health
From the ovaries, outward, all about female-focused health and medicine.
Finding your groove in the 50s
How come we don't have a show on television called 50-somethings? There are plenty of shows with the kiddies as stars, or the teens as stars, or the 20 and 30-somethings as stars. They even have movies and shows for the silver haired folks in their 60s and up club. What about the 50-somethings? Where's our movie or show? When I was younger I had all kinds of guidance. The Breakfast Club helped me through high school. Sex in the City helped me through my 20s. Comic books and movies helped me through the 30s and 40s. Now what? Whose representing the 50-somethings journey and pathways? I feel like I have no guidance. In a way, I like that. I'm too old to be listening to a drill sergeant or condescended to as if I haven't been around the block. Yet, there's still a piece of me that is uneasy and insecure about navigating on this new territory commonly called "over the hill" or "after the change". Big changes, big accomplishments, yet not much art or literature for guidance or reference as if the 50-somethings are in unfamiliar living situations. I trust my own instincts and judgements most of the time, but I do feel a discomfort of not having more movies and books to use as a reference for this phase/chapter of my aging experience.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Grumpy Old Lady Angry at the Economy
I'm frustrated as hell today. Grumpy and snarky. I didn't have to fight the cat to get to the coffee machine, but I couldn't find a pair of pants quick enough, and when I organized the coffee station yesterday I forgot where the filters were. By the time I sat down with my coffee I was already grumpy. The other day my ex-husband/current roommate stood at the coffee station (that cost $400 and I'm making monthly payments on) as if he owned it (because he's a bully who is three times bigger than me and he knows niether of us want to go to jail) and forced me to ask him if I could get myself a cup of coffee (because he was in my f'n way) so I did while I shot him daggers from my eyes and poured the hot coffee into my cup when I really wanted to smash the glass pot against his skull. Whoever said I'm not a good actress, lied. He gets his jollies off by demeaning me with that passive-aggressive behavior. Does it in regards to the toilet also which is why I sometimes have to leak or poo in my own personal bucket toilet.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Old lady grumbling about work
Happy October! May the leaves change colors in glorious autumn fashion and may you enjoy a tasty pumpkin spiced latte or donut this morning. I am here at my desk with a Maxwell House coffee brewed out of the cheapest coffee maker on the Walmart shelf. I like it. One button and will brew the cheapest coffee on the shelf. Good. I'm broke and I'm cheap just like my coffee maker.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Old People Need Different Body Treatment than Young People
Everybody knows that aging changes a body. It is evident in animals and in the human body. We don't have to wonder, we can see it in those who have really aged. They have grey hair, wrinkles, some of them have scars. They dont' move as fast and they seem a lot more cautious in their movements next to a younger person. Are those signs of the privilege of getting old? Maybe. There has been an obsession in many cultures with "looking youthful" as it was attached to an idea of beauty and health. It seemed a common or obvious notion: Young people are healthy, fit, beautiful and if we want to survive or be loved that's what we have to be. So came the health gurus and gym experts. They will sell you any speech or product in the name of "keeping you fit and beautiful" and since culture accepts that being young is better than being old, people blow tons of money on any gimmick directed at that narrative. Old women may be more susceptible to these "advisors" sales pitches because women tend to be vain. I am a vain woman most of the time - some people call it pride. Though it may be considered a vice or an "ugly" part of my personality, it also motivates me to do something good for my body and my self. Pride or Vanity is the only reason I have for "caring" about my body or wanting to keep it in some kind of healthy and/or presentable functioning.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Eldery people visit profound places
I found this meme today scrolling on Facebook. It was the most profound one I read and decided to write a poem and an article featuring this. Where do you think the elderly or the poor hang out? Some roach infested ghetto apartment or a sparkling clean dazzling condo overlooking the ocean? Both? Some elite gated nursing home featured on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous or some decaying old building with overworked and underpaid nurses calling it an Assisted Living Facility? A tent in the backyard where Granny fights the dog or the cat to call it "her" tent? A car that's over 20 years old and needs a new transmission and has no air conditioning or heater, but still lets Grandpa take a nap in the Walmart parking lot? Some old dusty hall where they gave the old homeless bum a free pack so he could play Bingo and try his luck? Yeah, I'm sure you can find the elderly at all of the above, but I think the meme is directly referring to places where the elderly have been much more than those younger folks. Typically, young people (child age to say around 30 somethings) are not typically hanging out at the hospital, the prison, or the cemetary unless they are employed there.
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Body Image in Aging
As I mentioned in my previous article, my focus is on the topic of aging especially regarding women so I'm thinking about old ladies which is what I consider myself since I am "over the hill" (over 50 years of age). Though wise men will say that we ought not compare ourselves to others as it is a source of emotional havoc, I notice that sitting in front of a television or computer screen in a female aging body is a source of loneliness and restlessness. Though I may be wise like those men or other notable wise women in the famous stories, I see daily that comparisons are often made (intentionally or not) almost as if it is impossible to get through the day without doing so. Scroll on Facebook because you're bored and see a joke about sagging breasts. Lots of laughs but would it be funny without comparison? If we didn't have plastic boobs or 15 year old boobs to look at, would the saggy drooping old lady boobs be funny? I'll try not to compare us to animals, but when I get in a serious mood I tend to compare human behavior to the animals and the animals seem to be more civilized. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe that was as cruel as laughing at your grandmother's breasts. Did you laugh at the porn stars breasts the same way? Oh right, it isn't wise to compare. What? The laughs or the breasts?
