I Must Bloom

The other day, I glanced out my side door. A tree sits in my front yard dormant now for the upcoming winter. Some of that tree is hollowed out where countless birds and squirrels have made their homes for many years. One particular branch actually seems dead, as a huge portion of it came crashing down in a wind storm several months back. But on that branch, that place where no life should be during the fall season sits two pink blossoms. I had to go outside and see if I was hallucinating. But there they were, full of new life, beauty and promise. I felt a sign had been given to me, and wondered what it could mean.

The letter from the healthcare facility sat on my counter last evening. I'd been waiting for the results of a bone scan for a few weeks thinking it would come by phone. I tore the envelope open, hoping against all hope that the tests wouldn't show what I feared. And then there was the word: Osteoporosis. The dreaded word that many of us ladies over fifty have had to deal with.

A few weeks ago when I'd been at the facility shivering in my little paper gown, I had first gotten word that I lost an inch in my height. At five- foot- one, all my life, that didn't come as particularly happy news. The nurse began the scans and I asked her questions. Because I'd been told I had osteopenia a few years ago, I already had a sneaking suspicion.

So this morning I sit here writing out my feelings. What do I feel? I feel old all of a sudden; washed up and a "has been." I feel like, here we go, now it's my time of having "older" people issues. The reality however is that it was not a cancer diagnosis. There are so many of my friends and acquaintances who have far worse going on with their health. A brave friend has Parkinson's, other ladies I know have dealt with breast cancer and worse.

It's a time for change then. I look back to a blog I wrote last year about eating healthier and feeling good. That lasted for all of two weeks for me. Going through all of my mom's problems earlier this year, I went over the top with feeling sorry for myself and turned to all sorts of bad foods for comfort. All of my wonderful ideas for becoming a new me went right out the window.

Until I'm able to speak with my doctor, I have nagging concerns though. Because of my scoliosis, I've always worried a little more about my spine. It hasn't been an easy road with curvature of the spine; it's been an uphill battle feeling different from others and knowing a long metal rod runs the length of my back. That I have scars like road maps and frightening memories of weeks in Children's Hospital. That I was made fun of and had to learn to hold my head up though my heart was breaking. These thoughts plague me until I silence them.

 I have aches and pains that weren't there just a few short years ago. I can hardly get out of bed in the mornings, but once I get going, I'm okay. It's easy for someone like me to get lost in all the negative emotions that something like this brings. I can easily let my thoughts spiral out of control until I'm sitting there crying. But I must pick myself up and dust these old bones off and not let it get the best of me. I refuse to sit in a rocking chair crocheting--though I do love to crochet. And I absolutely refuse to picture myself in a wheelchair. Though there are things I shouldn't do any longer such as pick up my nieces, I can still run around a playground with them and carry on like a child. 

I talked with God. I will get through this as many others have. I'm planning on purchasing a stepper exercise machine. Though I do walk several times a week, I will need this for the winter months especially. And I must start eating better. Now that I have a reason to do so, I may find it easier to cut out the junk.

I think about the sign I was given--the stunning pink blossoms in the midst of what seemed dead on the tree in my yard. And it brings me hope. Life is not over until it's over. The dormant part of me can blossom forth like those lovely blooms against all odds--aging, health issues, loss and death. I, too, can push forth from the dead wood of my own mind as those flowers have, and turn my face toward the sunshine. What hope this has brought me! I still walk over to the tree and glance upward at the crackly, old branch and view the delicate petals upon it. And like those little beauties, I will spring forth and defy the odds at the most amazing times.