I've been really stressed recently. It's been vague amorphous stress, I can't pinpoint where it comes from well enough to excise it and it has been starting fights. Some of the things that are probably contributing are that my summer part-time job is drawing to a close and I need to start gearing up for my second/last year of MSW program, Bluejay and I are talking about where/when/how I'll get into a PhD program. Houses, children, animals, free time, money are also part of this future-talk. It's all sort of been swirling a bit.
Last week my father was taken to the ER because he was having trouble breathing. For the first couple rounds of chemo it seemed he'd been doing really well, his counts were up in all the right places. The last 2 rounds though he'd been having a worse reaction (it seemed to me, not actually living with him), and more lag time to feeling base level ok. Last week my mother wasn't home when he woke up and he realized he couldn't move around the house without worrying about falling over/passing out. He's said that he thinks that if she'd been home he wouldn't have bothered to call the doctor/911, he'd have tried to tough it out. Turns out there was clotting in the leg that traveled to his lungs. He's on blood thinners now.
I'm jealous of my sister who's living at home with our parents because she found out before I did and was able to see him in the hospital the day it happened. When the diagnosis for the cancer happened I was ready to be part of a caretaking team. On some level I was happy too, because I'd been feeling like a subpar son/male relative with my other folks who are sick. I wanted to redeem myself (on some level... it's also true that I just genuinely wanted to be there for my dad). Instead I've only taken him to one round of the chemo and since he does better with less people around I haven't been around more than once every few weeks. My sister and mother know what times of the week are "good times" after the chemo, but I wasn't close enough during that time to learn his personal cycle.
A neighbor came around the other day when I was there (after going to the hospital to see him) asking after him. It just felt mostly like gossip to me. There'd been an ambulance and a fire truck and as my dad put it "almost all of the emergency folks in the whole town," and she'd seen him getting wheeled away. My sister took it as her being involved and caring about him, (and probably knows better than I do), but I just found it so frustrating and icky to have just gotten in from seeing him and having her pounce on us in the driveway to get all the details.
When he first started chemo, he wanted to not have his hair look patchy. He shaved his head. He started losing his beard and I kept expecting him to shave that too... it's so thin right now I feel like I could count the individual hairs. I didn't know whether to be worried or not that he wasn't putting energy into keeping his head from getting peach fuzzy (since it was going to keep falling out and looking thin), did it mean something? Did it mean he was focusing on the important stuff or did it mean that he didn't have the energy to do something that was important to him?
I don't really need to worry about that anymore though, 'cause they've taken him off the chemo. It was killing him. Technically that's the point of chemo, to have it kill you, but hope that it kills the cancer quicker. We think? (hope?) the cancer's gone, but this wasn't the plan. This is the new plan. The one that involves rat poison (blood thinner).
Anyway, so I'm stressed. Not sleeping well and throwing up. I've got an itch in the back of my throat starting, so I'll get to begin the school year sick as well. And my grandmother's still alive, which should make me happy, other than it just means that the funeral hasn't happened yet. It's selfish but I want her to die in such a way/time that the funeral isn't during my school year, so I can attend without worrying about classwork. I'd be fine with winter break but I honestly doubt she'll make it that long, she's already beat the 6 month pronouncement by multiple months and when I visited her in early July everyone seemed to think it'd be mere hours.
About a third of me thinks that this isn't the reason I haven't been blogging (or doing anything "productive" for the upcoming school year), a third thinks it is, and another third wants it to be the reason 'cause it's a damn fine excuse.
Showing posts with label Medicine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medicine. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Cheerful Philosophical Musings On Death
I want to talk a little bit about death. This is apparently a touchy subject for people, so if it is for you, you may want to not keep reading.
Everybody is going to die. I'm going to die, you're going to die, my best friends are going to die, your relatives are going to die (if they aren't dead yet), everyone is going to die. Everyone. This isn't meant to be a mean statement, and to my thinking it really, truly isn't mean. It also isn't meant as some sort of threat or menace. It's just truth. Everyone dies.
In my dealings with (most) other people in the past decade I've noticed that they tend to get a little... antsy? jittery? anxious? upset? when this fact of life is mentioned. People apparently are scared of death, and because of that they will do lots of things to make that fear go away. One of the things they do is try to forget that death happens.
