Well, it is the New Year. I admittedly threw over the final set of prompts. I was tired of their sameness, and while self-reflection is good, this exercise was beginning to strike me more as self-absorption.
The year ended with a completely crushing disappointment for me. Atenolol, the medication to which I switched two weeks ago in my attempt to control my migraines, started causing side effects that were intolerable, and/or precursors of more severe side effects. I left a message for my neurologist on Friday, Dec. 31, knowing he wasn't expected back in the office until January 4. I knew I couldn't stop this medication cold turkey without endangering myself, so I thought I would have to wait until Tuesday, and just cope with the side effects, making sure they did not take a turn for the worse.
So I was surprised that he called me at 9:30 PM on New Year's Eve; perhaps he was the Neurologist On-Call for the evening, but he uncharacteristically checked his messages on a Friday. He told me to titrate of the atenolol. I already had an appointment scheduled for mid-February, but I said to him I guessed I should reschedule the appointment for an earlier date. He began to hem and haw a little, and said something like, "I am always glad to see you, we can talk about the frequency of your headaches. I really think you should go back on Depakote in the fall." First of all, no. I will not go back on Depakote, and I have told him that repeatedly. But his message was clear. There is nothing else left in his pharmacological arsenal for me to try.
I had thought I was going to try the SSRI Cymbalta, until my psychiatrist nixed it, seemingly out of nowhere. He is now adamantly opposed to my using it, even though he told me in early May that the dose of Cymbalta used for migraine were so tiny that it would have no activating effect on my mood. SSRIs are generally no-nos for bipolar people, which was the whole point of that visit, to see if he thought I could handle it. I have in my notes that he said I could. He either changed his mind, or forgot, but it made me feel foolish. I really don't like to give the impression that I am pushing around my doctors (not that it doesn't happen). But this time I really wasn't, I was suggesting a medication that I have a record of his permitting.
But the long and short of it is, I have reached the end of the medication merry-go-round. With SSRIs eliminated, there is no other class of medication left to try as prophylaxis. I am now officially reliant solely on OTC analgesics, sumatriptan, and medical cannabis. As far as my neurologist is concerned, I can visit him sooner, or I can visit him later, there is nothing more he can do. I am going to beg and plead for a referral to the UCSF Headache Clinic. I have no idea if they have anything to offer, but they are the West Coast center for people like me.
Planner that I am, I already have contingency plans in case the UCSF Clinic, to which I have not yet been referred, is unable to help me.
So yeah. Way to end 2010.
Which just puts me in a morose mood for all of the challenges we already know we must face in 2011. I have foot surgery again. Then my husband has brain surgery. And at some point in 2011, I need to get over to Berkeley medical school, to have an eye I am losing vision in examined, and treated.
If all those events go smoothly, 2011 holds a lot of promise. But it also holds a lot of pitfalls. It seems as if the entire duration of my relationship with DH has been stumbling from one drama to the next. Our health issues have definitely meant there are dimensions to cope with beyond the usual loving and cherishing we would naturally provide each other: There is frustration and fear, for starters.
I burnt a candle on the Solstice, and again on the New Year, to send up all the bad vibrations and echoes of 2010 into the ether. I have my superstitions. Although if you ask me, I'll admit, I don't truly believe in them. But I like rituals, and superstitions are ripe for ritual. Rituals give me a false sense of control that is comforting, in spite of my knowing I am fooling myself.
2011 is also the Chinese year of the Rabbit, which is my birth sign. I turn 48. I fall under the water element, and am supposed to have a good career year. That would be nice for a change.
I know good things are in store, too. I am looking forward to further involvement in the Medical Cannabis community. Our tenth wedding anniversary is a huge milestone for us. And my third Oregon Country Fair is another anniversary of sorts. My French Bulldog Violet turned 7 on New Year's day, which is always auspicious.
Now if I could just locate my wallet....
Showing posts with label Oregon Country Fair. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oregon Country Fair. Show all posts
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Monday, December 27, 2010
Through the Looking Glass: Prompt 25 #reverb10
Dec. 25. Photo. A present to yourself. Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.
"Curiouser and Curiouser." Alice, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass
Self Portrait. Taken Saturday, July 10, 2010, through the looking glass, at the Oregon Country Fair.
The summation of a year in one picture: Which way is up?
"Curiouser and Curiouser." Alice, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass
Self Portrait. Taken Saturday, July 10, 2010, through the looking glass, at the Oregon Country Fair.
The summation of a year in one picture: Which way is up?
Sight Seeing: Prompts 22, 23, 24 #reverb10
Hi all! I have been sick a lot this month, so I am crazy busy trying to get these prompts done. Sorry if parts of the next few blog posts are garbled. We're in the stretch!
Dec. 22: Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel this year? -Tara Hunt
In 2010, I travelled almost exclusively by Prius, with the exception of about 200 miles. There was a cab ride back from the airport in January. My friend gave me a lift to my first post-op appointment for my foot. A few van rides and cab rides back and forth between my car dealership and my home. A bike ride to go pick up the Prius from the dealership. And finally, a tow truck, that carried my dead Prius to a Eugene Toyota Dealership (yes, another dealership).
