On Getting Older

I'm getting older. At least I'm in good company, though. Turns out, you're getting older too. We all are. Despite scientific, medical, pharmaceutical, cosmetic, and even surgical advances,  you cannot stop the onslaught of time. It is relentless. I have recently come to discover that it is hairy, as well. Allow me to explain.

Picture it - Mother's Day. After church my adoring family had announced that they were going to take me out to the restaurant of my choice to celebrate my role as matriarch of our little clan, since that's what tradition (and Hallmark) require on this made-up May holiday. A few minutes later we were perched on greasy seats at a wobbly table in a local fast food joint.  (Yes, that's what I chose. Partly because I love their burgers so very, very much, and partly because the faster we ate our food, the sooner I would be able to go home for a  much-anticipated Mother's Day nap. Don't judge me.) 

Anyway... the sun was streaming through the window. My children were grinning in my direction (they liked that I chose the fast food place too.) My husband was staring intently at me. I was just thinking how lucky I was to have a healthy, happy family, and a man who still found me beautiful after so many years of marriage, when he leaned forward, brushed my cheek softly, wrinkled his brow, and said, "Is that a hair?" I paused, french fry in midair.

"Is what a hair?"

"That." He pointed. "That thing. On your mole."

Oy. Now those are words you don't ever, ever want to come out of anyone's mouth about you. Especially not your husband's. Especially not on Mother's Day. Especially not in public. My greasy hand instinctively went to my face. (Which, in hindsight, wasn't such a smart thing. Who wants a pimple on top of a hairy mole, after all?)

"I think it is. I think there are two, actually." He said, with great interest.

"Nu - uh!" I gasped in horror, and excused myself to rush to the bathroom. 

In the ladies' room, I locked the door and peered into the mirror. He was right. Though the hairs were blonde (thank goodness!), they were there, nonetheless - long, mocking, and a reminder of the fact that I was getting older. I think all women eventually come to the place of thinking they've either turned into hideous old crones, or (even worse) their own mothers. That's how I felt. I plucked the hairs, washed my hands (because touching mole hairs is gross, you know), and returned to the table. My husband grinned, and inspected my face closely.

"You got 'em, eh? Nice job!" He offered an upheld hand for a high-five.

I figured that since I had officially turned into a witch, I would be able to vaporize him on the spot with one glare from my wizened, cloudy eye. After all, though he hadn't technically caused my facial follicles to explode, he had been the one who noticed them doing so. Same difference, right? When I realized that my pouty stare hadn't worked, I couldn't help but grin back at him, though, and return the high-five - an action typically reserved for victors in sporting events or for moments of great triumph or importance. In retrospect, I realized that it was the perfect gesture.

For one thing, life is a great race. The most we can do is endeavor to run our race well, to the very end, until we cross the finish line and share the fullness of the victory of Christ. The mole hairs and other unpleasantries we get along the way are simply indicators of the mile markers passing by. High five - you're still running your race! And, the fact that I have someone to share my life with - even the unpleasant bits - who loves me through thick and thin is a great triumph in and of itself. High five - there are people in your life who will run your race with you, from the highest highs, to the lowest lows, even if you turn into a troll.  That's pretty sweet stuff indeed.

Since then, I've discovered a few more signs of age, and I'm sure that trend will continue. But, it's all good. Every hair, sag, and wrinkle I come across is another reminder of the fact that I'm still here, and still going strong. Life may not always be pretty, but it certainly is something to celebrate.  I'm getting older. But, I'm in good company. You're getting older too. Can I get a high five for that?

Oh, The Humanity!

I took my girls to the pool to go swimming last week. That, my friends, is a very loaded statement. Lurking within those 38 innocent little letters you'll find such thorny challenges as unflattering swimsuits, pre-teen hormonal power struggles, and the endless quest to convince everyone that we're something we're not. Just think - all that on a Thursday afternoon!