Early in my undergrad. years, I read a set of stories in Spanish class.
The first was the story of a youngish (we'll say 30s?) man who was a servant. One day he went into the market to get his master food or something, when he ran into Death. When he saw Death he was shaken up, because in most cultures (and I assume the one the story is told in), usually people only see Death when they are going to die soon. And then, something that terrified him even more was that Death seemed to grimace extra when he saw the man. Clearly, the man was on Death's shitlist. So the man ran back to his master's place and begged for the week off and the fastest horse or donkey around, 'cause he really really needed to visit his sister in far off Gargleblat (can you tell I'm not good at details?). The master agreed to the time off and the donkey on the condition that the man told him why he needed it so bad. The man said that he'd just seen Death in town and he was hoping to outrun/confuse Death by going to Gargleblat.
Of course the master then decides to go to the marketplace to see Death and find out what the whole deal is about. When he gets there, he asks Death why he grimaced upon seeing the servant. Death explains that he was just surprised was all, as far as he knew, he thought that tonight they had an appointment in Gargleblat, and it was weird to see the guy in Plonkville.
The second story in the set was written as a response to the first, and honestly I don't remember it nearly as well because it didn't really resonate the same way for me. In the story the man has reached Gargleblat and realizes that Death is still after him. He goes around town looking for someone to help him outwit Death, but as soon as anyone hears that tonight's his night they shutter the windows and kick him out, until he finds a guy who tells him that he'll help him. The man tells him that so long as he can survive till the morning, then Death won't be able to ever take him. Then they somehow beat Death with mirrors.
The first story treated fear of death as silly and misplaced. It framed death as an appointment, and Death not as a bad chap, just a guy with a job. The second story treated death as something to be avoided at all costs. Never dying was a reward for successfully besting Death. Death became an adversary. Lastly, it was unrealistic, since everyone dies (we'll put aside the manifestation of a fact of life) and at the end of it, the man is made immortal.
Everyone in my class liked the second story better than the first. Everyone, but me and the teacher. I thought the first story was funny. I liked that it looked at life head on. I liked that it admitted that death is going to happen.
Everyone in the class said I was morbid.
This past week I learned that my grandmother's situation is deteriorating. When she got her prognosis 6ish months ago, they basically told her that 6 months was on the outside of how long she'd have to live. So, it's not really a shock that this is happening now. However, one thing she's been firm on for a while is that she and my grandfather are not to talk about the possibility of her dying. She won't talk about it with anyone. Which means that she didn't get around to setting up the necessary steps for her to get hospice care in the home, should she fall into a coma (nor has anyone else in a position to do so). No one knows what to do, because if we all go see her right now on the likelihood that she won't be around in a month, or if we start putting pressure on her to get all the hospice/end of life care stuff worked out, then she'll feel pissed about us forcing her mortality on her
For context, you should also know that my grandfather's first wife (my mother's mother, who died when I was 2) steadfastly continued to insist that she was getting better and that the Goddess (or the Universe, or whatever) would heal her, right up until her death. Some of her daughters' last conversations with her were fights. So...
I'm conflicted, because on the one hand I definitely feel like everyone has a right to self-determination. If you want to shut your eyes and bury your head in the sand about your impending death, fine, do it. But it does harm people around you when you do it, and frankly I just don't understand it. I told my cousin this recently and he said he really sympathized with our grandmother. Which, again, I just don't get.
Then he said "not everyone is like you, most of us are afraid of death."
And I realized! Being depressed and wanting to be dead for all of my adolescent and adult life has given me the gift of less fear! I feel like a superhero: "Depresso Guy"!
Well honestly, if I was dying of cancer, maybe I wouldn't feel as nonchalant as I do about it right now. Admittedly, many things that seems cool in the abstract are fucking terrifying in the real. Like snowboarding. Tried it once, loved going fast, probably looked really awesome and such, until I realized I had no idea how to stop and started worrying about killing a child (ETA: *by going too fast and hitting hir*) when I got to the bottom. So I purposefully took a dive in the trees, pulled some muscles, decided that snowboarding wasn't for me, and anyway it was classist and exclusionary. (Sorry, off topic).
The point is, maybe I'm just deluding myself into thinking that I don't find death terrifying. Maybe I do, and in the long tradition of people who are scared of something and therefore convince themselves that they aren't scared, I say I'm not.
