Category: Other Stuff

My appointment to see the rheumatologist (Dr M) was 3 months from when I got the call from my Internist (Dr R) saying that I had rheumatoid arthritis. Right after I got back from vacation, Dr M’s office called saying that there was a cancellation, and I could have the appointment if I could be there in the morning at 8:00 am. Having already waited an agonizing two months, I quickly agreed.

When I arrived, the nurse asked me what seemed like a thousand questions about my health, and most of the answers were “no.”

“Does anyone in your family have RA?” “No.” “Any other immune diseases?” “No.” “Any fevers this month?” “No.” “Any hot or swollen joints?” “No.” “Have you been feeling depressed?” “No.” “Does anyone in your family have diabetes?” “No.” etc, etc.

Dr M came in and asked me more questions and probed my joints, tested my reflexes, and then asked me why I was there. I told him that my internist did a blood test which indicated that I have RA. He said that there is no test for RA, and a high rheumatoid factor IS common in people who have RA, but some people just have a high rheumatoid factor for no reason that anyone knows. He did say that there were a few other conditions that could cause a high rheumatoid factor, and that he’d run tests for those. They all came back negative.

I had mentioned the fact that I’d had my first Covid vaccine the day before I’d had my blood drawn at Dr R’s office. I asked if that could have been the cause of the high Rh test. “It could have been the Covid vaccine” he said, “or it might not. It might be that you just have a high RH factor. In any case, I don’t think you have RA. Come back if you have any other symptoms, but I honestly don’t expect to see you again.”

I cannot tell you how relieved I am, and how much more grateful I am for my health than I was before the health scare. That being said, ill health comes to nearly all of us sooner or later. My parents have enjoyed excellent health until the last few years. My mom has noticeably slowed down, and my dad is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and has been put on a new drug to slow that disease. In October, my mom went to the doctor, saying that her heart was “fluttering.” She refused the heart cath procedure (to determine the problem) that the first doctor prescribed, and instead took medication. The second doctor also recommended a heart cath, and this time she followed his advice. She has a complete blockage, which will require either open-heart surgery or a stent. Both options sound scary to me.

This, and of course my own scare, is a wake-up call for me to take care of my health. Doing so doesn’t guarantee a long and healthy life, but it certainly improves my odds. Also, no one knows how many active days they have left. I will be making the most of my early retirement, and not put my dreams off to an uncertain tomorrow.

Saturday morning, I woke up early and drank a cup of coffee with my husband. The house was quiet, as both of our teenagers sleep late when they can. I needed to get a few things at the store, but before I did, I stopped at my neighbor’s house to check on our vegetable garden and chickens. The okra is sprouting and the squash and tomato plants have flowers already. The chickens were noisy, and the brown one (like always) tried to escape when I opened the coop gate. I refilled the feed and picked up 7 eggs in varying shades of blue, brown, and white. After the grocery store, I stopped just off of the road near an old abandoned gas station and picked two pints of blackberries for a cobbler on Sunday.

I worked out when I got home, and then showered and fixed breakfast/lunch for all of us. We lounged around for a bit and then got ready for the wedding. My nephew got married that night. For the event, I put on my favorite flirty red dress and a pair of scandalously high-heeled shoes. The wedding was interesting- a line of storms came through about 3 hours before the wedding and the power was still out when we got to the reception. Everyone cheered when the lights came on and the band cued up the first tune. The bride and groom were glowing, and a wonderful time was had by all- including me. My husband had to drag me off of the dance floor (as usual) when he was ready to go.

I think I enjoyed it especially because I appreciated being pain free, which I hadn’t thought about much before last week. I enjoyed the power in my muscles as I worked out, the dexterity in my fingers as I picked berries, and joy of dancing. As you can tell, I’m less upset about this than I was last week. I’ve accepted that worrying about this isn’t going to change the outcome, and that I might have RA, or not.

In case you didn’t read last week’s post, my doctor called after a routine appointment to tell me I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. After the doctor called, I cried for a couple of days, and then I started reading and researching. And I realized something important. The tests for RA largely check for inflammation and an immune system response when you don’t have an infection. But what if you ARE having an infection- or your body THINKS you are? I had my COVID vaccine the day before the doctor’s appointment and I had a strong reaction to it. My fever shot up to 102, I had chills and a headache all night long. When I woke up the day of the appointment I still had a fever of 100. I had been waiting for this appointment for 3 weeks and didn’t want to reschedule, so I took 2 Advil and got dressed. By the time I got to the doctor’s office my fever was gone. I told the doctor I’d had the vaccine but not how recently. I didn’t think it would matter.