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Viva
Discipline, Vision, Community: TT Torrez Returns to MCNY to Unlock the Leaders of Tomorrow with #GoGetHer Summit
Full Circle - TT Torrez Returns to MCNY to Unlock Leaders of Tomorrow When Vision Meets Access: The Official Line Up - How TT Torrez Is Redefining Leadership for Young Women of Color
By NWO SPARROWabout a year ago in Viva
The Unseen Viva
M Mehran Sana had always been the kind of student who hid at the back of the classroom, scribbling notes furiously, afraid to raise her hand. She excelled in written exams but dreaded speaking. Words, when written, obeyed her. Words, when spoken, betrayed her. So when the announcement came that her degree would end with a viva voce, she felt her stomach drop. An oral examination—standing alone before a panel, answering questions in real time—was her greatest nightmare. --- The Night Before The night before her viva, Sana barely slept. She stared at her thesis spread across the desk, highlighted and dog-eared. She whispered definitions under her breath, rehearsed explanations in the mirror, but every time she imagined facing the professors, her voice cracked. At 3 a.m., she closed her notes and whispered, “If I fail, at least I’ll know I tried.” But deep down, she wondered if trying would ever be enough. --- Walking In The next morning, the corridor outside the examination room buzzed with nervous energy. Her classmates paced, flipping through last-minute notes. Sana sat silently, her palms damp, her heart hammering. When her name was called, she felt the world tilt. She stood, legs trembling, and walked into the room. Three professors sat behind a long table, her thesis placed in the center like evidence in a trial. “Good morning, Miss Sana,” one said, adjusting his glasses. “Shall we begin?” --- The First Question The first question was simple enough: “What motivated you to pursue this research?” Sana’s lips trembled as she spoke. “I wanted to understand how small changes in community education programs could… could transform literacy rates.” Her voice wavered, but the words came. The professors nodded. Encouraged, she exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the chair. Then came the harder ones. --- Cracks in the Armor “Can you explain why you chose this methodology?” She stumbled, trying to recall her notes. Her throat tightened. The silence in the room grew heavier. Another professor leaned forward. “What limitations do you see in your findings?” Her mind went blank. For a horrifying moment, she thought she might faint. She wanted to disappear into the floor, to run from the room and never return. But then, she remembered something her grandmother used to tell her: “When you can’t find courage, borrow your honesty.” So she took a breath and said, “The biggest limitation was me. I was nervous about whether my methods were strong enough. But I learned from those mistakes and corrected them as I went.” The panel didn’t frown. In fact, one professor smiled. --- The Turning Point As the questions continued, something shifted. The more Sana spoke honestly, the steadier her voice became. She stopped trying to be perfect and started explaining like she would to a friend. When they asked about the future scope of her work, she lit up. She spoke passionately about how her findings could help design better literacy programs for rural schools. She forgot her fear. She forgot herself. She spoke only about the work she loved. By the end, her voice was no longer trembling—it was alive. --- The Verdict “Thank you, Miss Sana,” the chair said at last. “Please wait outside while we discuss.” The corridor was suffocating. Every second stretched like an hour. She clasped her hands tightly, whispering prayers. Finally, the door opened. One professor stepped out, smiling warmly. “Congratulations. You’ve passed.” Sana blinked, stunned. Her chest filled with a rush of relief so powerful that tears sprang to her eyes. For the first time, she realized she hadn’t just passed an exam—she had passed a barrier inside herself. --- Beyond the Viva That day, Sana learned the viva was not simply a test of knowledge. It was a test of presence, of courage, of owning your voice even when it shakes. And she realized something else, too: life itself is full of vivas. Job interviews. First dates. Difficult conversations. Every moment we’re called to speak our truth is its own oral examination. The questions may change, but the challenge is the same—to stand tall, to be honest, and to let our voice carry who we really are. --- Final Thought The viva is more than an academic ritual. It is a rite of passage that strips away rehearsed answers and demands authenticity. Sana walked in terrified, but she walked out transformed—not because she knew everything, but because she finally believed in herself. And maybe that’s the real lesson of every viva: the answers matter, but the voice matters more.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Viva
Ayn Rand: The Woman Who Made Individualism Unstoppable