But I've got to say, the idea that maybe for once my Depression has given me something useful, namely the ability to not find my own death so terrifying that I shut down in the face of it, that's sort of cool.
Anyway, I hope your life, however long it is, is one which you generally enjoy.
Everybody is going to die. I'm going to die, you're going to die, my best friends are going to die, your relatives are going to die (if they aren't dead yet), everyone is going to die. Everyone. This isn't meant to be a mean statement, and to my thinking it really, truly isn't mean. It also isn't meant as some sort of threat or menace. It's just truth. Everyone dies.
In my dealings with (most) other people in the past decade I've noticed that they tend to get a little... antsy? jittery? anxious? upset? when this fact of life is mentioned. People apparently are scared of death, and because of that they will do lots of things to make that fear go away. One of the things they do is try to forget that death happens.
Early in my undergrad. years, I read a set of stories in Spanish class.
The first was the story of a youngish (we'll say 30s?) man who was a servant. One day he went into the market to get his master food or something, when he ran into Death. When he saw Death he was shaken up, because in most cultures (and I assume the one the story is told in), usually people only see Death when they are going to die soon. And then, something that terrified him even more was that Death seemed to grimace extra when he saw the man. Clearly, the man was on Death's shitlist. So the man ran back to his master's place and begged for the week off and the fastest horse or donkey around, 'cause he really really needed to visit his sister in far off Gargleblat (can you tell I'm not good at details?). The master agreed to the time off and the donkey on the condition that the man told him why he needed it so bad. The man said that he'd just seen Death in town and he was hoping to outrun/confuse Death by going to Gargleblat.
Of course the master then decides to go to the marketplace to see Death and find out what the whole deal is about. When he gets there, he asks Death why he grimaced upon seeing the servant. Death explains that he was just surprised was all, as far as he knew, he thought that tonight they had an appointment in Gargleblat, and it was weird to see the guy in Plonkville.
The second story in the set was written as a response to the first, and honestly I don't remember it nearly as well because it didn't really resonate the same way for me. In the story the man has reached Gargleblat and realizes that Death is still after him. He goes around town looking for someone to help him outwit Death, but as soon as anyone hears that tonight's his night they shutter the windows and kick him out, until he finds a guy who tells him that he'll help him. The man tells him that so long as he can survive till the morning, then Death won't be able to ever take him. Then they somehow beat Death with mirrors.
The first story treated fear of death as silly and misplaced. It framed death as an appointment, and Death not as a bad chap, just a guy with a job. The second story treated death as something to be avoided at all costs. Never dying was a reward for successfully besting Death. Death became an adversary. Lastly, it was unrealistic, since everyone dies (we'll put aside the manifestation of a fact of life) and at the end of it, the man is made immortal.
Everyone in my class liked the second story better than the first. Everyone, but me and the teacher. I thought the first story was funny. I liked that it looked at life head on. I liked that it admitted that death is going to happen.
Everyone in the class said I was morbid.
This past week I learned that my grandmother's situation is deteriorating. When she got her prognosis 6ish months ago, they basically told her that 6 months was on the outside of how long she'd have to live. So, it's not really a shock that this is happening now. However, one thing she's been firm on for a while is that she and my grandfather are not to talk about the possibility of her dying. She won't talk about it with anyone. Which means that she didn't get around to setting up the necessary steps for her to get hospice care in the home, should she fall into a coma (nor has anyone else in a position to do so). No one knows what to do, because if we all go see her right now on the likelihood that she won't be around in a month, or if we start putting pressure on her to get all the hospice/end of life care stuff worked out, then she'll feel pissed about us forcing her mortality on her
For context, you should also know that my grandfather's first wife (my mother's mother, who died when I was 2) steadfastly continued to insist that she was getting better and that the Goddess (or the Universe, or whatever) would heal her, right up until her death. Some of her daughters' last conversations with her were fights. So...
I'm conflicted, because on the one hand I definitely feel like everyone has a right to self-determination. If you want to shut your eyes and bury your head in the sand about your impending death, fine, do it. But it does harm people around you when you do it, and frankly I just don't understand it. I told my cousin this recently and he said he really sympathized with our grandmother. Which, again, I just don't get.
Then he said "not everyone is like you, most of us are afraid of death."