When I realized that the vaccine could have interfered with the lab results, I called my friend J who is a pediatrician. She said one of the blood tests that had shown up high was completely invalid. She wasn’t sure about the second, but said it could be off because it was taken so close to the vaccine as well. The third test actually indicated that I didn’t have long term inflammation, which is associated with RA. J said the third test measures a marker that shows up a few days after an infection has started. It wouldn’t have had time to react to the vaccine.

I had a different doctor appointment on Monday, and that doctor agreed that there very well may be nothing at all wrong with me. She refused to re-run the blood test though, saying that it was still less than 2 weeks from the vaccine and the immune response may not have subsided yet. She said she has heard of odd results in several other kinds of tests- like mammograms- that have also been attributed to the immune response to the vaccine. Her advice- wait to see the rheumatologist in July, and in the meantime, try not to worry about it too much.

Easier said than done, but worrying about it won’t change the outcome anyway. Could I just be in denial and wishing the tests were wrong? Sure, wouldn’t you? The tests that were high have been known to be wrong when affected by a vaccine. So there is hope, and uncertainty. I am not known for my ability to wait patiently, and July seems like an awfully long time away, but I don’t guess I have a choice. If I have RA, I’ll fight as hard as I can to keep my health, and if I don’t, I’ll do the same.

A reader, who is in a similar situation, asked me to write about my kids and how they’ve been affected by my retiring early, and about how I handled home and career. I vowed not to write specifics about my kids, but I think I can do this without being too specific.

We’ve always talked to our kids a lot about money, and made sure to discuss financial issues in front of them. When I was thinking about retiring early, I explained to our kids that we’d been saving money for years, and we had enough that I didn’t have to work anymore. I wanted to stress to them that early retirement was a reward for years of working hard and being responsible. I don’t think they have a good idea of how much money is required to do such a thing, but they seemed to like the idea that I’d be around more.

Before I tell you how it’s different, I have to tell you what it was like before. I had it pretty good before I retired- I really did. I was in a job where I was in charge of my own schedule. I never had to ask for vacation (but I never got paid for it either) and when my work was finished, I could go- no time cards ever. My job paid extremely well, but it was stressful, and I didn’t have much time to myself.

There were many days that went something like this- Get up at 6, fix something for breakfast, clean up the kitchen (maybe) and think of something for dinner. Get the kids dressed and delivered to their schools on time. Get to work and begin my day. Use lunch hour to go grocery shopping or other household errands (prescriptions, dry cleaning, library, etc), back to work, and then head home at 4:30 or 5. Make something for dinner, help with homework or bring kids to whatever sports practice or whatever after school activity they’re in this week, clean up after dinner and collapse into bed. Some days I could manage a workout on the way home from work and before making dinner, but sometimes I couldn’t.

You will note that there is very little time in there for the usual household chores. I did laundry and dishes whenever I could fit them in. Dishes as I was stumbling to bed at night, to be unloaded after coffee, laundry started as soon as I woke up, to be tossed in the dryer before I walked out the door. Since I am confessing today, the laundry sometimes stayed in the dryer for DAYS until there was another load that needed to go in there. Also I have a cleaning lady who comes in every other week to do stuff like mopping and changing sheets. I will sweep the floor when I feel grit under my (usually bare) feet. I can delay mopping forever, and did until I hired someone.

There was zero time for “extra chores” like cleaning closets, cleaning out the fridge, or even cutting the dead leaves off of houseplants. I used to love when my mom came over because she would do things like trimming houseplants, or wiping down a dusty shelf. Now I can do those things myself.

My house is much cleaner than it has been since before I had kids. I don’t mind walking around the house in the mornings, collecting stray cups and shoes and putting things where they go. That happened about once a week (on Friday mornings) when I was working, as opposed to every morning now. The result was constant clutter, which I hated, but was too tired to fix. I resent the time I spend cleaning much less than I used to. In fact, I kind of like it, but don’t tell my husband.

After 17 years in my career I began taking Fridays off. It wasn’t until I did that that I realized how few weekends free of family chores I’d had over the years. Friday became my chore day. I was grateful for it, so that I could relax on the weekend like everybody else in my house. I know many other women spend every second of their “free time” on weekends catching up on chores and doing housework.