I only travelled a little this year. In January, I made a brief trip back to my hometown, Pittsburgh, to spend time with my parents, sisters, and niece. The next travel of any sort was the Oregon Country Fair, in July. I drove myself up and back in two day increments, spending the night in Yreka on the northern drive, and Corning on the southern one.
In August, after my husband was offered a great job after almost 11 months of unemployment, we took a short trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park. While we had to cut our visit short, the reason for this is going to make me jump to the prompt after the next one. Don't worry, I'll get back to the one I skipped over.
******************************
Dec. 24: Everything's OK. What was the best moment that could? serve as proof that everything is going to be alright [sic]? And how will you incorporate the discovery into the year ahead? -Kate Inglis
If "Fraught" was the word to describe 2010, August could be considered its zenith. We were really starting to stretch our finances to the limit. We were discussing our options: I had a small IRA I could sell, and DH had stocks.
Meanwhile, DH's seizures were becoming stronger, and more frequent. His new medication, one that has been on the market for less than a year, gave him such bad side effects that sometimes he had to crawl to get around the house.
DH and his neurosurgeon, thinking that there were no more job opportunities out there for the moment, set a date for surgery. Brain surgery that is. Surgery that involves cutting a door in his skull, wrapping his brain with a sheet of electrodes, and then purposefully stimulating those electrodes to cause him to have seizures, in the hope of pinpointing the part of his brain where the wiring went wrong, the "focus." At the end of the week, they would remove the sheet, and any brain they felt might be the problem (which they warned us might be golf-ball sized), and of course, put his skull back together. Recovery is 4-6 weeks.
While DH and his neurosurgeon seemed to be handling events with aplomb, I was falling apart. Looking at my mood chart shows I was pretty freaked out. The chances of death were as good as nil, but I still dreaded life without him. I also feared he would come home with a new personality, not the man I married. I still do fear that a bit, and it turns out, he worries about it too.
The surgery date was set late in August. I was buying pajamas, and teaching myself cribbage so we could play it in the hospital during his week stay. About two weeks before the date, DH got a call from a financial services company: They were interested in his experience in UI (User Interface). Suddenly, it became a race. Could DH get an offer before he was admitted to the hospital?
8 days before his scheduled surgery, DH received his offer. He was so excited, he forgot to sign and fax in his contract, he just read it. When we were on our celebratory trip to Lassen, just as we were about to head out for the day, DH got a call from his new job. Where was his contract? We made a dash to Redding, the nearest town of any size, and waited for a fax of another copy of his contract, had him sign it, fax it back in, then wait for confirmation of his new workplace's receipt of the document. It took 3 tries, but at last we did it!
It had seemed like a horrible last minute nightmare when we first realized we had to get the contract in, or he wouldn't be able to start for another few weeks. But when we knew that contract was in their hands, suddenly, DH was officially employed. The contract was signed, the "i"s dotted, and the "t"s crossed. We had made it. We had lived on umemployment that lasted 6 months, and then on our savings alone for another 4 months. We are playing catch up a little with our debt, but as of January 6, all of our credit cards will be back to zero. We have another round of surgeries and health problems to look forward to in 2011, but the outlook is so much rosier, with DH working, my foot nearly healed (meaning I can get back to my work), and really great health insurance.
We are back.
*********************************
Dec. 23: New name. Let's meet again, for the first time. [Cassandra]If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be, and why? -Becca Wilcott
Hello, my name is Cassandra. I am the archetype of the truth teller who is ignored. For predicting the truth time and time again, in other people's minds, I am a foreteller of doom, rather than a seer of the inevitable consequences of their own actions. I am falsely labeled "mad" when I speak truths they do not want to hear. But when I am truly waxing crazy, my truths become harsher, and bitter. They are just as often true. But it is when I predict bad outcomes that come true that people are the most scared of me.
I'm not psychic. I am a "student" of behavior. I am a studier, a watcher, drawn to details, a collector of patterns. It is true, everyone is different. But what makes them different is just the differing weights of the ingredients they share with Everyone else. There are only so many ingredients out of which to make people, although there are always one or two without raisins, and others with nuts.
I learned about human behavior from an expert, a psychopharmacologist who studied biologically based mental illnesses, AKA, my father. He taught me what was normal, what was not. He showed me the rigid patterns in which people think, the way the very words they use to conceal give them away. I learned there were a limited array of behaviours. Some are so dreadful that it is best not to think about them. But for all of them, it is as the old saw goes, there is nothing new on this Earth.
Sometimes, I scare and anger people with my assessments of their friends and what I foresee as the outcome of their actions. The more often I am correct, the harder they push me away.
My plan for now is to lie low, I refuse to fall victim to any scheming Clytemnestra. Another meaning for the name Cassandra is "defender," and I have always been someone who tries to defend the rights of the most marginalized members of society. Sometimes defending is altruistic, such as helping prisoners make legal appeals,. Other times it just means protecting myself from the consequences of mishaps created by my own peculiar recipe of perspicacity and crazy.