And I realized! Being depressed and wanting to be dead for all of my adolescent and adult life has given me the gift of less fear! I feel like a superhero: "Depresso Guy"!
Well honestly, if I was dying of cancer, maybe I wouldn't feel as nonchalant as I do about it right now. Admittedly, many things that seems cool in the abstract are fucking terrifying in the real. Like snowboarding. Tried it once, loved going fast, probably looked really awesome and such, until I realized I had no idea how to stop and started worrying about killing a child (ETA: *by going too fast and hitting hir*) when I got to the bottom. So I purposefully took a dive in the trees, pulled some muscles, decided that snowboarding wasn't for me, and anyway it was classist and exclusionary. (Sorry, off topic).
The point is, maybe I'm just deluding myself into thinking that I don't find death terrifying. Maybe I do, and in the long tradition of people who are scared of something and therefore convince themselves that they aren't scared, I say I'm not.
But I've got to say, the idea that maybe for once my Depression has given me something useful, namely the ability to not find my own death so terrifying that I shut down in the face of it, that's sort of cool.
Anyway, I hope your life, however long it is, is one which you generally enjoy.
Today In Things Any Disability Rights Activist Could Tell You
So, people are nosy assholes. Well, let me amend that. Many people think that your body (or your loved one's body) is totally their business, the second that you (or your loved one) have something that sets you apart from "normal."
Things that set you apart from "normal" include: being pregnant, having a visible disability, having an invisible disability (and telling people about it), being mentally ill (and telling people about it), being fat, oh, and getting one of the "big" sicks (including our good friend cancer).
Let me tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, there was a social work student (we'll call him GleeviantD) whose father had just been diagnosed with cancer, and who was understandably a little "not so happy" about this situation.
GleeviantD kept having the seemingly innocuous question: "hey, how're you?" asked by people that were somewhere between friend and acquaintance, though a little bit closer to "fellow students." GleeviantD was starting to loathe this question because answering honestly: "not too hot, actually" was sure to elicit the "oh, not too hot!? what's going on?" which, when answered honestly, brought the conversation to a screeching halt because cancer sort of does that to a conversation.
GleeviantD though also didn't like lying or pretending that nothing was going on because a) he wasn't that sort of fellow and b) he had a sneaking suspicion that at *some* point he'd slip up when talking to these not quite friends, not quite acquaintances, more like fellow students, and mention the cancer and then the conversation would still come to a screeching halt, only now it'd be months later and he wouldn't be in control of when it occurred.
So GleeviantD did what seemed right. He decided to tell a whole class at once about the cancer, right after a lunch break, so that he could not have the same damn conversation 12 times. In fact, it was Gleeviant's fondest desire that he wouldn't actually have to have a *conversation* about it at all, that if the information was given in announcement form, and he phrased it just right, he could preclude a discussion of the matter entirely and just get on with the damn lecture.
I'm sure, gentle readers, that at this moment you are ruefully chuckling to yourselves that GleeviantD was so naive as to assume that making an announcement whereby he said "I figured I'd tell everyone like this because it's tiring have to have the same conversation over and over again" would actually forestall anything. If you aren't, you may commence now.
So GleeviantD attempted to figure out just how to phrase the announcement in a way that indicated a) he did not want sympathy, and was in fact starting to get a bit sick of it, b) he didn't want to talk to people about it, and was in fact starting to get a bit sick of having heartfelt discussions with people about it and c) he was handling it just fine, he wasn't about to break down crying right then and there and was planning on continuing to attend classes and such. Something along the lines of "so, just wanted to let you all know that last week my family found out my father has cancer. I'm going to be the one driving him to chemo, I don't think this will affect me coming to class or anything, but I wanted to let you know so that you aren't surprised if I'm not all "whee! awesome" when you ask how I am. I figured I'd tell everyone like this because it's tiring talking about it again and again." Not perfect, but pretty close to achieving his communication goals. Or so Gleeviant thought.
Immediately, someone across the room decided to offer this helpful bit of advice: "I know a naturopath who cured herself of cancer naturally. I'll give you her phone number for your dad if you want," while someone next to Gleeviant offered this: "Do you have support structures for yourself? If you're going to be supporting your father you really need to get yourself a support structure." Gleeviant realized he may have created a monster that he couldn't control and tried as best as possible to (politely) discourage this line of discussion by telling everyone "right now I'm doing fine, if I need anything, I will be sure to ask."
