March is National Women’s Month. I’m not one to pass up the chance to celebrate anything, so let’s toast the fabulous females in our lives. Kudos to all of the wonderful women whose lives intersect with mine. You are my role models, my inspiration and my mental salvation in these trying times.
Celebrating women got me thinking how their roles have evolved in my lifetime. Every older female I remember from my childhood was a housewife. Even in their 30s, many had birthed numerous children and could best be described as matronly; wearing home-sewn long housedresses accessorized by heavy stockings, sensible shoes and hairnets.
Those lucky enough to live into their 70s were usually widows. Sadly, many women never made it that far. If they managed to survive childbirth, infections, communicable diseases, not to mention farm accidents, they succumbed to heart ailments and cancer.
There’s a popular saying, “If I had expected to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.” I can’t say I’ve lived life on the edge, but being a generally healthy woman in her late 70s is an unearned blessing. Honestly, I never expected to make it past 65, but becoming older is actually pretty wonderful. Like so many female friends, I don’t dwell on my age. Instead, I’m focused on living a productive life by giving back and don’t waste time speculating about my expiration date. As my husband, Jon, likes to say: “You are older than you’ve ever been before but younger than you’ll ever be again.”
That doesn’t mean I’m unaware of my mortality. In fact, I can even joke about it: “Hey, did you know birth is the leading cause of death?” Proof is that an entire branch of medicine has sprung up due to the fact that you cannot pick your parents. Scientific research shows that genetics play a significant role in all things human, especially health. You can inherit your mother’s flawless skin and cushy tushy but also her baby-fine hair and hammer toes. In fact, genetics are so important that health care practitioners routinely require patients to complete a family medical history.
Taking this to a personal level, my primary care provider reviews my family history annually during my Medicare wellness visit and takes it into serious consideration when recommending screening tests. For example, I am of age to opt out of yearly mammograms, but I continue to get one. Why? My Grandma Schmidt developed breast cancer in her 60s.
Her daughter Lucille, my maternal aunt, inherited the gene and was diagnosed in her early 70s. My mom escaped that fate but inherited Alzheimer’s disease from her father. Whenever I feel pain in certain places or forget where I put my phone, I wonder.
Anyway, Mom told me Grandma Schmidt was well aware that she was handing her living body over to science in hopes she could live a few more years. She fought hard, but breast cancer care was in its infancy back then. All you could do was pray for a miracle.
Grandma Schmidt’s protocol regimen included a double mastectomy followed by cobalt treatments to burn away any stray cancer cells that might be lurking in what was left of her chest. Though I lost her far too early, she will always be my hero. We owe a huge debt of gratitude to her and all the women who were valiant warriors, stepping up to engage in mortal combat with this dreadful disease. They were human guinea pigs who blazed a trail to treatments that can cure or at least add years of life after a breast cancer diagnosis.
On the other side of the family, I was always told my paternal grandmother, Clara Brantmeier, died of a broken heart soon after losing Grandpa due to a massive heart attack. That probably played a role, but more likely it was heart failure. Either or both may be related to an astonishing example of genetic transmission. Of my seven siblings; the oldest five (which includes me) have inherited the exact same heart valve issues known as heart murmurs, whooshing sounds made by turbulent blood flow that is easily detected with a stethoscope.
Mayo Clinic reports that the leading cause of heart problems is linked to murmurs in your family history. Wouldn’t you know it? Some of my siblings have already had medical procedures for valve issues while the rest of us are watching and waiting. Bottom line — no matter what, you’ll never get out of this world alive.
Circling back, here’s a big shout out to all the wonderful women reading this. Remember: “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” Allow me to rephrase that to honor you during National Women’s Month: The hands that rule the world rock.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer, and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
Categories