Dec. 22: Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel this year? -Tara Hunt
In 2010, I travelled almost exclusively by Prius, with the exception of about 200 miles. There was a cab ride back from the airport in January. My friend gave me a lift to my first post-op appointment for my foot. A few van rides and cab rides back and forth between my car dealership and my home. A bike ride to go pick up the Prius from the dealership. And finally, a tow truck, that carried my dead Prius to a Eugene Toyota Dealership (yes, another dealership).
I only travelled a little this year. In January, I made a brief trip back to my hometown, Pittsburgh, to spend time with my parents, sisters, and niece. The next travel of any sort was the Oregon Country Fair, in July. I drove myself up and back in two day increments, spending the night in Yreka on the northern drive, and Corning on the southern one.
In August, after my husband was offered a great job after almost 11 months of unemployment, we took a short trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park. While we had to cut our visit short, the reason for this is going to make me jump to the prompt after the next one. Don't worry, I'll get back to the one I skipped over.
******************************
Dec. 24: Everything's OK. What was the best moment that could? serve as proof that everything is going to be alright [sic]? And how will you incorporate the discovery into the year ahead? -Kate Inglis
If "Fraught" was the word to describe 2010, August could be considered its zenith. We were really starting to stretch our finances to the limit. We were discussing our options: I had a small IRA I could sell, and DH had stocks.
Meanwhile, DH's seizures were becoming stronger, and more frequent. His new medication, one that has been on the market for less than a year, gave him such bad side effects that sometimes he had to crawl to get around the house.
DH and his neurosurgeon, thinking that there were no more job opportunities out there for the moment, set a date for surgery. Brain surgery that is. Surgery that involves cutting a door in his skull, wrapping his brain with a sheet of electrodes, and then purposefully stimulating those electrodes to cause him to have seizures, in the hope of pinpointing the part of his brain where the wiring went wrong, the "focus." At the end of the week, they would remove the sheet, and any brain they felt might be the problem (which they warned us might be golf-ball sized), and of course, put his skull back together. Recovery is 4-6 weeks.
While DH and his neurosurgeon seemed to be handling events with aplomb, I was falling apart. Looking at my mood chart shows I was pretty freaked out. The chances of death were as good as nil, but I still dreaded life without him. I also feared he would come home with a new personality, not the man I married. I still do fear that a bit, and it turns out, he worries about it too.
The surgery date was set late in August. I was buying pajamas, and teaching myself cribbage so we could play it in the hospital during his week stay. About two weeks before the date, DH got a call from a financial services company: They were interested in his experience in UI (User Interface). Suddenly, it became a race. Could DH get an offer before he was admitted to the hospital?
8 days before his scheduled surgery, DH received his offer. He was so excited, he forgot to sign and fax in his contract, he just read it. When we were on our celebratory trip to Lassen, just as we were about to head out for the day, DH got a call from his new job. Where was his contract? We made a dash to Redding, the nearest town of any size, and waited for a fax of another copy of his contract, had him sign it, fax it back in, then wait for confirmation of his new workplace's receipt of the document. It took 3 tries, but at last we did it!
It had seemed like a horrible last minute nightmare when we first realized we had to get the contract in, or he wouldn't be able to start for another few weeks. But when we knew that contract was in their hands, suddenly, DH was officially employed. The contract was signed, the "i"s dotted, and the "t"s crossed. We had made it. We had lived on umemployment that lasted 6 months, and then on our savings alone for another 4 months. We are playing catch up a little with our debt, but as of January 6, all of our credit cards will be back to zero. We have another round of surgeries and health problems to look forward to in 2011, but the outlook is so much rosier, with DH working, my foot nearly healed (meaning I can get back to my work), and really great health insurance.
We are back.
*********************************
Dec. 23: New name. Let's meet again, for the first time. [Cassandra]If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be, and why? -Becca Wilcott
Hello, my name is Cassandra. I am the archetype of the truth teller who is ignored. For predicting the truth time and time again, in other people's minds, I am a foreteller of doom, rather than a seer of the inevitable consequences of their own actions. I am falsely labeled "mad" when I speak truths they do not want to hear. But when I am truly waxing crazy, my truths become harsher, and bitter. They are just as often true. But it is when I predict bad outcomes that come true that people are the most scared of me.
I'm not psychic. I am a "student" of behavior. I am a studier, a watcher, drawn to details, a collector of patterns. It is true, everyone is different. But what makes them different is just the differing weights of the ingredients they share with Everyone else. There are only so many ingredients out of which to make people, although there are always one or two without raisins, and others with nuts.
I learned about human behavior from an expert, a psychopharmacologist who studied biologically based mental illnesses, AKA, my father. He taught me what was normal, what was not. He showed me the rigid patterns in which people think, the way the very words they use to conceal give them away. I learned there were a limited array of behaviours. Some are so dreadful that it is best not to think about them. But for all of them, it is as the old saw goes, there is nothing new on this Earth.
Sometimes, I scare and anger people with my assessments of their friends and what I foresee as the outcome of their actions. The more often I am correct, the harder they push me away.