I have a love/hate relationship with swimming. It's one of the few 'exercises' that I truly enjoy. I love the feeling of being weightless and the muffled silence that washes over me when I'm floating on my back. I love the fact that I can be just as competent and capable in the pool as a skinny little fitness trainer, and that my children are impressed with my aquatic prowess. I love the smell. I love the sounds. I even love the biting taste of Chlorine. What I don't love, however, is the uniform.

I admit it - I hate going out in a swimsuit. My body and I, surprisingly, get along well. It's done a lot for me - more than I deserve, actually, especially in light of how I sometimes treat it. When we're at home together, watching TV and eating popcorn, I get along famously with my body. We're happy together working outside, relaxing on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and even dressing up and going out for a nice dinner.  However, despite how much it deserves my respect and admiration, I still have a hard time taking it out and showing it off.

Usually, I find myself in the locker room of the pool staring in the mirror at glaringly white legs, save for the scattered bruises and stubborn hairs that refused to relent to the onslaught of the razor. My suit (like most of the rest of my clothing) was purchased several years ago at a Goodwill store. It is a marvel of engineering, and contains more spandex than most whole aerobics classes. However, even with all of its wrapping and cupping and contouring, I still take the long walk to the water's edge painfully aware of the incongruity between how I look and how I am "supposed to" look.

Funny thing, that - "supposed to". As I helped my children into their swimming gear, I noted with a wince how quickly they were growing up. My oldest is getting leggy - not quite graceful and full-grown yet, but her awkwardness has its own sense of purpose, and therefore sense of beauty as well. The same is true for my six-year-old, who possesses the sturdy and utilitarian frame that goes along with the constant growth and activity of children her age. And, my baby! She is still young enough to have the delightful rounded belly and dimpled knees of toddlerhood, though they are now coupled with slender legs and graceful fingers. As she finishes her transition from baby to child, she appears to be all spare parts and mismatched pieces, but the overall effect is glorious. It is all with all of them, really.

As I hurriedly walked the few yards from the locker room to the pool (never running, mind you!) with my face down and eyes averted, I almost ran smack-dab into another middle-aged mom with the same posture. In our passing glance we shared a story as old as time itself. There we were - enormously blessed with healthy children and the time and energy to be able to spend with them, and all we could think about was our own perceived failings. But - and here's the key - our floppy arms and stretch marks are every bit as indicative of the wonder and power of our bodies at this stage of our lives as the characteristics I marveled at in my children are at their stages of life.

I took the opportunity during the rest of our pool visit to glance around. (Furtively, of course, with the adage, "stare not lest ye be stared at" in the forefront of my mind.) What I found was not rolls and wrinkles, sags and cellulite. Instead, I discovered humanity - those distinct qualities that mark our very humanness . We are all incredibly and wonderfully flawed, and that is what unites us - from the chubbiest newborn baby to the frailest senior citizen. There isn't a single body in the world just like mine. It had its own separate destiny and need to be unique from the very first second it was created, and still tells my story in its every curve and nuance.

I wouldn't wish away a single moment of any of my pregnancies, despite the battle scars they left me with. I may regret, for the sake of my waistline, that I indulged in a shared dessert last time my husband I went out on a date, but I'm glad I did it nonetheless. Does this mean I will trade my downcast, shamed shuffle for a swinging strut next time I'm at the pool? Probably not. But, perhaps I'll take the step of at least looking up when I walk from the locker room to the water's edge in order to see, acknowledge, and appreciate the humanity showcased in each and every shape and size of body around me. Who knows - someday I might even come to do the same for my own.

(Painting entitled 'Hesitant Swimmers' by Shanti Marie.)

Five, Ten, Fifteen

Here are the five best tips I try to implement when life gets crazy and I am running thin on resources. They take 10 minutes or less per day, but reap big results if you'll stick with them for 15 days. I call them my Five Rules of Ten for Fifteen Days.

1. Go to bed ten minutes earlier than you usually do. Even the busiest person can make this happen. Most people are sleep deprived, and research shows that it affects our productivity and health more than we realize. If you feel tired during the day, have a hard time waking up, get drowsy while driving, or fall asleep in front of the TV - chances are, you're not getting enough sleep. Giving yourself an extra ten minutes will ensure that you get to sleep sooner, and can get to all of the important stages of sleep faster. By adding just ten extra minutes for 15 days, you're going to be getting two and a half extra hours of sleep. Who couldn't use that!?