So here’s what’s different now. I can, and do, pick up my youngest child at school nearly every day. He hates riding the bus in the afternoons, and I don’t blame him. School buses are wonderfully convenient, but they don’t have air conditioning or seat belts or a lot of other conveniences. Where we live, late summer when school begins, and in the late spring when school ends, temps can be above 90 degrees on the bus. He got off the bus many days dripping with sweat. He rode them when he had to, but now I’m glad to pick him up, because I can.

The dinner menu has become more varied. I had a few meals that I served pretty often because they were quick and easy. Red beans and rice, pork loin roast, baked rosemary chicken and fries, ham steaks, quiche etc. Now I cook what I feel like cooking without considering the complexity of the recipe (I LIKE to cook) or how long it will take. I have time. Gumbo is delicious but takes forever. We’ll have it more often this winter. In fact, we’re having it tonight.

The kitchen is usually much cleaner, and I’ve started doing the dishes again. I used to assign that one to my kids, but I can’t find where they put things, and I don’t mind doing it now that I have time. They still do their own laundry, and do most of the outside maintenance. Our oldest son is bringing firewood in now.

I asked the kids what they think about retirement- my oldest said he thinks its awesome that I don’t have to work anymore and he wants to do that too. They also like that I’m around more. I’m more likely to say “yes” when they ask to go to a friend’s house or have a friend over. They didn’t say so, but I suspect I’m easier to get along with. I maintained a pretty rigid schedule and insisted that everyone stick to it. I had to; I didn’t have time to do things twice, or fit them into the schedule later. I’m much more relaxed about things now. This has probably improved my relationship with both of my boys- neither of whom likes to be told what to do. (I have no idea where they get THAT from)

I’m not a “normal” mom according to my kids. I didn’t cry when they went to kindergarten or got their first real haircut. I let them play in the rain and chop down trees, and make fires in the yard. I made them do chores and turn off the TV and go play outside. My sister was convinced for a while that I was trying to kill them with dangerous toys. (A real bow and arrow? A go-kart and a trampoline??). I didn’t volunteer at school and I don’t have scrap books of their baby years. I didn’t keep baby clothes and I haven’t done a picture album in longer than I care to think about. Honestly, some of that stuff I wouldn’t have done anyway, but some I would have liked to. It wasn’t an option- not enough time.

I wasn’t a good “baby” mom- I absolutely hated the stage where they couldn’t tell me what was wrong. I did pretty well through the elementary and middle school years. This teenager stuff has thrown me for a loop, though. I sort of knew that it would be more difficult, but I did not see the full scope of the problem.

The problem, in essence, is that teenagers think they are ready to be adults, and you have seen convincing evidence that they are not. They don’t want your help- you having never been a teenager yourself, could not possibly understand what they are going through. Watching them make mistakes has been torture, and teenager mistakes can change the course of their lives. I guess it’s how everyone learns, and I recall being a little hard-headed myself at that age…

Teenagers certainly require more patience than I had left after a difficult day at the office. I also find myself running interference between my husband and my boys, explaining to each of them why the other is acting that way. I’m not a peacemaker by nature, and this role is pretty difficult, especially because it requires tact and I don’t have any. I think I’m handling this better- certainly I’m less stressed about it than I would if I also had a full-time job. I tossed around the idea of working till they were old enough to leave for college or get a job, but ruled that out for a number of reasons. I love my sons and they won’t live at home much longer. Teenagers don’t say so, (in fact they usually say they opposite) but they need your time and attention, maybe even more than younger children.

When I was 20 years old, I wanted to go out and have a career and be successful (and drive a Jaguar, of course). I actually didn’t want kids at that point, and I didn’t have kids till after 30, when I was well established in my career. I don’t know what changed for me. Maybe I just checked the career thing off of my list. I achieved everything I wanted to in the career category, and we saved up enough money that I didn’t have to do it anymore. After 23 years, I didn’t want to do it anymore. What I wanted to do, starting several years ago, was spend more time on things that my job left me very little time for. While I was working, I was living my life at 100 miles per hour- I had to, in order to get everything done. Now I have time to enjoy my family and pursue some of my interests. Its been good.

This is the second “by request” post I’ve done- I enjoyed it, and along the way came up for ideas for two more posts. So if you have a request or an idea for a post, send it on in the contact form or in the comments!

I never really thought of myself as the domestic sort. I do like to cook, but I always hated cleaning, and I’m terrible at keeping things organized and in order. I am also terrible at decorating and have no fashion sense. I’m not crafty either. Or so I thought. Retirement has brought out a whole new, and unexpected side of me.