My plan for now is to lie low, I refuse to fall victim to any scheming Clytemnestra. Another meaning for the name Cassandra is "defender," and I have always been someone who tries to defend the rights of the most marginalized members of society. Sometimes defending is altruistic, such as helping prisoners make legal appeals,. Other times it just means protecting myself from the consequences of mishaps created by my own peculiar recipe of perspicacity and crazy.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
5 Minutes of Appreciation #reverb10
December 14 prompt: Appreciate. What is the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do express gratitude for it? -Victoria Klein
December 15 prompt: 5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in 5 minutes. Set the alarm for 5 minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010? -Patti Digh
I once again have been having health problems, so I am combining some prompts, and may do so in a couple of days again.
I received the Dec. 14 prompt, and I was beginning to feel like I was being asked essentially the same thing over and over. What did you like best about X? What was the best thing you did? Where did you have the most fun? I know it isn't quite that simplistic, or overly gooey sweet. I understand it must be hard to come up with prompts. But I wonder if the authors aren't becoming too engrossed in making their prompt as "deep" as possible. I can keep only mining that single, "deep" vein for so long. I thought about skipping the prompt outright.
But then I received the December 15 prompt. These kind of timed exercises have always helped me; as I have said, I do best with a line in the sand. Plus, I felt like if I just started spewing memories, the things I appreciate might naturally rise to the surface. So I set my smart phone's timer for 5 minutes, and these are the memories that "pushed through"
-
Oregon Country Fair-Avocado Dream Boats-The Ritz-spinach and cheese turnovers-glitter-Mount Shasta, the halfway point to Veneta-Driving near Corning for olives-Trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park-Mud Pots-Almost brain surgery-More and more seizures-More and more migraines-Violet and the root canal-mixed episode-hypo manic episode-Foot Surgery-Life on a scooter-DH gets new job-Quitting daycare-S, J and H-Emptying our savings-We end the year in the black-Making it through the tough times-growing closer-planning for our 10th anniversary-Job interview at a dispensary-coloring books-shopping for jewelry-Eni-thing-It's a Girl Thing-thrift shop hunting-starting to read again-learning cribbage-Happy 9th Anniversary-DH turns 40-Niece turns 3-"Sister3" turned 40-Oaksterdam University-Medical Cannabis-activism-Violet in the yard-riding a bike-car breakdowns-Crazyboards, and blogging-Blogger, and blogging-Told my mother to back off-My mother aged significantly-My father is sick
-
Now, I did corrects some spelling, and re-organize the list so it was a little more coherent to me. Out of the 49 I quickly counted (which means the actual count could be anywhere between 47 and 51), 16 (about a third) of the memories I came up with had to do with my husband's and my health and finances.
You can see by the things I italicized what was going on in our personal lives: Fears about health and money, surgeries, disappointment, and just overall stress. I know a lot of marriages are pulled apart by money and health problems. I have watched it happen to friends and enemies alike. Maybe it is because we have both spent our lives since puberty struggling with illness. Maybe it is because we both know what it is like to have negative worth, and that it is survivable: At one point right before I met DH, my finances were so bad, the FDIC wouldn't allow me to have a bank account. He had almost as bad a history. We have worked hard to build up our savings in our marriage, because we are both late to the land of "financially responsible adulthood."
For 11 months, we watched our savings dwindle. We actually were starting to think of selling parts of our 401k. I hate money. Hate. it.
So when my husband was suddenly hired at the end of August, literally days before he was scheduled to have brain surgery, it blew a hole in our plans, and I hate when there is a change of plan. Suddenly, there was not going to be brain surgery, but there was going to be income.
Much to my shock, I was torn. I had spent the entire month of August being tended to my psychiatrist, preparing myself for my husband's surgery. I wasn't intentionally trying to make it "all about me," but I just fell apart at the idea of something going wrong.
Yet when the surgery was postponed so he could take the job, I was angry at him for not doing the surgery instead. Since then, the threat of surgery has reappeared, but I have come to accept I cannot make this decision for DH. He will have it within the next year, it is just a matter of whether it is sooner or later.
So all of this depressing stuff has ironically made me appreciate my husband and my marriage more than ever. I am bad at expressing gooey emotions towards my husband. But we have had so much time together in 2010, that we were able to talk about our relationship and our marriage a lot, and no matter how difficult or thorny the topic. It never seemed to take a negative turn.
So this is not exactly riveting, but I show my appreciation for my husband and my marriage by keeping the lines of communication open, and trying to be brave enough to say things I am nervous about saying. So far, it is working.
December 15 prompt: 5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in 5 minutes. Set the alarm for 5 minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010? -Patti Digh
I once again have been having health problems, so I am combining some prompts, and may do so in a couple of days again.
I received the Dec. 14 prompt, and I was beginning to feel like I was being asked essentially the same thing over and over. What did you like best about X? What was the best thing you did? Where did you have the most fun? I know it isn't quite that simplistic, or overly gooey sweet. I understand it must be hard to come up with prompts. But I wonder if the authors aren't becoming too engrossed in making their prompt as "deep" as possible. I can keep only mining that single, "deep" vein for so long. I thought about skipping the prompt outright.