2. Get ten minutes of exercise each day. Thirty minutes, three times a week is best, but ten is better than nothing. Park farther away than you usually do. Walk in place during half of your favorite show. Or (my favorite) - put on an upbeat song or two and dance like no one is watching! Even if you flop back on the couch after exactly 600 seconds every one of those 15 days, you'll have exercised almost the same amount of time as if you'd have done the 'required' 30 minutes, three times per week. See - little things do add up!

3. Take ten less bites of food at supper. Challenge yourself to dish up what you normally would eat for supper, and leave at least ten bites on your plate each night. If each bite is a tablespoon in size, that equals about 2/3 of a cup. The could mean 160 less calories (plain mashed potatoes), 190 calories (stuffing), or even 300 calories ( ice cream). Even if you just cut 100 calories per day, you'll be eating 1500 calories less in those 15 days, which equals almost a half a pound of weight loss!

4. Laugh at least ten times per day. Not only are you no fun to be around when you're not making the time to laugh, but you're also imperiling your own health. Laughter releases feel-good hormones, lessens stress, burns calories, and even boosts immunity. Whether it's a simple chuckle, or a roaring belly laugh, getting your giggles out helps you and the people around you. Who knows - having ten good laughs a day for 15 days might just change the world!

5. Engage with your loved ones for ten minutes every day. What do I mean by 'engage?' Think of it this way - it's the difference between talking to your spouse while you're busy cooking dinner, and talking to your spouse with your full attention. If you really want to tell your loved ones that you care, engage with them using all of your focus. You'll be amazed about how much better you'll be able to communicate, and how much closer you'll feel with just ten simple minutes of real conversation a day for 15 days.

Back Up On the Horse

I'm dieting. Again. I have become the ubiquitous thirty-something woman who is trying desperately to shed unwanted pounds, and that's ok. I've struggled with my weight my whole life, and have only had a BMI in the 'normal' weight range for about thirty seconds total - when I was eighteen, naked, and dehydrated. I try really, really hard not to look down on those women who struggle to lose that "last ten pounds." Seriously? That's like worrying about your mansion not being as nice as the mansion next door, isn't it? If I was within ten pounds of my ideal weight, I'm afraid I'd be walking around nude to show off what hot stuff I was!

No, on second thought - I guess I would not. In truth, I would probably feel just as insecure and unhappy with the way I look as I always have. When I got married I was 70 pounds lighter than I am now, and ten dress sizes smaller. I was, most likely, within that last 10 pounds of being at an ideal weight (give or take a few pounds). But, was I happy? Was I ecstatic? Was I walking around nude? Or, even in trendy and cute clothing? Of course not. I was worrying about what I was eating and how I looked, just like I had been fifty pounds earlier, and just like I would be seventy pounds later. I cannot blame those ladies who fret over their last ten or fifteen pounds any more than I can blame someone for fretting over an extra 30, 50, 70, or even 100 pounds. Let's face it - it's not about weight, is it?

I'll tell you - the moments in my life when I've felt the best about my body came when I stopped focusing on how it looks and took the time to appreciate all the things it does for me. I've created, nurtured, brought forth, and nourished three beautiful people. I might not like my hips, but my babies sure fit well there. I wish that my thighs were a little less dimpled, but they have never yet failed to carry me through life. I might grumble when I see floppy arms and thick shoulders in the mirror, but my friends and family never complain when they are encompassed in a heart-felt hug. And, though I might not be happy with the way I look, my husband is, and making his eyes light up and a smile slide across his face is one of the best things that this old body is able to do.

