most-uncool ride on the planet—a white minivan, complete with peeling paint. The “cool” bus had obviously left me behind some time ago.

One of the better aspects of coming to terms with midlife is finally not giving a …. hoot (keeping it clean, here)… about playing the fool. Life is too short to worry about people thinking I look silly. Beating on the steering wheel is just plain fun, and I think I’m actually releasing endorphins while thumping out the beat.

Today’s especially revelatory song was from 1979, Teddy Pendergrass laying down “Get Up, Get Down, Get Funky, Get Loose.” Dancing in my seat, I forgot how tired I was this morning and how far behind I am in grading dozens of papers. A little seed of an idea was planted in my mind, and when I got to campus, I checked out some clips on YouTube. Uh-huh. Just what I was looking for.

Slowly I walked the hall to room 103. The lesson plan for my 9:00 college composition class was the dreaded comma splice lecture. If you don’t know what comma splices are, count yourself lucky. I learned about them to my great and lasting sorrow, and now, sadly, I must bring the news of these evil saboteurs of college essays to my sweet and unsuspecting students.

I’ve been blessed with a great group of young people in this particular class—they actually listen and have motivation—amen, halleluiah. So it particularly pained me as I saw their previously eager eyes gloss over about ten minutes into the comma splice debacle. We continued on, as I gamely did my best with possibly the driest lecture I give over the course of a semester.

Finally, I gave the class a worksheet to test their comfort level with those devils, the comma splices. I could tell it was a relief to them that at least I had stopped talking! There’s an ego deflator for a teacher.

We checked over the answers to the worksheet together, and the punctuation gods were smiling at the class who were still engaged and trying their best to deal with the comma splice nemesis. I was proud of them. They got through an episode of what I think of as a necessary evil.

And wait—we had three minutes of class time left!

“I have something very important I want to show you before we go,” I said, deadpan.

The overhead projector popped up the Teddy Pendergrass “live” 1979 YouTube video of “Get Up, Get Down, Get Funky, Get Loose.” Teddy was in his glory: fit, handsome, in an all-white outfit, gold neck-chains shining, smiling and working it, man. He had the club patrons at the venue on their feet!

I was dancing and singing next to the classroom computer. Some students smiled, some gaped, some looked shocked, some rolled their eyes, some looked like they wished the floor would open up and swallow us all (or at least just me), some were swaying to the beat, clapping and snapping fingers.  One young man said, “That’s Teddy! Teddy Pendergrass!” I can only assume that his grandmother played the LPs to him in his cradle.

After Teddy sang the refrain several times, adding in “Whatcha come out here for?” I told the class that I saw this song as a metaphor for college. They laughed. No, I said, you took the trouble to get here to college, like Teddy took the trouble to get to the club, and by heck he’s going to get up, get down,  get funky, get loose,  now that he’s there. You’re here to make the most of college, I can tell.

As the class filed out, one smiling young lady said, “Mrs. Bruce, thanks to you, I’ll make it through my next class, ugh, Chemistry, with a smile on my face.”

Yes, my silly, foolish, un-cool, comma splice, Teddy Pendergrass, disco work here is done.

Thanks, Teddy. 

“I come out here to party / And party is what I’m gonna do / I done worked hard both night and day / And now it’s time for me to shake it loose / Took me an hour just to get here /
Do you think I’m going to stand up on the wall? / Gonna have myself a ball, do you hear me? / Have myself a ball, come on y’all.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuIuLNvhkQQ

I really need to spend more time at the BEACH!

In Defense of Nice

This was originally a guest post I did over @ my girl Melissa's blog http://www.myalienbody.com/

Hello, Melissa! Wasn't that BlogHer conference a blast?

All is well with me, my loves, I've been ... writing a book. Just typing that makes my head want to explode. More on the book (draft) later. 

In an effort to prove I am still here in the blogosphere, I'm borrowing this post to give me a jumpstart back into the blogging groove. Hope you enjoy.

What’s so bad about nice?

With so many corners of the world in turmoil, strife-- crushed under war, illness and sadness, is there a place for “nice”? Or should the word be abandoned as an archaic notion?

Attending college and getting exposed to a bunch of literary theorists beat the wordnice out of me. 

I was taught that the word was never to be used when describing literature, for instance. Calling Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, or Henry David Thoreau nice in a college English class might get a student verbally stoned. 

Nice was a dirty word, showing the ignorance of the person who used it. Nice was uncool. I was already supremely uncool as a non-traditional student, typically the oldest person in any college class (often including the instructor).  I didn’t need to feel even more out of place because of a four-letter word.

So I turned away from nice as I would from a bad smell, holding my nose, coughing a little when someone else made the mistake of using nice during class. A professor told me that using nice was as bad, as damning, as a woman wearing the color pink. Nice showed a lack of commitment, of seriousness, of intellect.

I swallowed, hard, as I was wearing a pink cardigan that day, and wanted to crawl under the desk. I gave the cardigan to the Goodwill. No more pink, no more nice. I could sneer at nice with the best of them. 

But the sneer didn’t fit me well. Uneasy, I avoided the word nice, but for my own reasons, or so I told myself. Nice was vague, wishy-washy, a term used by default when an un-schooled individual was at a loss for words. Nice didn’t have cachet, joie de vivre, or prestige. Nice did not garner respect. I was too snobby, too smart to use nice.

My nice-avoidance lasted a good ten years. 

Over the past year or so, I’ve been having second thoughts about nice. Blogging has exposed me to a group of supportive people who’ve become my friends. Most, if not all, of the comments they make are kind. I like it that way. 

I didn’t begin blogging to find flagellation. I can flagellate myself just fine, thanks very much. Feel free to make nice comments, call me nice, and be nice to each other at my blog. Really.

Other bloggers may revel in abundant criticism, verbal sparring, and don’t mind mud-wrestling with readers. Kudos to them. I don’t have that kind of blog, not that there’s anything wrong with thoughtful disagreement.  

But if you want a spirited debate on every point I’ve made, you probably won’t read me more than once. That’s not my niche, if I have a niche. Or maybe I have a nice niche? Sorry, couldn’t resist that bit of alliteration.

While nice can and often is overused and abused, I hear it creeping back into my casual conversation and sometimes, my writing. In a worldwide cesspool of derision, intolerance, back-stabbing, and prejudice, perhaps it’s okay to be, and to use, nice.

CNN: Headline Epic Fail

 Today in Tech: Yahoo has a new CEO, and she's pregnant

http://tech.fortune.cnn.com/2012/07/17/yahoo-has-a-new-ceo-pregnant/

I read the headline above on CNN online yesterday.

Way to go, CNN. The article actually reported AS NEWS that it was okay for Marissa Mayer to be pregnant, since she plans to work through her maternity leave.

Say what?

Once I reattached my feminist head to my feminist body, I brainstormed ways to help you out, CNN.

Here are some other headlines you may consider. I used fictional names to protect the innocent. 

Election results: Mary-Mary Contrary new POTUS, has Excellent Lipid Panel

New Head at Pain Capital Has E. D., Plans to Work Through Treatment

German PM Reports No Cavities

Gray-Haired Grandfather, Still Continent, to Head Drug Giant Pillslinger

Brit M15 Top Agent has Exemplary Digestion, Credits Fiber

“My Small Pores Hereditary,” Claims Florida Governor

Chief of Canadian Mounted Police Lactose Intolerant, Gives up Cheddar

Each of these events seemed at least as newsworthy as CNN’s headline about Mayer’s pregnancy.  Come on, CNN. In what universe did a headline about a woman taking a CEO job of a major corporation need to include information about a baby in her uterus?