After class, both people who had earlier felt the need to speak up, again came to GleeviantD this time to profer their advice and sympathy personally.
This time, when one of them just about tried to force the number of the woman who cured herself of cancer using herbs into the hands of GleeviantD, he had to bite back his tongue in order to not tell her "thanks, but we believe in science as opposed to miracle cures, what with replicable results" instead saying: "my dad seems pretty cool with the idea of chemo so I'm just going to follow his lead."
The moral of the story: people think that other people's bodies are their fucking business. They don't care if you've just said "I don't want to talk about it" they don't care to find out *what* you are doing as a caretaking method before telling you what you should do (or should want to do), and they certainly don't seem to care that it's none of their fucking business to offer help, unless you ask for help.
Let's all try to be less like those people in the future, ok? Or else we'll make GleeviantD quite pissy.
This has been a "Today In: Things Any Disability Rights Activist Could Tell You"
Things that set you apart from "normal" include: being pregnant, having a visible disability, having an invisible disability (and telling people about it), being mentally ill (and telling people about it), being fat, oh, and getting one of the "big" sicks (including our good friend cancer).
Let me tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, there was a social work student (we'll call him GleeviantD) whose father had just been diagnosed with cancer, and who was understandably a little "not so happy" about this situation.
GleeviantD kept having the seemingly innocuous question: "hey, how're you?" asked by people that were somewhere between friend and acquaintance, though a little bit closer to "fellow students." GleeviantD was starting to loathe this question because answering honestly: "not too hot, actually" was sure to elicit the "oh, not too hot!? what's going on?" which, when answered honestly, brought the conversation to a screeching halt because cancer sort of does that to a conversation.
GleeviantD though also didn't like lying or pretending that nothing was going on because a) he wasn't that sort of fellow and b) he had a sneaking suspicion that at *some* point he'd slip up when talking to these not quite friends, not quite acquaintances, more like fellow students, and mention the cancer and then the conversation would still come to a screeching halt, only now it'd be months later and he wouldn't be in control of when it occurred.
So GleeviantD did what seemed right. He decided to tell a whole class at once about the cancer, right after a lunch break, so that he could not have the same damn conversation 12 times. In fact, it was Gleeviant's fondest desire that he wouldn't actually have to have a *conversation* about it at all, that if the information was given in announcement form, and he phrased it just right, he could preclude a discussion of the matter entirely and just get on with the damn lecture.
I'm sure, gentle readers, that at this moment you are ruefully chuckling to yourselves that GleeviantD was so naive as to assume that making an announcement whereby he said "I figured I'd tell everyone like this because it's tiring have to have the same conversation over and over again" would actually forestall anything. If you aren't, you may commence now.
So GleeviantD attempted to figure out just how to phrase the announcement in a way that indicated a) he did not want sympathy, and was in fact starting to get a bit sick of it, b) he didn't want to talk to people about it, and was in fact starting to get a bit sick of having heartfelt discussions with people about it and c) he was handling it just fine, he wasn't about to break down crying right then and there and was planning on continuing to attend classes and such. Something along the lines of "so, just wanted to let you all know that last week my family found out my father has cancer. I'm going to be the one driving him to chemo, I don't think this will affect me coming to class or anything, but I wanted to let you know so that you aren't surprised if I'm not all "whee! awesome" when you ask how I am. I figured I'd tell everyone like this because it's tiring talking about it again and again." Not perfect, but pretty close to achieving his communication goals. Or so Gleeviant thought.
Immediately, someone across the room decided to offer this helpful bit of advice: "I know a naturopath who cured herself of cancer naturally. I'll give you her phone number for your dad if you want," while someone next to Gleeviant offered this: "Do you have support structures for yourself? If you're going to be supporting your father you really need to get yourself a support structure." Gleeviant realized he may have created a monster that he couldn't control and tried as best as possible to (politely) discourage this line of discussion by telling everyone "right now I'm doing fine, if I need anything, I will be sure to ask."
After class, both people who had earlier felt the need to speak up, again came to GleeviantD this time to profer their advice and sympathy personally.
