I Take Better Care of a 77-Year-Old Than I Do of Myself

I’m writing this from an ER bed.

It’s 10pm on a Friday, and I’m here because I’ve been bleeding — the kind of bleeding you don’t ignore — and I ignored it anyway. The first time it happened was the day after my birthday. I was getting on a plane to Amsterdam. Did I cancel the trip? I did not. Did I get it checked when I got home? Also no. Tonight it came back, and finally my body said okay, we’re doing this now, and here I am.

And listen — I know how it sounds. But here’s the part that’s funny, in a sad, very-Angie kind of way:

I am a private chef for a 77-year-old gentleman. Three mornings a week, I’m at the gym at 6:40am to do his workout with him. I cook his breakfast. The occupational therapist comes to the house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays — I set up the equipment, offer her a cup of coffee, and make sure he’s doing well through the session. By the time he sits down for lunch, the man has been MOVED, FED, and CARED FOR. My nine-year-old gets the same treatment in the afternoon — homework, a show, lights out at 8:30. Even the cats get a vet run when they look funny.

Everyone in my orbit is taken care of.

Except me.

I have spent years being the person who keeps everyone else on track. I know exactly when the gentleman’s prescriptions are due. I know when Olivia’s art show is. I know which cat is acting weird and how long it’s been since the last vet visit. But somehow, I will bleed for weeks and still get on a plane to Amsterdam.

I’m telling you this not because I want anyone to feel sorry for me. I don’t. I’ll be fine — they’ll figure out what’s going on tonight or they’ll send me home with a plan, and I’ll keep showing up at 6:40 next week. But I think a lot of women in their 40s know exactly what I’m describing. We’re really good at running the systems that keep everyone else alive. We’re terrible at including ourselves in those systems.

So if you’re reading this and there’s something you’ve been putting off — a weird symptom, a phone call, a checkup — consider this your nudge. From an ER bed. From a woman who finally listened to her body, two months later than she should have.

I’ll be back to tell you what they figured out. In the meantime, take care of yourself the way you take care of the people you love. That’s the only assignment for tonight.

I’ll be back to tell you what they figured out. In the meantime, take care of yourself the way you take care of the people you love. That’s the only assignment for tonight.

— Angie