But then I received the December 15 prompt. These kind of timed exercises have always helped me; as I have said, I do best with a line in the sand. Plus, I felt like if I just started spewing memories, the things I appreciate might naturally rise to the surface. So I set my smart phone's timer for 5 minutes, and these are the memories that "pushed through"
-
Oregon Country Fair-Avocado Dream Boats-The Ritz-spinach and cheese turnovers-glitter-Mount Shasta, the halfway point to Veneta-Driving near Corning for olives-Trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park-Mud Pots-Almost brain surgery-More and more seizures-More and more migraines-Violet and the root canal-mixed episode-hypo manic episode-Foot Surgery-Life on a scooter-DH gets new job-Quitting daycare-S, J and H-Emptying our savings-We end the year in the black-Making it through the tough times-growing closer-planning for our 10th anniversary-Job interview at a dispensary-coloring books-shopping for jewelry-Eni-thing-It's a Girl Thing-thrift shop hunting-starting to read again-learning cribbage-Happy 9th Anniversary-DH turns 40-Niece turns 3-"Sister3" turned 40-Oaksterdam University-Medical Cannabis-activism-Violet in the yard-riding a bike-car breakdowns-Crazyboards, and blogging-Blogger, and blogging-Told my mother to back off-My mother aged significantly-My father is sick
-
Now, I did corrects some spelling, and re-organize the list so it was a little more coherent to me. Out of the 49 I quickly counted (which means the actual count could be anywhere between 47 and 51), 16 (about a third) of the memories I came up with had to do with my husband's and my health and finances.
You can see by the things I italicized what was going on in our personal lives: Fears about health and money, surgeries, disappointment, and just overall stress. I know a lot of marriages are pulled apart by money and health problems. I have watched it happen to friends and enemies alike. Maybe it is because we have both spent our lives since puberty struggling with illness. Maybe it is because we both know what it is like to have negative worth, and that it is survivable: At one point right before I met DH, my finances were so bad, the FDIC wouldn't allow me to have a bank account. He had almost as bad a history. We have worked hard to build up our savings in our marriage, because we are both late to the land of "financially responsible adulthood."
For 11 months, we watched our savings dwindle. We actually were starting to think of selling parts of our 401k. I hate money. Hate. it.
So when my husband was suddenly hired at the end of August, literally days before he was scheduled to have brain surgery, it blew a hole in our plans, and I hate when there is a change of plan. Suddenly, there was not going to be brain surgery, but there was going to be income.
Much to my shock, I was torn. I had spent the entire month of August being tended to my psychiatrist, preparing myself for my husband's surgery. I wasn't intentionally trying to make it "all about me," but I just fell apart at the idea of something going wrong.
Yet when the surgery was postponed so he could take the job, I was angry at him for not doing the surgery instead. Since then, the threat of surgery has reappeared, but I have come to accept I cannot make this decision for DH. He will have it within the next year, it is just a matter of whether it is sooner or later.
So all of this depressing stuff has ironically made me appreciate my husband and my marriage more than ever. I am bad at expressing gooey emotions towards my husband. But we have had so much time together in 2010, that we were able to talk about our relationship and our marriage a lot, and no matter how difficult or thorny the topic. It never seemed to take a negative turn.
So this is not exactly riveting, but I show my appreciation for my husband and my marriage by keeping the lines of communication open, and trying to be brave enough to say things I am nervous about saying. So far, it is working.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Headaches and Hippies, #reverb10
December 8, and 9 Prompts:
Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different- you'll find they're what make you beautiful. -Karen Walrand
Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, and shenanigans. -Shauna Reid
Sorry to have been MIA. The reason for my absence is essentially what makes me different: I have been a chronic migraineur since I was 13. This has really thrown some huge curve-balls at me during my life, but I rarely am able to increase my slugging percentage.
The last two days I had a full blown migraine, with aura, photo phobia, vomiting, osmophobia, dizziness, and agonizing pain. Having suffered from such a bad headache, ending only a few hours ago, it is hard for me to find anything positive and beautiful in my experiences. In fact, they have been depressing and isolating. One of the quandaries of migraine (or in this case, migraine co morbid with bipolar disorder), is that it is a chronic, painful, but invisible and non-lethal. People think that I exaggerate how often and how severely I suffer from headaches.
Unhappy things that having 2-30 migraines a month for the last 34 years has taught me:
*Life isn't fair
*Pain is incapacitating, yet invisible, putting your claim of genuine disability into question.
*People are very willing to tell you what you are doing wrong when they have no idea what you are going through
But there are useful things I have learned as a result of my condition, too:
*Living a "conventional" 9-5 life life is not the only way to lead a happy life.
*Joy can be found in things as simple as an absence of pain
*Life isn't as linear as the average high school counselor would like you to believe.
In addition, using medical Cannabis to treat pain has exposed me to a new activist community, and a new cause for my lifelong civil rights activism
Overall, being a migraineur has had positive impact on my world view and approach to my life. I am intimately acquainted with the pit falls of having an invisible disability, and have used that knowledge in my activism, especially for IV drug users, and HIV patients. I have developed a hobby interest in neurobiology. DH's seizures provide more fodder for that interest, and the fact that my dad was a widely read psycho-pharmacologist, who did research in neuropsychiatry meant that I was taught about how our brains work by a world-renowned clinical scientist.