This time, when one of them just about tried to force the number of the woman who cured herself of cancer using herbs into the hands of GleeviantD, he had to bite back his tongue in order to not tell her "thanks, but we believe in science as opposed to miracle cures, what with replicable results" instead saying: "my dad seems pretty cool with the idea of chemo so I'm just going to follow his lead."
The moral of the story: people think that other people's bodies are their fucking business. They don't care if you've just said "I don't want to talk about it" they don't care to find out *what* you are doing as a caretaking method before telling you what you should do (or should want to do), and they certainly don't seem to care that it's none of their fucking business to offer help, unless you ask for help.
Let's all try to be less like those people in the future, ok? Or else we'll make GleeviantD quite pissy.
This has been a "Today In: Things Any Disability Rights Activist Could Tell You"
Thursday, March 4, 2010
New and Improved Insights Upcoming: Bad News Edition
On Wednesday my father found out what type of cancer he has. As of Friday I didn't even know that he had *any* type of cancer (though he did, apparently he didn't realize that it might be a big deal to everyone else in the family). I tell you this not to gain sympathy points (and in fact, I request that people not comment to that effect).
I'm not even writing this to let you know that posts will be less frequent, because honestly, at this moment I don't believe this to be the case. While yes, I'll probably be the one to mostly be ferrying him to and from chemo and appointments (since I am nearby and my mother is already dealing with her step-mother and sister's cancers), I hope that this will not affect the amount of blogging I do.
However, it may be changing some of my focuses. My grandmother died of cancer when I was 2, so I never really knew her, nor did I really have a conception of what a struggle with cancer might look like. Likewise, due to my aunt and grandmother being neither nearby nor people who I want to spend copious amounts of time with, especially when they are needing a lot (and rightfully so! what with the whole "cancer" thing), I haven't really had to deal too strongly with what it is like to be a close family member of someone dealing with hospitals all the time, or that pesky "survival" business. I have some assumptions that this time will make me more aware of classism and how it affects access to treatment, and also how the medical profession can fail or succeed to treat patients with respect, though I can't be certain (I might be too distracted by the situation at hand to look at the larger systemic issues).
So, if it is the case that by being a caretaker of my father I encounter new situations which make me think new (and improved?) thoughts about marginalization and oppression, it is quite possible this will be something I will start writing about with more frequency.
Also, since cancer (and my father's ability to survive it) will be something that I will be dealing with on a regular basis, it is likely that even on posts that are not explicitly about oppression or marginalization, or cancer, that mentions of it will slip in. So... don't be surprised?
Already I have new insights. For instance: there is no fucking easy way to tell someone that your dad has cancer. It's frustrating when you don't want to sidetrack an entire conversation but you also don't want to tell a big ole lie of omission by being all "oh life's good" when the usually innocuous question of "how are you?" comes up. Do you send out massive emails? Do you put up a blog post and tell everyone to read it? Do you tell people individually? Do you casually slip "chemo" into conversation? I will find out the answers to this, and more! in the coming months.
Hopefully my further insights will be a little more... insightful.
I'm not even writing this to let you know that posts will be less frequent, because honestly, at this moment I don't believe this to be the case. While yes, I'll probably be the one to mostly be ferrying him to and from chemo and appointments (since I am nearby and my mother is already dealing with her step-mother and sister's cancers), I hope that this will not affect the amount of blogging I do.
However, it may be changing some of my focuses. My grandmother died of cancer when I was 2, so I never really knew her, nor did I really have a conception of what a struggle with cancer might look like. Likewise, due to my aunt and grandmother being neither nearby nor people who I want to spend copious amounts of time with, especially when they are needing a lot (and rightfully so! what with the whole "cancer" thing), I haven't really had to deal too strongly with what it is like to be a close family member of someone dealing with hospitals all the time, or that pesky "survival" business. I have some assumptions that this time will make me more aware of classism and how it affects access to treatment, and also how the medical profession can fail or succeed to treat patients with respect, though I can't be certain (I might be too distracted by the situation at hand to look at the larger systemic issues).
So, if it is the case that by being a caretaker of my father I encounter new situations which make me think new (and improved?) thoughts about marginalization and oppression, it is quite possible this will be something I will start writing about with more frequency.
Also, since cancer (and my father's ability to survive it) will be something that I will be dealing with on a regular basis, it is likely that even on posts that are not explicitly about oppression or marginalization, or cancer, that mentions of it will slip in. So... don't be surprised?
