The purpose of this blog is to share lighthearted stories about aging that will inform, encourage and entertain. Enjoy!
“What time are you headed up town?” echoed through the hallways of my college dorm most Friday nights — until someone shouted back, “Probably around 10 or 11.” So some time before midnight, cliques of co-eds began strolling up Wooster Ave. to blow off steam at Kaufman’s, the Circus Club or Howard’s.
Howard’s, once a horse stable, was the popular laid back bar on Main Street in Bowling Green back in the 1960s. They say celebrities like Leonard Nimoy, Clint Eastwood and Clark Gable used to drop in there. You couldn’t prove it one way or another by me. I was usually busy just trying to focus after having one 3.2 beer. My head would be pounding from a migraine; and my stomach would be moaning, “No more” after a few sips.
But I wanted to belong so…
Things didn’t get any better as I got older. My sister is still laughing about the time we went to a Japanese teppanyaki restaurant, and I had some kind of fruity drink. I don’t know if it were a Umeshu tonic, a Mai Tai or a Smokin’ Dragon, but after one taste, I announced to everyone around the large, flat griddle that my nose was numb.
Over the years I kept trying to fit in.
But finally, there was a last time — a time when everything spun out of control. My husband and I were at the local Elks’ Club for a big event. I was so excited to get out of the house I bought this beautiful black gown with stunning white roses swirling down the front. I should have known when I started gushing over how delicious the green olives were in the Martini someone had handed me that I was in trouble. All I remember is my husband peeling my arms from around the spinning toilet in the Ladies’ Restroom after some women told him I was sharing our life story in between heaves. He and I were both surprised when we saw the extra leaves bubbling up on the front of my new dress. I felt as if I had the flu for a week after that.
To say the least, I was disappointed in myself. Not because I liked the taste of alcoholic beverages — to be honest, I’d rather have had a Pepsi — but I wanted to be able to party with my husband, drink wine with my girlfriends, celebrate special occasions with my family and friends.
It was obvious, however, I couldn’t handle my booze. I wondered what was wrong with me. I was an oddball.
I discovered the answer in the early 2000s.
I’ve always been the curious type so when 23and Me, a DNA genetic testing for health and ancestry, first came out on the market, I was excited. There were no blood and needles involved. All they needed was a collection of saliva. The first kits were only $99 so I thought they would make great Christmas gifts for my family — until my one daughter claimed, “That’s creepy!” and the other one announced she’d gag if she had to spit into a test tube.
Well, as I’ve gotten older, the need to fit in isn’t as strong as it was when I was younger. Matter-of-fact, I don’t mind being kinda creepy once in awhile now. Ha! I sent my kit in and was ecstatic when I got the results. You see, I have two variant genes that do not allow me to encode the enzymes that are needed to break down alcohol into acetaldehyde and acetate.
Hurray! I’m an oddball for a reason.
Some people find genetic testing controversial and others proclaim there are better DNA testing services available, but I have really enjoyed studying my 23andMe report and the new research they regularly send me. And believe it or not, my cardiologist used the report to find a statin I could tolerate.
Now, I’m not sure I need the results to prove I have a propensity toward wet earwax, salty over sweet, motion sickness, and photobleaching; but it’s been kinda fun finding out that genetics is behind a lot more of our senses than I realized.
I love being older — I can accept my “different” self — and my friends just say, “Jan, I got you a Pepsi.”
It’ll Be OK.
~~~
“What did the DNA say to the other DNA. ‘Do these genes make me look fat?’” ~ Pinterest
Next week I will be sharing what my Ancestry portion of the 23andMe report is like. I hope you come back and check it out. Maybe we’re related. Just kidding! ~ Jan xoxo
Before we got married my husband decided to gift me with 23&Me. I'm adopted. I thought maybe it would shed light on my heritage and just maybe I'd find a relative by blood. No such luck. It was bust on all counts and I kinda felt ripped off.
It prompted me to dive a little further in, to the point of getting a hold of the adoption agency I came from. The records are sealed shut. It's weird. 1958 is the only year for this particular adoption agency that it would take a court order fro me to open the sealed records. I don't think I want to open that door. I've had enough of Pandora's box from my adopted parents' families, haha. I guess some things are better off staying in the dark.
I haven't felt the desire for DNA test but I too have found some tests and procedures very helpful in understanding and accepting my health challenges. For example, I had self-diagnosed Diverticulitis. When I had a screening colonoscopy they sent me a lovely image of my Diverticulosis. It did help me to put more effort into avoiding food that can trigger attacks. As always well written and thought provoking. 👏