The amount of pain I experience for no valid reason, with no end in sight, makes me very empathetic to people who are struggling with their health, regardless of what condition they suffer, or what caused it. I have more insight into chronic illness than the average person, and unfortunately, learned about it at a much younger age than the average person who will develop a chronic disorder. This understanding of the bone-sucking weariness that chronic illness creates in its victims is what lead to my extensive HIV prevention activism, and support of people with HIV. Migraines are not fatal, but I can easily relate to those who feel poorly more often than feeling well.
Another thing I have learned is nothing is more important than keeping myself healthy. The rest of my life will go careening off the rails if I am not careful enough about looking after myself. I have the deeply held belief that if I had not come from a well-off family, and then met DH, who loves me with all my failings and lack of earning power, I would be homeless. So I tend to keep change in my pocket for the mentally ill and homeless people in the City.
One unusual fact about myself is my ability to interact with anyone, from the crack addict sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, to the members of the royal families I went to college with. When I lived in the San Francisco Tenderloin, which is a red light district, I had first name basis relationships with a lot of the homeless people that lived in the UN Plaza.
Being incapacitated by illness most of my adult life taught me the very important fact that life is a crap shoot, shit happen, and to remember other people in my world may also be ducking invisible curve balls.
****
Now I almost skipped the next prompt, because it is becoming a bit repetitive to say that the Oregon Country Fair was the social highlight of my year. But it was a very bad year, with a few peaks, and the OCF was my major excitement for 2010, but for a two day driving trip with DH in August. Those of you who are here for the first time, my December 3rd prompt: Moment blog post was about happenings at the Fair.
I basically describe the Fair to people who want to know as a convergence of dirty hippies, faeries, rainbow people, burning man aficionados, and the like, creating a Counter Culture space-time singularity each July. Music Bands from the well known, to the virtually anonymous play on various stages throughout the weekend, so there is music coming from one or many directions at any time. There is a non-stop drum circle, which was joined briefly by Bob Weir last summer (I realize now by looking at the Wikipedia picture that I actually saw him: I hadn't aged him in my mind since 1990, so I was looking for a much younger man). Puppet shows, acrobats, magic, mehndi booths, hair braiding booths, face painting, ice cream, and children with dread locks. All sorts of delicious food, caters to everyone from the omnivore to the vegan. Even though I fall into the first category, my favorite food item at the Fair is vegan, Blazing Salad's Avocado Dream Boats. I already know what I am having for breakfast on July 8, 2011. I wish I could tell you what is in it, so far I have figured out avocado, hummus, garlic, and hot sauce.
I discovered if you mash those ingredients together, you will have a filling, yummy sandwich spread. Eat it the day you make it, avocados don't keep!
And I haven't even talked about all the cool items sold there. There are great artisans and artists selling a variety of wares.
But there is far more to the fair than what I can list in one post. As I have said, the ambiance is a large percentage of what makes the fair great. Some concrete examples (if you will) of created ambiance: Parades with brass instruments and costumed marchers; the big juggling pavilion in Chela Mela; the singing around the sauna at the Ritz; the Women's lodge in the Community Village, an homage to estrogen; speeches on topics controversial and not; women rolling out rugs and dancing like dervishes to their favorite music, or the drumming circles' rhythms.
I hate to end this post this way, it seems unfinished. But I am hoping to get my Dec 10 prompt done before I go to bed tonight, so I am going to leave this topic for now.
Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different- you'll find they're what make you beautiful. -Karen Walrand
Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, and shenanigans. -Shauna Reid
Sorry to have been MIA. The reason for my absence is essentially what makes me different: I have been a chronic migraineur since I was 13. This has really thrown some huge curve-balls at me during my life, but I rarely am able to increase my slugging percentage.
The last two days I had a full blown migraine, with aura, photo phobia, vomiting, osmophobia, dizziness, and agonizing pain. Having suffered from such a bad headache, ending only a few hours ago, it is hard for me to find anything positive and beautiful in my experiences. In fact, they have been depressing and isolating. One of the quandaries of migraine (or in this case, migraine co morbid with bipolar disorder), is that it is a chronic, painful, but invisible and non-lethal. People think that I exaggerate how often and how severely I suffer from headaches.
Unhappy things that having 2-30 migraines a month for the last 34 years has taught me:
*Life isn't fair
*Pain is incapacitating, yet invisible, putting your claim of genuine disability into question.
*People are very willing to tell you what you are doing wrong when they have no idea what you are going through
But there are useful things I have learned as a result of my condition, too:
*Living a "conventional" 9-5 life life is not the only way to lead a happy life.
*Joy can be found in things as simple as an absence of pain
*Life isn't as linear as the average high school counselor would like you to believe.
In addition, using medical Cannabis to treat pain has exposed me to a new activist community, and a new cause for my lifelong civil rights activism
Overall, being a migraineur has had positive impact on my world view and approach to my life. I am intimately acquainted with the pit falls of having an invisible disability, and have used that knowledge in my activism, especially for IV drug users, and HIV patients. I have developed a hobby interest in neurobiology. DH's seizures provide more fodder for that interest, and the fact that my dad was a widely read psycho-pharmacologist, who did research in neuropsychiatry meant that I was taught about how our brains work by a world-renowned clinical scientist.