So, I'm trying to find the balance. I don't hate my body anymore, but I also know that I'm probably never going to love the way it looks, no matter how much weight I lose. I, like 99.999% of American women, have a love-hate relationship with my physique. It's a game I've gotten comfortable playing. I know the rules. And, though I'm not quite sure you ever really win, at least I've learned how not to lose at it. I think I've become a better player as the years have gone by. I've traded in starving for savoring, binges for bites, and trends for the tried-and-true. So, why am I dieting again? Simple -  I'm working towards dropping a few pounds in order to stay healthy enough to keep playing this game for many, many more years to come. After all, I may never get to where I look great in my birthday suit, but I want to able to at least keep enjoy the cake and parties for many, many more years to come!

Catching My Breath

So, I guess I haven't written in a while. Sorry 'bout that. I started this blog for  myself - a place to drop all the random little thoughts and tangents that rattle around in my brain all of the time. (It's very busy up there.) It surprised me that since the first entry it has emerged as a platform for cohesive messages and thoughts (at least most of the time)... a collection of essays more than a log of my daily comings and goings. Funny how that happens.

Now that my blog has started out thus, is it too late to change? Would my adoring fans (all 26 - and God bless each and every one of you) revolt? Stop reading? Complain to headquarters? Have me booted off the internet? Guess I'm going to have to take the leap of faith and hope I can make a giant U turn and redefine what this thing is all about, at least for a while. Apparently when I started this blog I needed a soapbox. Now I need a journal. Or a diary. Or a confessional. Maybe I don't know what I need, but that's never stopped me before. I guess what I think I need is just to be able to share everyday life in its simplicity, without having to have a point. After all, often life doesn't have a profound point, at least not one that can be immediately figured out. Sometimes the scattered events must be noted - jotted down and preserved for posterity - so that they can be examined later with more perspective. So - here goes.

It's been a long, hard 13 weeks. My beloved mother in law went into the hospital with end stage ovarian cancer in the end of February. She was there for 5 weeks, and in Hospice for another 2. That was 6 weeks ago, and it is still hard to think about it. It was a long haul, full of so many profound and difficult moments.  She taught me so much about myself during these past many years (we celebrated the 14th anniversary of our meeting a few days after she was admitted). She taught me about my husband. My children. My home. My God. It was not always easy, but it was good. She never lied to me, and we always loved each other.

Watching her slip away from us for the past 3 years since her diagnosis was awful. Watching her transition from this side of the veil to the other during her last 7 weeks was likewise awful, but also... well... life changing. Living without her for the past 6 weeks has been lonely. I am angry at God for what I thought He would do and didn't (I know - it's not logical or fair, but still feels pretty real nonetheless), but I am also so eternally grateful for the little graces and big lessons he granted during that time. He and I are still a bit on the outs, so to speak, but I can never again doubt that He is there, and He is listening, and His promises of life on the other side are real. She got to see it. Got to tell me about it. Got to pass on reassurances about beloved friends long gone. I was so caught up in caring for her, helping the rest of our family, participating in this enormous thing that was happening, that I am at a loss now that it's over.

I've never been a terribly 'slow and steady wins the race' type person. I move from one emergency to the next, expending every bit of energy I have with each and every one. If there's nothing particularly 'exciting' going on, I'll go and seek out someone who needs saving, a situation than needs to be fixed, a fire that needs to be put out. I breathe in (take a few days, sleep a lot, bum around in sweat pants, veg out), and then I breathe out (run! rescue! move! do! fix!).

I'm afraid, however, that I've broken myself this time. This event syncopated my life to the point of breaking my natural rhythm. In a very real way, I guess you could say that I haven't been able to catch my breath. I am quite literally 'exhausted' - consumed entirely, emptied, drawn off, a vacuum, void of previous content and value. I'm not even equipped to deal with the drama of dishes and laundry these days. Am I ever going to be able to go back to slaying dragons? Is there enough rest to be found to fix this worn out body and spirit? Will I ever draw that healing, deep breath again? I'm hoping that, just like the bigger picture - the "point" of life - that is often only found in the magical, mathematical formula of everyday life + some perspective, my healing will come one smile, one nap, one afternoon, one hug at a time. Guess I'll have to keep you posted.