Two unforgettable heroes came alive from Ayn Rand’s imagination—Howard Roark from The Fountainhead (1943) and John Galt from Atlas Shrugged (1957). To me, they weren’t just fictional men; they embodied the possibility of living by unshakable principles. Their strength wasn’t in superpowers or wealth but in moral clarity—the courage to stand alone when the world demanded conformity. When I first discovered Ayn Rand, I didn’t expect her words to pierce so deeply into my own life. She didn’t just write stories; she gave me a way of thinking—a way of seeing myself and the world. Before her, I was adrift, torn between tradition, expectations, and my own half-formed dreams. After her, I found purpose. --- My First Encounter with Rand’s World I didn’t start with her novels. Instead, I stumbled across her nonfiction—the provocatively titled The Virtue of Selfishness (1964). The very name made me raise an eyebrow. Weren’t we taught that selfishness was wrong? That to live for yourself was immoral? Yet, page by page, Rand dismantled every notion I had absorbed from school, church, and culture. Words like egoism, altruism, and collectivism weren’t just vocabulary—they became sparks in my mind. Suddenly, I saw my own contradictions: saying one thing to please society while silently craving independence. Soon after, I picked up Anthem (1938), a slim book but heavy with meaning. In its pages, I found a world where even the word “I” was forbidden. And yet, the protagonist dared to speak it—dared to claim individuality. That struck me. Because in my own life, I too was afraid to say: I don’t believe what you believe. I don’t want what you want. I am my own person. --- The Clash Between Society and Self For years, I played two roles. Outwardly, I was the dutiful son, the obedient student, the cooperative member of whatever group demanded my time. Inwardly, I was wrestling with Rand’s voice in my head urging me to stop sacrificing, stop pretending, stop hiding. Like many, I felt the pressure of collectivism—the idea that the group, the family, the nation, or the faith comes before the individual. Rand’s words were a rebellion in my mind. They told me that my life belongs to me. --- A Breaking Point That Changed Everything My life shifted dramatically during a difficult period when I served in a strict, hierarchical environment. Rules suffocated individuality. Words like “we” and “us” replaced “I” and “me.” It was eerily similar to Anthem. At my lowest, I found myself at odds with authority. Confrontations escalated until I was sent away, both physically and emotionally cut off. In that moment of collapse, I turned again to Rand. A fellow traveler handed me a worn copy of The Fountainhead. I devoured it. Howard Roark’s uncompromising integrity—his refusal to bend even when the world mocked, punished, or ignored him—became a lifeline. Rand wasn’t promising an easy life. She was promising a meaningful one. --- Finding Strength in Her Fiction Reading We the Living (1936) showed me the suffocating power of collectivism in its rawest form. Though bleak, it made me grateful for the choices I still had. Then came her masterpiece, Atlas Shrugged. That novel was more than a story—it was a mirror. I saw myself in Hank Rearden, not because I was an industrial genius, but because of his battles with family who couldn’t understand his drive. Like Rearden, I felt the sting of being criticized for valuing my work, my ambitions, and my self-respect. Rand’s women—Dominique Francon and Dagny Taggart—also stood out. They weren’t written as victims or side characters but as powerful individuals who matched men in intellect and strength. I admired them, not just as fictional women, but as proof that Rand’s world left no room for mediocrity, male or female. --- Ayn Rand and My Mental Battles Alongside admiration came personal struggle. Living with mental health challenges meant days of mania, depression, and uncertainty. Yet, Objectivism gave me a compass. Rand’s philosophy didn’t promise to heal my mind, but it reminded me that reason could guide me even through storms. When I felt crushed, I remembered her words: “Do not let your fire go out.” That line wasn’t just ink on paper. It became a personal command. Yes, I took medication. Yes, I fought demons in hospitals and quiet rooms. But Rand’s work gave me something medicine couldn’t: meaning. A reason to keep striving. --- Why Rand Still Matters Critics love to dismiss Ayn Rand. They call her cold, arrogant, unrealistic. But I see something else: clarity. She didn’t sugarcoat life. She said, Here is reality. Here is reason. Choose to live fully or waste away in sacrifice. Her ideas are not perfect, and even she had flaws. But the force of her writing, the sharpness of her mind, and the passion with which she defended individualism shaped me forever. Even now, when I speak to friends, colleagues, or strangers online, I find myself quoting her lessons. I tell them: you own your life. You are not here to live as a shadow of someone else’s dream. --- Where I Go From Here Rand once said, “And I mean it.” Those words capture her spirit—unyielding and absolute. That is the kind of certainty I want to carry. Because of Ayn Rand, I no longer fear standing alone. I no longer mistake self-interest for sin. And I no longer apologize for wanting a life filled with purpose, reason, and joy. She may not be a saint or a universally loved figure, but for me, she is the writer who handed me a philosophy strong enough to live by. And that is why Ayn Rand is not just “the unknown ideal” but, in my eyes, the unforgettable ideal woman. ---
By Muhammad Riazabout a year ago in Viva
6 ways to assess progress in labour
Keep in mind every body and every birth is different 😁 If baby is not in a good position, this can alter the pattern and intensity of contractions, which in turn lots of these signs. Even when you guess right, birth is a dynamic process that has the potential to change in an instant. ❤
By Sam The Doula (Blooming Miracle)about a year ago in Viva