The amount of pain I experience for no valid reason, with no end in sight, makes me very empathetic to people who are struggling with their health, regardless of what condition they suffer, or what caused it. I have more insight into chronic illness than the average person, and unfortunately, learned about it at a much younger age than the average person who will develop a chronic disorder. This understanding of the bone-sucking weariness that chronic illness creates in its victims is what lead to my extensive HIV prevention activism, and support of people with HIV. Migraines are not fatal, but I can easily relate to those who feel poorly more often than feeling well.
Another thing I have learned is nothing is more important than keeping myself healthy. The rest of my life will go careening off the rails if I am not careful enough about looking after myself. I have the deeply held belief that if I had not come from a well-off family, and then met DH, who loves me with all my failings and lack of earning power, I would be homeless. So I tend to keep change in my pocket for the mentally ill and homeless people in the City.
One unusual fact about myself is my ability to interact with anyone, from the crack addict sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, to the members of the royal families I went to college with. When I lived in the San Francisco Tenderloin, which is a red light district, I had first name basis relationships with a lot of the homeless people that lived in the UN Plaza.
Being incapacitated by illness most of my adult life taught me the very important fact that life is a crap shoot, shit happen, and to remember other people in my world may also be ducking invisible curve balls.
****
Now I almost skipped the next prompt, because it is becoming a bit repetitive to say that the Oregon Country Fair was the social highlight of my year. But it was a very bad year, with a few peaks, and the OCF was my major excitement for 2010, but for a two day driving trip with DH in August. Those of you who are here for the first time, my December 3rd prompt: Moment blog post was about happenings at the Fair.
I basically describe the Fair to people who want to know as a convergence of dirty hippies, faeries, rainbow people, burning man aficionados, and the like, creating a Counter Culture space-time singularity each July. Music Bands from the well known, to the virtually anonymous play on various stages throughout the weekend, so there is music coming from one or many directions at any time. There is a non-stop drum circle, which was joined briefly by Bob Weir last summer (I realize now by looking at the Wikipedia picture that I actually saw him: I hadn't aged him in my mind since 1990, so I was looking for a much younger man). Puppet shows, acrobats, magic, mehndi booths, hair braiding booths, face painting, ice cream, and children with dread locks. All sorts of delicious food, caters to everyone from the omnivore to the vegan. Even though I fall into the first category, my favorite food item at the Fair is vegan, Blazing Salad's Avocado Dream Boats. I already know what I am having for breakfast on July 8, 2011. I wish I could tell you what is in it, so far I have figured out avocado, hummus, garlic, and hot sauce.
I discovered if you mash those ingredients together, you will have a filling, yummy sandwich spread. Eat it the day you make it, avocados don't keep!
And I haven't even talked about all the cool items sold there. There are great artisans and artists selling a variety of wares.
But there is far more to the fair than what I can list in one post. As I have said, the ambiance is a large percentage of what makes the fair great. Some concrete examples (if you will) of created ambiance: Parades with brass instruments and costumed marchers; the big juggling pavilion in Chela Mela; the singing around the sauna at the Ritz; the Women's lodge in the Community Village, an homage to estrogen; speeches on topics controversial and not; women rolling out rugs and dancing like dervishes to their favorite music, or the drumming circles' rhythms.
I hate to end this post this way, it seems unfinished. But I am hoping to get my Dec 10 prompt done before I go to bed tonight, so I am going to leave this topic for now.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Stone, Smoke and Water, #reverb10
Prompt: December 3rd
Moment: Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors) -Ali Edwards
When I look back at my life, the moments when I have felt most alive were also the moments when I felt most authentic. Authenticity, to me, is demonstrated by knowing oneself, both bad and good. And then accepting and living comfortably in one's own skin because of, or even in spite of it.
Once I saw today's prompt, it was easy for me to know where I would "find" my moment this year, because it is easy for me to pinpoint the weekend on which I felt most authentic and true to myself. The weekend was that of July 10, 11, and 12, in Veneta, OR, at the Oregon Country Fair. I already have mentioned that it was a highlight of my year. I expect it to be a highlight of many years to come. I am a recent initiate into the OCF family, and once again, I must give link love to my fairy godmother, nakedjen, for being my guide. She has been going to the Fair for more years than I am willing to guess, since I cannot remember the number, and I don't want to offend her by guessing too few. After hearing her enthusiasm for it year after year, I finally decided I had to check it out. In 2009, I went with DH and NJ. This year, DH stayed home, and I camped with NJ, and her friend D.
So I went to sleep Thursday night knowing on what weekend my "moment" was, and when I woke, I realized when exactly the moment was.
It was at the first day of the Fair, on a Friday, as always. The grounds are huge and the paths are windy, and all sorts of unexpected intrigue await around every bend. One thing I was not expecting was the spa-like Ritz, which provides showers, bathing supplies, cubbies to stuff your clothes into while you shower, and an open air sauna. On Friday at the Ritz, there was a "Women's Hour," which actually lasted most of the afternoon. I am pretty unhappy with my body, so this would be the one time during the weekend I was brave enough to go into the showers.