Cancer

I hate to re-state the obvious, but cancer sucks. Even as I write I am painfully aware of just how inadequate words are at expressing all that cancer entails - even more so since I am not the one with the disease, but merely along for the ride as my beloved friend struggles with it.

Along for the ride, or perhaps more accurately, hijacked by it. Our family was on a lovely trip together, when cancer climbed into the car with us and began making demands. At first we tried to ignore him, pretending he wasn't there. When he finally became unavoidable, we started planning for how nice the trip would be once he left. Then we started scheming ways to get rid of him. We prayed. We bargained. We plead. Now we just ride in silence.

At some point very recently it became apparent that he was not going to leave. More than that, he was also not going to be joining us on our planned ride, but was commandeering the vehicle, and would choose when and where my friend got off. We politely asked if he would at least allow us to slow down a bit, that we might enjoy the scenery along the way, but he seems to be in an awful hurry. The best we know to do now is to sit and hold her hand as we draw close.

At least this is true - we find comfort in the fact that cancer may have driven her, but all roads lead to home. This was not the trip we planned, but there was a plan all along. We are to the point now where the car is starting to slow, and all that is left to do is to help her gather her things and await the destination. Though we are all sad for her end here, we are also looking forward to her new beginning, free from the seatmate that has made things so unpleasant.

It's true - this is not the trip we had hoped for, but I think we're all glad to have been along for the ride, nonetheless. How else would we have learned to say so much with so few words? More importantly, what else could teach us that sometimes we don't need words at all to say what we really mean? We have come to find peace even when we are not in control, patience when we want to scream, strength when we want to cry. Perhaps these are better souvenirs than the ten-cent trinkets we would have picked ourselves on this trip called life.

I guess it's clear now that this was not just a temporary detour. Our plans did not work out like we had hoped, though I can hardly even remember what those plans were now. To be sure, they might have been more fun or more exciting, but they could not have been more important, and certainly would never have taught us about grace and love so thoroughly.

When she departs, she will be loosed from the grip of our cruel co-passenger and will run into the open arms of a loving father. In that moment He will smile and motion us onward, for our journey is not done, though we must make the next leg without her. And, whatever sights we see, places we go, or passengers may yet climb, unbidden, into the car with us in years to come, I know that we will never regret the trip and can trust that our common destination will be worth every mile. And, when we all arrive there together, oh - what stories we will have to tell each other, and what plans we will once again make!

Nuked

We finally gave in and got a microwave a week or so ago. I don't know what was the final straw that broke this camel's back. Perhaps it was the fact that my husband switched from the occasional broad hint to a direct, daily inquiry about when we could go appliance shopping. Or, maybe it was the sad look my children had while pleading for the forbidden fruit of microwave popcorn. (Or the even sadder look that people gave to me while listening to the children plead, assuming that surely we must live in abject poverty if we do not have a microwave in our home.)

Truth be told, I had been mulling the idea around for about a week already before I finally gave in, but it was a tough thing for me to do. I liked holding on to some of my crunchy, quirky, all-natural self-righteousne... uh, I mean ideals. It reminded me of who I had been, who I assumed I still was deep down inside (and who my friends and family hope I will never, ever become again). I suppose that trading in the toaster oven for the microwave is the same as trading in broomstick skirts and veganism for a decent professional wardrobe (my "goin' to Des Moines clothes") and a more balanced approach to healthy eating. I am still an Earthmomma, darnit, but I'm a little softer around the edges. (Now that we have a microwave, I'll probably glow around the edges too!)

So, it was with great trepidation that I welcomed our newest addition into the family. I must admit, despite my misgivings, that it is a good fit. It has this funny little habit where the door doesn't close all the way, which triggers the safety switch and doesn't allow you to press the start button. It's got personality. I like that in a machine. Plus, it does make a mean plate of nachos, and can warm up leftovers better than even my beloved cast-iron skillet.  It's quiet. It's sleek. It's neat. It's clean. It has a flat surface on top to stack things on, and it gave us a much-needed west-facing clock that we can see from the front door. In short, I'm in love with the thing. But, I'm not always thrilled with the company it chooses to hang out with.

