Bound to happen

Well, it's finally happened: I've gotten old. I've not come to that realization because of my wrinkles, my achy joints or my crotchety disposition of late, but because of how freakin' young those in the medical profession now seem to me.

My eyes began to open to this truth when noticing that doctors interviewed as experts on various news programs regularly caused Jim and me to comment, "Wow, that's a young one" and "Sheesh, has that kid really actually completed medical school?" Only old people say such things. Hence a conclusion began to form: I'm just old.

Then I started physical therapy to repair the damage from little cusshead Mickey pulling me into a face plant when a deer nonchalantly crossed our path during a walk a few months ago. My regular doctor referred me to a fine physical therapist. I read her impressive credentials (she's one of the physical therapists for the US Figure Skating team) then was shocked upon meeting her at my first appointment. She looks the same age as my youngest daughter! There's no way she could be just 25 since she's been practicing since the early '90s. She's performing miracles on my back and has clearly worked hard and long to get where she is in her career, so my conclusion is this: I'm just old.

The final incident relates to Megan's medical scare this past week. Because of the fortunate outcome of a worrisome circumstance, Megan gave thanks and gratitude to her ob/gyn on a recent blog post, a post that included a photo of the doctor. I have never met her doctor and I was amazed at how young this gal is -- this gal who holds the lives of my child AND my grandchild in her hands. Yet, her expertise in the field and the way she's proved herself exceptionally capable lead me to now stand firm in my conclusion: I'm just old.

When I first became a mother, doctors were older folks whom I looked upon with respect and admiration, much as I would a wise grandparent. As the years went by, doctors seemed a little more my age, like a colleague or friend or at least someone who enjoyed the same music and television shows as I did and understood the same pop culture references.

Now, all of a sudden, the doctors I come across are youngsters, many years behind me and certainly not interested in the same music or television shows that interest me. And I don't even seem to know what constitutes pop culture anymore, let alone share any references to it with today's doctors.

My only conclusion: I'm just old.

My only question: How the heck did that happen?

Photo: MS Office  

Today's question:

In what ways do you most notice you're getting older?

Can you see the real me?

I want to be authentic here. When you visit Grandma's Briefs, I want you to feel like you know me, like I'm showing you my true self. And I am. To a certain degree.

Some of the blogs I read bare all, laying out the most intimate, the most heart-wrenching, the most (in my mind) embarrassing details of one's life in order to connect with readers.

Other bloggers I read write of sunshine and flowers and thanks for the bountiful blessings and, as another blogger succinctly put it, regularly "shit rainbows" instead of being down and dirty (read: "true").

Both tacks are fine ... for them.

For me, though, my level of self-revelation in my blog posts is somewhere in between. My goal is to allow you into my life to see the blessings, the many good times that warm my heart and put a smile on my face, in hopes that it'll do the same for you. I also want to share with you the challenges I face, the darker times, the moments that knock me and my heart for a loop, in hopes that you'll see you're not alone.

It's those darker times that I share less often. Mostly because I refuse to host a pity party and I abhor whining and complaining, which such posts sometimes come across as. But also because I want you to feel good about your visits here, not click away with a heavy heart, questioning whether it's worth your time to visit a dark and depressing place.

Yet, because I've not yet mentioned the dark cloud surrounding me right now -- the result of myriad crises swirling about me and my family -- I'm feeling inauthentic. Possibly like I'm deceiving you. And like those who know me in real life might be thinking I'm perpetuating a "Grandma's Briefs" persona that doesn't accurately reflect my reality, my struggles, my heartache.

Thing is, the sources of the many crises currently clogging up my heart and requiring constant prayer are not my direct story. Although the crises color my every waking moment, I'm in the periphery not the eye of the storm ... thank God. Because of that, because the stories aren't MY stories, I don't feel right sharing them, sharing the details, sharing the cuss that right now is irreversibly cussing up the lives of those around me.

And I've struggled with that. I want to share. I want to ask for prayers. I want to be authentic.

So I will compromise. I will tell you that all about me and my family is turmoil, trying times and tears. But because the unabridged stories are not mine to tell, I will share only to an extent that doesn't betray confidences or privacy.

Here's what I can share:

• The loved one of one of my very closest loved ones attempted suicide in a horrid manner last week. The person didn't succeed and is now in limbo physically, spiritually, psychologically. That limbo -- and whatever direction the person's life takes after the scale of survival eventually tips -- will have a forever impact on my loved one. And there's nothing I can do about it. And that sucks.