For the last few months I have slowly been tending to some long neglected house chores. I am slowly working through every closet in my house- sorting through trash and treasures, and organizing everything into logical categories. I am not a neat person. This is slightly strange behavior for me, but it is amazingly satisfying.

So far I have cleaned both boys’ closets, my closet, the linen closet, the guest bedroom closet, my desk, most of the kitchen, the pantry, and a sideboard full of dishes and such. When I cleaned my linen closet, I noticed it was a bit musty- and no wonder since there is no air circulation in there. I Googled it and found a suggestion to put some laundry scent booster (I hadn’t even known what that was) in a little mesh bag to keep the closet smelling fresh.

I was telling my friend J about it and she stared at me in amazement. She said that it was an amazing idea, and she was going to do it at her house immediately. She also said I was behaving completely unlike myself… For years, I have been the “good enough” mom- because that’s all I had time for. This domestic stuff is fun- who knew?

More shocking than the cleaning are my new “hobbies.” I have always enjoyed cooking, but I haven’t had much time to try time-consuming methods. I decided to make a pork roast one evening last week. It took 3.5 hours, and was, hands down, the best roast I’ve ever made. It got rave reviews in the household and a request to make it often.

I am also growing mushrooms on the counter. Before you start laughing about my house-keeping skills, its a box kit I got on clearance at Walmart. (No, not “magic” mushrooms, they are Oyster) It is already sprouting, and we are all enjoying watching it grow.

The most surprising thing (to me) I’m doing is I’m making bread- from scratch. A friend offered me a sourdough starter, and I took it. I’m mixing up my first batch tonight. Keep your fingers crossed.

Today I had seven gardening friends over for a plant swap. Since they’re all gardeners, I had to do quite a bit of yardwork. They all KNOW what weeds look like. I also had to clean up my house, the patio, grocery shop, decorate (!) and make lunch. The menu? Chicken salad on croissants, (I did not make the croissants) a green salad, fruit, and homemade Italian almond cookies. I have morphed into my mother!

The party was great fun- everybody left with a new treasure (I got 3 new cannas, a lime tree, a new daylily, and a yellow milkweed.) The food was great, and all the women were grossed out by my mushroom farm (it looks like grey mold at this stage- not too appetizing yet). There was a great deal of laughter and good conversation. They all want me to do it again next year- and I will. This is not really what I envisioned myself doing in retirement, (COVID19 has cancelled nearly all of those things) but I really enjoyed it. All of it- the planning, cooking, decorating, etc. It probably helped that I wasn’t in a rush and I didn’t have to do any part of it on my lunch hour.

I’m Cajun, and my ancestors lived in south Louisiana for generations.  All of my grandparents spoke Cajun French.  It was my mother’s first language as well, though my dad didn’t speak it.  If you want to see what it looks like, google some episodes of Swamp People- the episodes with Troy Landry in them were filmed about 20 miles from where I grew up.

I grew up in a very nice home surrounded by sugarcane fields. There were several ancient live oaks in our yard draped in grey Spanish moss.  On one side there was a bayou that drifted lazily all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. 

There wasn’t much to do in our small town, so on weekends, everyone hooked up their boats (EVERYONE had a boat) and headed to the lake.  When I was 7 or 8 years old, my dad bought a houseboat (in addition to the glittery green bass boat we already had).  It was a grey metal barge with rails around the outside and a white cabin and canopy over the front deck.  Dad moved the steering from inside the cabin to the roof, so he could enjoy the outdoors when we drove it.

We kept it tied to the bulkhead on a bayou across from a boat landing.  We’d hook up the bass boat behind the truck and drive to the lake, launch the bass boat and unload everything into the houseboat.  Then dad would tie the bass boat behind, crack open a beer and drive us down the moss draped bayou into the lake.

There was a line of utility poles running across the middle of the lake.  Dad would motor up to a suitable one and throw the rope around it and tether us there for the weekend.  We tried to stay one night, but the bugs were too bad.  When the sun went down, we piled into the bass boat and went home for the night and reappeared for more sun and fun the next day.

Lots of my parents’ friends had camps on the lake, and sometimes we spent the night at someone else’s camp.  We spent the days jumping off of the roof of the houseboat, visiting, swimming, and water skiing.  It was as close to heaven as you could get for an 8 year old girl.

Thirty years later, I was living in a different state, and I got invited to a crawfish boil at a friend’s camp on the river.  It was on a small muddy island in a river 20 minutes from my house.  When I rolled down the window to punch in the gate code, the scent of the river drifted into the car. It smelled warm and green and alive- and like I was 8 years old again. 