Already I have new insights. For instance: there is no fucking easy way to tell someone that your dad has cancer. It's frustrating when you don't want to sidetrack an entire conversation but you also don't want to tell a big ole lie of omission by being all "oh life's good" when the usually innocuous question of "how are you?" comes up. Do you send out massive emails? Do you put up a blog post and tell everyone to read it? Do you tell people individually? Do you casually slip "chemo" into conversation? I will find out the answers to this, and more! in the coming months.
Hopefully my further insights will be a little more... insightful.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Prop 8 (and religiously related child abuse)
So, as many of you may have already heard (if you're U.S. based), Proposition 8 was upheld by the supreme court. Yay for voting on other people's rights. I'm excited to start legislating against olive eaters any day now.
However, since apparently they (the Supreme Court) didn't want a shit storm, they are not invalidating the marriages of the 18,000 couples who were married prior to the homophobic referendum passing.
Yay?
Whatever. I'll be at the local rally/"angry queers get angry"-fest in Boston tonight. If you're in the area, think about stopping by. It'll be at Copley Square at 7.
I've been trying to write this past week, but everything is just too enormous, for instance: have you heard about the Minnesotan 13 year-old with cancer whose parents (and he) cited their religious beliefs to say he doesn't have cancer, as a reason for why he shouldn't go to a doctor? A judge ruled that not taking the kid in for chemo and radiation (which would give him a 90% chance of living) was tantamount to child abuse (because if they don't he has a 5% chance). The mother fled with the son after the court mandated appointment (which showed the tumor had grown since when he was first diagnosed, gee I wonder why), but turned herself in a couple days ago. It just makes me angry to see 13 year old kids dying because their parents are brainwashed idiots.
You want to kill yourself through refusing medical treatment? FINE! Just don't drag your kids down with you, assholes.
On the topic of religious inspired/related child abuse, the report on child abuse in Catholic run schools during the 1930s-1970s in Ireland just came out. I haven't read it, but have been lucky enough to get the gist from Bill Donohue (that's pure snark, some actual writing about it is at Shakesville), who frankly I couldn't hate any more right now. According to him, the "miscreants" and "delinquents" there shouldn't be complaining about "only" being groped and made to shiver themselves to sleep. See that isn't real child abuse, not like breaking people's limbs and rape. And if it isn't the most horrible thing we could imagine, clearly it isn't horrible. *eyeroll*
Indeed, Donohue does in fact call the abused children miscreants and delinquents. Way to stand up for the poor, beleaguered Catholic Church, Donohue. I mean it isn't like they knowingly shuffled around child abusers and had people in positions of power who would SPY ON THEM AS THEY SHOWERED. Not at all. Clearly, all this bad press for the Catholic Church is totally baseless.
Not to mention, I've heard that this isn't even the whole shebang, and that they will soon be putting out another VOLUME (in July, if memory serves)
So yeah, it's been a crappy little while.
However, since apparently they (the Supreme Court) didn't want a shit storm, they are not invalidating the marriages of the 18,000 couples who were married prior to the homophobic referendum passing.
Yay?
Whatever. I'll be at the local rally/"angry queers get angry"-fest in Boston tonight. If you're in the area, think about stopping by. It'll be at Copley Square at 7.
I've been trying to write this past week, but everything is just too enormous, for instance: have you heard about the Minnesotan 13 year-old with cancer whose parents (and he) cited their religious beliefs to say he doesn't have cancer, as a reason for why he shouldn't go to a doctor? A judge ruled that not taking the kid in for chemo and radiation (which would give him a 90% chance of living) was tantamount to child abuse (because if they don't he has a 5% chance). The mother fled with the son after the court mandated appointment (which showed the tumor had grown since when he was first diagnosed, gee I wonder why), but turned herself in a couple days ago. It just makes me angry to see 13 year old kids dying because their parents are brainwashed idiots.
You want to kill yourself through refusing medical treatment? FINE! Just don't drag your kids down with you, assholes.