I was not planning on going to the shared showers because of my body image issues, and paid the fee for a private shower. There are some private showers, but the majority of the showers are communal. But what I wasn't expecting was that when I asked for a towel, there were none! NJ laughed, and pointed out the circle of nude women around an open air sauna. I was going to have to dry in front of it, naked and exposed to everyone.
It was at that moment, much to the amazement of my dear friend, and myself, quite frankly, that I literally said, "Fuck it, I'm going to use the group showers." I bought a small bar of chamomile soap, and went into the dressing area, nervous as hell. I quickly stripped down, and followed NJ to the showers.
The Ritz must be one of the most beautiful places to shower. With the sky as a roof, a planked wooden floor, showers mounted on a wooden pergola, and women chattering around me, there was so much to take in. It was hot and humid, something my Northern California-attuned body found pretty unbearable. Even the warm water from the shower seemed cool, and lovely. On the other side of a wall of sinks and mirrors, the singing of women around the sauna floated in the air. I washed myself as hastily as possible, and then looked around me at all the different shapes of women and relaxed. I allowed myself to wash myself again, deliberately and thoroughly.
As I approached the sauna, I saw other women, relaxed and happy in their own bodies. No one was trying to hide or cover their imperfections. The scent of smoke and wood rose from the sizzling, steaming rocks of the sauna, on which the Ritz attendants took turns tossing ladle-fuls of water, On a small stage, a folk singer, as nude as the rest of us, led us in a round, which ended with "I love this place." Around me were damp, clean smelling women, and another friend, freshly wet and gleaming, slid onto the bench beside us. I sat singing, on a rough wooden bench, with NJ blissfully tearing up beside me. I had confronted my fear of my own body, and taken a small step towards accepting myself as I am now: Overweight, aging and imperfect. I felt fully present, fully embraced, and full of joy.
Costumed and clean:
Moment: Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors) -Ali Edwards
When I look back at my life, the moments when I have felt most alive were also the moments when I felt most authentic. Authenticity, to me, is demonstrated by knowing oneself, both bad and good. And then accepting and living comfortably in one's own skin because of, or even in spite of it.
Once I saw today's prompt, it was easy for me to know where I would "find" my moment this year, because it is easy for me to pinpoint the weekend on which I felt most authentic and true to myself. The weekend was that of July 10, 11, and 12, in Veneta, OR, at the Oregon Country Fair. I already have mentioned that it was a highlight of my year. I expect it to be a highlight of many years to come. I am a recent initiate into the OCF family, and once again, I must give link love to my fairy godmother, nakedjen, for being my guide. She has been going to the Fair for more years than I am willing to guess, since I cannot remember the number, and I don't want to offend her by guessing too few. After hearing her enthusiasm for it year after year, I finally decided I had to check it out. In 2009, I went with DH and NJ. This year, DH stayed home, and I camped with NJ, and her friend D.
So I went to sleep Thursday night knowing on what weekend my "moment" was, and when I woke, I realized when exactly the moment was.
It was at the first day of the Fair, on a Friday, as always. The grounds are huge and the paths are windy, and all sorts of unexpected intrigue await around every bend. One thing I was not expecting was the spa-like Ritz, which provides showers, bathing supplies, cubbies to stuff your clothes into while you shower, and an open air sauna. On Friday at the Ritz, there was a "Women's Hour," which actually lasted most of the afternoon. I am pretty unhappy with my body, so this would be the one time during the weekend I was brave enough to go into the showers.
I was not planning on going to the shared showers because of my body image issues, and paid the fee for a private shower. There are some private showers, but the majority of the showers are communal. But what I wasn't expecting was that when I asked for a towel, there were none! NJ laughed, and pointed out the circle of nude women around an open air sauna. I was going to have to dry in front of it, naked and exposed to everyone.
It was at that moment, much to the amazement of my dear friend, and myself, quite frankly, that I literally said, "Fuck it, I'm going to use the group showers." I bought a small bar of chamomile soap, and went into the dressing area, nervous as hell. I quickly stripped down, and followed NJ to the showers.
The Ritz must be one of the most beautiful places to shower. With the sky as a roof, a planked wooden floor, showers mounted on a wooden pergola, and women chattering around me, there was so much to take in. It was hot and humid, something my Northern California-attuned body found pretty unbearable. Even the warm water from the shower seemed cool, and lovely. On the other side of a wall of sinks and mirrors, the singing of women around the sauna floated in the air. I washed myself as hastily as possible, and then looked around me at all the different shapes of women and relaxed. I allowed myself to wash myself again, deliberately and thoroughly.
As I approached the sauna, I saw other women, relaxed and happy in their own bodies. No one was trying to hide or cover their imperfections. The scent of smoke and wood rose from the sizzling, steaming rocks of the sauna, on which the Ritz attendants took turns tossing ladle-fuls of water, On a small stage, a folk singer, as nude as the rest of us, led us in a round, which ended with "I love this place." Around me were damp, clean smelling women, and another friend, freshly wet and gleaming, slid onto the bench beside us. I sat singing, on a rough wooden bench, with NJ blissfully tearing up beside me. I had confronted my fear of my own body, and taken a small step towards accepting myself as I am now: Overweight, aging and imperfect. I felt fully present, fully embraced, and full of joy.
Costumed and clean:
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