We sat on my friend’s dock that day and drank beer and talked and laughed and watched the river go by.  It was wonderful.  As I was leaving and thanking her for a lovely day, she mentioned that there was a small camp down the road for sale.  “Its not much” she said.  And it wasn’t.  I drove by and looked.  It was an A frame cabin with an addition awkwardly tacked to the back of it.  It had a rickety screen porch, and the pier was so old it appeared to be made entirely of splinters.

When I got back to my house, I pulled up the real estate listing and looked again.  And again.  I thought about it for a whole 24 hours before I told my husband.  I told him I was going to call a realtor.  I did, and I made an appointment for us to look at it the next day. 

It was not beautiful.  The previous owners apparently liked blue.  EVERYTHING inside it was blue- it looked like the Smurfs lived there.  There were holes in the floor along the edges of the door from where water had come in around the frame and rotted it.  The stairs to the loft are dangerous.  The stairs to the downstairs addition lean hard to the right.  In fact, the whole addition is crooked.

When we walked out the door to the deck, the trees in the yard formed a living canopy over the walkway to the water.  The Spanish moss swayed in the breeze and I was in love.  I made it all the way to the car before I blurted out, “I want to buy it.”  my husband stared at me like I’d grown a second head.  This was extremely out of character for me to say the least.  We discussed it (briefly) and by the end of the week had a purchase agreement. 

We’ve had it a few years now, and spend every weekend we can manage there.  My husband, who was a little hesitant at first (because of the projects and maintenance) is now just as in love with the place as I am.

Although its only 20 minutes from our house in town, it feels different, slower.  People walk or ride around in golf carts, and stop and chat in the road.  Everyone on the island stops to watch the sun go down.  We fish and kayak and catch crabs.  We have cornhole and ping pong tournaments. We play endless games of cards or board games when the mosquitoes come out, or watch movies and eat popcorn.

The camp does have its drawbacks.  It is another yard to mow, and its hard to keep two houses stocked with groceries and such.  There are bugs and snakes and alligators.  The squirrels keep eating things- wiring, water lines, you know, expensive stuff.  The river often comes up in the early spring or if there is a hurricane, and floods the property (not the house).  It leaves a thick coating of smelly river mud which is a pain to clean.  This spring the floods were higher than usual, and we had damage to fix in addition to the mud.

There are YEARS worth of projects- rotten boards, broken windows, etc, etc.  We’ve done most of the immediate repairs, and a few projects.  Other stuff we’ll get around to eventually- or not. 

We didn’t redecorate much.  We did get rid of some of the blue- the blue suede upholstered chairs and blue coffee table got tossed the first day.  We covered up the blue back splash in the kitchen, and painted the blue kitchen table, and decided that was good enough.  My husband added a hideous burgundy recliner, which doesn’t match anything else in the house.  It sort of contributes to the “Early American Yardsale” decor- which oddly, I have come to like.  This baffles my neighbor who wants to help me “fix it up”.  I kind of like it shabby.  I want everyone to feel comfortable in there, even though they’re still dripping from a swim in the river.  If you come to our river camp, you may sit on the couch even if you’re wet, and you can set down your drink anywhere you like- no coaster required.

There is something about the river that soothes me.  I feel connected to the earth there in a way that I don’t feel anywhere else.  I relax when we drive through the gate.  I love the smell of it, and the sounds the insects and frogs make.  I even love the thick humid air at night in the summertime.  When I was still working, sometimes I would sneak off to the river after a bad day.  Just sitting on the end of the pier with my feet in the water relaxed me.

It is my favorite place, perhaps because it is the place I feel the most like my real self.  Several times during my career, colleagues commented that my husband and I didn’t seem to “match.”  This was usually after seeing us in our work clothes- mine were usually a suit and heels, his were rough and dirty.  What they didn’t understand is that I was wearing a work disguise, and we matched perfectly at home, where I was usually in cut offs with a ponytail.  Deep down, I am still the barefoot bayou girl.

For years we saved.  I thought that someday we would happen across something we REALLY REALLY wanted, and we would have the money to buy it.  Years passed, and we didn’t find anything we wanted that much.  We have never owned a luxury car, our house is nice but modest, and I don’t own expensive jewelry, or designer anything.  When I fell in love with the camp, it was the perfect time- we had enough saved.  It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth every penny.

**I  have recently discovered that “Camp” is a Louisiana term. It’s called a fishing camp elsewhere in the south. I guess you’d call it a cabin if you lived outside of the southern U. S.