Saturday afternoon I got a headache. A killer headache. Throbbing. Severe. Impossible to concentrate. Impossible to sleep. Impervious to ibuprofen and even prescription strength naproxen. Lasted for hours. Left me nauseous and weak.
According to the Internet, it could be a hormonal headache, a pre-menstrual headache, or a migraine.
I don't care, but it's going to have to stop.
I refuse to live with a condition that leaves me unable to function.
Next month I'm supposed to visit my doctor for some follow-up lab work. She and I are going to have a chat.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Quiet Desperation
I spent a good part of Friday afternoon listening to the results of some client-sponsored consumer research on retirement and anticipated quality of life in the golden years. OUCH! What a depressing meeting!
"I would rather die myself than be saddled with a sick husband."
"I'd rather die than move in with my kids."
"My kids will never be gone for good. They keep moving back."
"I worry about my grandchildren. I can't trust those yahoo kids of mine to raise them."
"By the time I'm 60 I'll have had a job I hated for almost 40 years. I only do this for the money. After I'm 60 I want to teach. That's the job I wish I had all along."
"I hate watching my parents get sicker and sicker. I don't want that to be me."
No one under age 50 seems to believe in the stereotypical retirement in Boca. OK, good enough. I can't imagine anything more boring than sitting on an Adirondack chair and baking in the sun.
But boy, oh boy, what this age group (35 to 55) has in mind as an alternative is so depressing. After retirement, they all figure they will continue working: retail, daycare, even as a crossing guard. There was that woman who hoped to FINALLY get to do what she's wanted to do her whole life: teach.
And the bitterness toward family members! My husband is a burden, my kids are a burden, my parents are a burden …
I don't have enough saved for retirement, I know that. And I'm almost 50. I may never have enough for retirement. So in addition to making me sad about how desperate and sad my audience sounds, this consumer research made me feel guilty about not doing all I should for my own retirement. I, of all people, should know better.
"I would rather die myself than be saddled with a sick husband."
"I'd rather die than move in with my kids."
"My kids will never be gone for good. They keep moving back."
"I worry about my grandchildren. I can't trust those yahoo kids of mine to raise them."
"By the time I'm 60 I'll have had a job I hated for almost 40 years. I only do this for the money. After I'm 60 I want to teach. That's the job I wish I had all along."
"I hate watching my parents get sicker and sicker. I don't want that to be me."
No one under age 50 seems to believe in the stereotypical retirement in Boca. OK, good enough. I can't imagine anything more boring than sitting on an Adirondack chair and baking in the sun.
But boy, oh boy, what this age group (35 to 55) has in mind as an alternative is so depressing. After retirement, they all figure they will continue working: retail, daycare, even as a crossing guard. There was that woman who hoped to FINALLY get to do what she's wanted to do her whole life: teach.
And the bitterness toward family members! My husband is a burden, my kids are a burden, my parents are a burden …
I don't have enough saved for retirement, I know that. And I'm almost 50. I may never have enough for retirement. So in addition to making me sad about how desperate and sad my audience sounds, this consumer research made me feel guilty about not doing all I should for my own retirement. I, of all people, should know better.
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