• Another loved one has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Not as fatal as most brain tumors, I'm told, as it was found on the pituitary gland and is potentially removable ... once it shrinks. In the meantime, spots of suspicion have now been found on this loved one's liver. And that sucks ... on both counts.

• Another loved one had half a leg amputated just before Thanksgiving. This is the least heart-wrenching of the current crises as at least the pain is gone ... and there are prosthetics. But still, the challenges ahead and the mourning what was lost matter. A lot. And that sucks.

Those are the biggies. Of course, like everyone, there are smaller challenges all the time, challenges that assault the heart but are overcome, slowly but surely. Most pale in comparison to those above. Thankfully.

There you have it: The real me, as of right now. I've shared as much as I can share without offending those who own the rights to the stories. In all honesty, I feel better, a little lighter for having shared even that little bit.

I hope my sharing won't lead you to click away with a heavy heart.

And I hope you won't be disappointed to learn that I don't have Technicolor BMs. But if that's what you're looking for, e-mail me -- I have links for plenty of other bloggers who do, and I'd be more than happy to share those with you, too.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Holiday question of the day:

What holiday movie would you most like to live in, even if just for a while?

What real grandmas read (and think, and feel)

I recently received a press release for a new book on being a grandma. The book is titled "Eye of My Heart: 27 Writers Reveal the Hidden Pleasures and Perils of Being a Grandmother."

Believe it or not -- and those of you who know me and my book obsession well won't believe it -- but I have very few books about being a grandma. In fact, I have only one: "Long-Distance Grandma" by Janet Teitsort, and it's a holdover from my editing days when packages of books for review came across my desk.

I think the main reason I don't have any is because books about grandmas always look like they've been written for, by and about grandmas the age of MY grandma, not grandmas who look and act like me.

But because I'm a grandma AND a writer, the press release for "Eye of My Heart" piqued my interest and I went to the publisher's website to learn more. An abridged (by me) version of the book description from Harper Collins says:

In Eye of My Heart, twenty-seven smart, gutsy writers explode myths and stereotypes and tell the whole crazy, complicated truth about being a grandmother in today's world. Among the contributors:

Anne Roiphe learns—the hard way—to keep her mouth shut and her opinions to herself.

Elizabeth Berg marvels at witnessing her child give birth to her child.

Beverly Donofrio makes amends for her shortcomings as a teenage mother.

Jill Nelson grapples with mother-daughter tensions triggered by the birth of her grandson.

Judith Guest confesses her failed attempt to emulate her own saintly grandmother.

Sallie Tisdale pays a high price—financially and emotionally—for her fast-growing brood of grandkids.

Susan Shreve finally accepts that she's the grandmother, not the mother.

Abigail Thomas plots her escape when she can't bear to bake one more cake.

Mary Pipher explores the primal role of grandmothers in a fast-changing world.

In this groundbreaking collection, you will encounter the real stories that usually go untold. Free of platitudes and clichés, the essays in Eye of My Heart are linked by a common thread: a love for grandchildren that knows no bounds, despite inescapable obstacles and limitations.

These are my kind of grandmas, my kind of essays. Keywords that made this a must-have book for me: "real stories that usually go untold," "free of platitudes and cliches." Seems that everything related to being a grandmother, whether it's books or coffee mug sayings or silly T-shirts are cliched and platitude-ridden -- and rather nauseating, in my opinion. I want REAL stories by REAL grandmas who aren't afraid to say what it's REALLY like when your child has children. It can't all be sweet and rosy and chicken soup for the soul. No relationships are, and being honest about that makes the bond between loved ones stronger than those built on mushy-gushy superficial sweetness.

So I headed to Amazon.com, purchased the book, then perused the "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" suggestions ... and it only confirmed my lament that few candid books on grandparenting exist. A sampling of the cliches and platitudes (title and author not revealed because I'm sure they're very nice women with good intentions):

"Words of advice to 'accidentally' leave on a daughter-in-law's kitchen table."

"Read and re-read -- then joyfully live out -- a devoted grandma rabbit's fun-filled, love-inspired book of promises."

"It will make you laugh, it will make you cry...it will make you want to run out and buy something nice for your grandchild!"

Gag me! And get me my copy of "Eye of My Heart" quick!