See, microwaves do not attract health food. They're not made for health food. What they're made for is pre-packaged, 'cheeze' covered, cellophane wrapped preservatives, molded into an approximate shape and size and color of food, and then sprayed with a food-like scent. Trust me, I am something of an expert on this, having just moments ago eaten a Chicken and Cheese Chimichunga that came in a shiny green wrapper.

I did my best to treat this frozen hunk of faux-TexMex like food - putting it on a real plate, covering it with salsa, adding a bit of shredded cheese to the top... In the end, what I had was still appalling and awful. The texture was all wrong. The flavor was all wrong. The guilt I felt was all wrong. The only redeeming qualities that chimichunga had was that it was cheap, it was hot, and it was NOW.

Then again.... I've already swallowed my pride by signing a peace treaty with my arch-nemesis (which has  nuclear capabilities, no less!) and invited it into my home. I've given up all my other long-held ideals about food. Maybe being cheap, hot, and NOW aren't such bad qualities. (Ask many 19-year-olds, and they will think these are the ONLY qualities worth having...) Maybe it is a sign of maturity, of becoming more at peace with the world around me, of finally giving up all my self-righteous attitudes. Yes, I believe it must surely be a good thing that I can eat a TV dinner now and again, wait happily for that reassuring 'ding' when warming up leftovers, and allow my girls to eat microwave popcorn occasionally.

Of course, that's only if it's Newman's Organic, because those others use fake butter that will give you cancer. And, mind you, I care far too much about my internal organs to subject them to radiation by actually standing in front of the thing while it's blasting my food with its Geiger-alerting rays. And, the leftovers would certainly have to be from my home-grown, good-quality, grass-fed, free-range, all-natural, cruelty-and-cage-free, omega-enriched, biosustainable, home-canned, happy animals, and.....

(Ok, maybe the microwave hasn't totally nuked all of my self-righteousness yet... I'll keep you posted.)

Urgent Public Health Update

 There is an epidemic out there, people, and it's starting to get serious! In the interest of public health (since I have access to so many thousands of followers) I feel it is my responsibility to share some vital information about the syptoms and prevention of this highly-contagious disease.

NOTE- You will not see reference to H1N1, swines, Tamaflu medication, or any other medical hogwash (pun intended) here, since I do believe that the 'swine flu' epidemic is nearly as much of a threat as the accompanying panic, misinformation, rushed-to-market vaccines, and medi over-hype about them are.

Instead, I'd like to talk about a disease that I feel strongly about preventing but that doesn't receive nearly the attention by the medical community or the media as it should : Homesickness. (My mother, right at this moment, is suffering from an acute case, which is why I am doing a rare double-blog-day.)

So, here is the critical information about Homesickness, as confirmed by the CDC, WHO, UNICEF, NFL, AFLCIO, and SNL (that last one is Saturday Night Live, for those of you who don't know):

Homesickness is a serious disorder that affects nearly 100% of children at some point between 18 months and 10 years of age. Further, incidents of homesickness in adults is widely under reported, but estimates range from 30% to 75% of adults experiencing at least a minor case of the disease each year.

Homesickness can strike any person. The most vulnerable populations are those with strong family relationships and stable, loving homes, though socioeconomic status does not seem to be an indicator in the likelihood of getting the disease. Those with pets also seem more prone to this disease.

Though research on this disease is limted, experts believe it to be seasonal, as most cases in adults occur in November and December, with peaks around the third week (particularly Thursday) of November and the last two weeks of December. Occasional bouts in the summer time also occur in adults.

In children, the greatest chance of coming down with homesickness occurs during the school year (with most cases beginning on Fridays), and for a few weeks in the summer. It is believed that children spread home sickness during summer camps, so parents are advised to use extreme caution before sending their children away from home for an extended period of time. In children, the onset generally occurs between 9:00 and 11:00 p.m., with many cases peaking later in the night, often necessitating a parent to come and get the child in order to lessen the chance of spreading it to others.