On the topic of religious inspired/related child abuse, the report on child abuse in Catholic run schools during the 1930s-1970s in Ireland just came out. I haven't read it, but have been lucky enough to get the gist from Bill Donohue (that's pure snark, some actual writing about it is at Shakesville), who frankly I couldn't hate any more right now. According to him, the "miscreants" and "delinquents" there shouldn't be complaining about "only" being groped and made to shiver themselves to sleep. See that isn't real child abuse, not like breaking people's limbs and rape. And if it isn't the most horrible thing we could imagine, clearly it isn't horrible. *eyeroll*
Indeed, Donohue does in fact call the abused children miscreants and delinquents. Way to stand up for the poor, beleaguered Catholic Church, Donohue. I mean it isn't like they knowingly shuffled around child abusers and had people in positions of power who would SPY ON THEM AS THEY SHOWERED. Not at all. Clearly, all this bad press for the Catholic Church is totally baseless.
Not to mention, I've heard that this isn't even the whole shebang, and that they will soon be putting out another VOLUME (in July, if memory serves)
So yeah, it's been a crappy little while.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Losing Rights
Via Slap Upside the Head I found out today that in Alberta, Canada, trans people are losing rights that I can barely dream of. Apparently, not only do they have public health care, but they in fact (until recently) had sex reassignment surgery as public health care.
That's right. The surgeries/hormones that U.S. (trans) citizens can only get after jumping through hoops to "prove" to medical gatekeepers that our identities are really truly real, and which are then explicitly NOT covered by various insurance (with the excuses that it's "experimental" or "cosmetic") are not only provided there, but seemingly free of cost.
Or were.
It's hard to be appropriately angry because this is clearly a blow to trans people in Alberta, but at the same time I'm exceedingly jealous. The fact is, the surgeries and hormones used by trans people to have our bodies match what we think of as appropriate are a medical necessity. Don't believe me?
Ask me (or probably just about any other trans person you know) about the crippling depression that can come with not being able to have one's body look appropriate to yourself.
Should I tell you about a friend of mine who basically lived entirely in a binder, and because of it developed sores? Should I tell you about the days I could barely leave my room to go make myself breakfast (among other things), because I was too exhausted to try and pass while in my own house walking around in front of roommates? Or how about the time that I read an account of a breast cancer survivor (who got a double mastectomy because of it) and had a more-than-fleeting thought of "if I could just manage to get cancer!" Maybe I'll tell you about the number of times I've looked down and just wondered if it'd be possible to knock myself out and use a kitchen knife, and then had to remind myself that it wouldn't work and I'd quite possibly bleed to death.
Oh. I guess I just did.
So, those and many others are the reasons that we need our surgeries, our hormones, etc. And that's why knowing that I won't be able to afford mine anytime soon (the cost is in the thousands, of course, and as mentioned, not covered by health insurance) makes me even more depressed than I would be normally. And that's why it matters that Alberta, Canada is going to take this away from its trans citizens.
That's right. The surgeries/hormones that U.S. (trans) citizens can only get after jumping through hoops to "prove" to medical gatekeepers that our identities are really truly real, and which are then explicitly NOT covered by various insurance (with the excuses that it's "experimental" or "cosmetic") are not only provided there, but seemingly free of cost.
Or were.
It's hard to be appropriately angry because this is clearly a blow to trans people in Alberta, but at the same time I'm exceedingly jealous. The fact is, the surgeries and hormones used by trans people to have our bodies match what we think of as appropriate are a medical necessity. Don't believe me?
Ask me (or probably just about any other trans person you know) about the crippling depression that can come with not being able to have one's body look appropriate to yourself.
Should I tell you about a friend of mine who basically lived entirely in a binder, and because of it developed sores? Should I tell you about the days I could barely leave my room to go make myself breakfast (among other things), because I was too exhausted to try and pass while in my own house walking around in front of roommates? Or how about the time that I read an account of a breast cancer survivor (who got a double mastectomy because of it) and had a more-than-fleeting thought of "if I could just manage to get cancer!" Maybe I'll tell you about the number of times I've looked down and just wondered if it'd be possible to knock myself out and use a kitchen knife, and then had to remind myself that it wouldn't work and I'd quite possibly bleed to death.
Oh. I guess I just did.
So, those and many others are the reasons that we need our surgeries, our hormones, etc. And that's why knowing that I won't be able to afford mine anytime soon (the cost is in the thousands, of course, and as mentioned, not covered by health insurance) makes me even more depressed than I would be normally. And that's why it matters that Alberta, Canada is going to take this away from its trans citizens.
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