Homesickness can sometimes be confused with whiny-child syndrome, profound insecurity, generalized separation anxiety, a crash after a sugar-high, or insomnia. However, a closer examination of symptoms usually makes it easy to differentiate this disorder from the others.

Although there is no known vaccination, there are steps that can be taken to prevent the disease, as well as treatment options to ease symptoms.

PREVENTION:

Wash Your Hands Often: Though the actual pathogen that causes this disease has never been successfully cultured and isolated, doctors believe that frequent hand washing will help stop the spread of the disease. Researchers theorize that bathrooms are the least likely room to trigger an outbreak of homesickness, and therefore the more time spent in a bathroom, the less time you will be engaging in other activities that put you at risk for catching the disease.


Drink Plenty of Water: Adequate hydration is a good preventative measure, and becomes increasingly important should you actually catch homesicknesses. One of the most serious side effects of the disease is dehydration due to fluid loss through tears. Additionally, those who drink plenty of water will be less likely to be drinking alcoholic beverages. There has been a link in certain studies between the intake of alcohol and sudden-onset (or "blubbering") homesickness.

Get Enough Sleep Each Night: Rest is essential for building a strong immune system. Most cases of homesickness occur in those who have not gotten enough sleep, though it's unclear whether the lack of sleep causes the disease or is a symptom of the disease. Doctor Familia Casa-Amor, a leading homesickness researcher from Mayo Clinic, has determined that the more hours a person spends sleeping, the less likely the are to have a typical case of homesickness, though a rarer form which exhibits intense dreams and sleep walking or weeping does sometimes occur in the overnight hours.

Avoid Unnecessary Contact With Strangers: Since this disease is highly contagious, care should be taken to avoid those who you suspect might have the disease. The incubation period of homesickness is long - sometimes up to 10 years - which means that people are often capable of spreading the disease before they exhibit symptoms. It is believed that people who are difficult, unpleasant, unintelligent, belligerent,  dull, or lacking in personal hygeine are most likely to cause outbreaks. Scientists are not clear whether this is because these patients have qualities that make one long for loved ones and home, or because they remind people of loved ones and home.

WHAT TO DO IF YOU CATCH HOMESICKNESS

There are generally two schools of thought on appropriate treatment methods.

Some doctors opt for a treatment plan that isolates and quarantines patients, so as to lessen the spread to others. In this case, doctors will typically advise patients to avoid thoughts of loved ones, long-distance phone calls, familiar (or "comfort") foods, photograph albums, online networking sites, and certain types of movies (most notably those that are classified as "chick flicks") Patients who have used such treatment show an initial decrease in symptoms, but show frequently relapses in the weeks and months following the initial onset. These relapses are often more severe than the original outbreak, often leading to erratic eating habits (including consumption of mass quantities of chocolate), weight gain, moodiness, inability to concentrate, and frequent re-playing of certain songs. This treatment plan is rapidly losing favor among health care professionals, and generally considered ineffective and even unsafe.

More standard and accepted current practice for the treatment of homesickness involves a rigorous regimine involving visits with family (typically by phone or other technology firist, and then in person). Though doctors initially worried about spreading the disease through contact, it has been found that family members are usually immune to homesickness from others who are related biologically or by marriage or long-term friendship. Doctors should be careful to warn patients that symptoms may recur for a brief period after the contact (both in the person originally affected and in others who were exposed), though the outbreak is generally mild in nature and clears up within a day or two. This mirrors the type of reaction that is common after a vaccination and should not be cause for worry.

The most important thing to remember if you or someone you love has a case of homesickness is that time is of the essence. Do not wait to begin your treatment plan, or serious and lasting side effects could occur. Someday doctors hope to erradicate this disease permanently, but until then, take good care of yourself, hug your babies as often as possilbe, tell your parents that you love them, visit friends whenever you can, and enjoy each moment of each day.

(Note - this blog is not intended to diagnose, treat, prevent, or cure homesickness, swine flu, scruffula, severe dandruff, golfer's elbow, or any other disease or disorder.)