First I'd like to here note: I like spiders - in theory. In reality, I'm phobic. Keep in mind every time I type s-p-i-d-e-r on my phone, the s-p-i-d-e-r emoji comes up on my screen and far too close to my face and fingers. This I do not like.
Yesterday I spied a spider at the top of our lounge curtains. Spouse was at work so I mustered the necessary courage, got the fly swat and approached with caution.
I take a swing. I'm uncertain if I hit it, but I watch horrified as it arcs through the air towards me. Spinning to run I collect a foot against the sofa leg and tangle my legs in each other.
Faliling wildly I have time to wonder what I must look like to potential witnesses and am grateful when I don't fall flat on my face. I check - there are no onlookers to my moment of gracelessness and terror, so I face my priorities: I have to ensure the spider is 1) not on me 2) really, truly, definitely, one-hundred percent not on me and 3) dead, or near enough to.
I spot it on the floor and though pretty certain of its death I bravely return and swat at the spider-corpse twice more for good measure. I then hobble to the sofa to inspect my injuries.
But from the sofa I can still see the spider-corpse and this is disturbing me. As quickly as I can hobble I dispose of the spider-corpse. Compost or landfill? Definitely not recycling. I put the spider-corpse in the compost bin although immediately I second guess my decision. Landfill seems more secure, more final. But it's too late to change my mind now - I am definitely not digging the spider-corpse out of the compost bin.
Back on the sofa I discover I have twisted a knee and an ankle.
Being me, I quickly see the hilarity in this moment. What doesn't kill me...actually, pause that thought, it's complete bollocks. It's still funny though. I put ice on knee and ankle and elevate them. When Spouse returns I regale him with my heroic tale.
And then I decide to go for a lie down. Suddenly my foot and ankle will not cooperate. My ankle is having none of it. At this point Spouse insists I stop laughing immediately and that we go to the doctor. I don't stop laughing. We don't go to the doctor.
As the evening progressed Spouse starts to realise the benefits of me being stuck in bed/on the sofa for the next few days. I can't get into any trouble on my own. I need an accomplice. And since he's the only one about, there will be no trouble making for the immediate future.
If I do have to go to a doctor I'm daring myself to say: "you should've seen the other guy". But for now, I limp off into the sunset.
Friday, March 31, 2017
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Bitter & twisted
Last night I commented to my beloved that I was bitter & twisted.
"Like a chocolate pretzel!" he said.
Yeah, just like a chocolate pretzel.
"Like a chocolate pretzel!" he said.
Yeah, just like a chocolate pretzel.
Friday, August 16, 2013
The Cooper Diaries
It was a sunny day this morning & I wanted to go outside so I miaowed until mummy got dressed & got my lead. When we went out the door mummy smelled "Spring" & went to look at some jonquils in the lower garden. I went to go down the steps too but mummy said I wasn't allowed so instead I ate some grass.
I ate a lot of grass & then I rolled on the concrete in the sunshine & then I sicked up the grass. Yuck. Then I walked along the side of the house - here is a picture of me walking along the side of the house.
When I got to the front of the house a Big Bird flew over & landed in the tree lucerne. I definitely thought about stalking it but it was pretty big & I got distracted.
I was going to eat more grass but mummy said "no more grass". Then mummy noticed there were fresh sheep turds on the grass, but not until after she stepped in one. Then we had to go back inside so that mummy could clean the sheep poo off her slipper.
I ate a lot of grass & then I rolled on the concrete in the sunshine & then I sicked up the grass. Yuck. Then I walked along the side of the house - here is a picture of me walking along the side of the house.
When I got to the front of the house a Big Bird flew over & landed in the tree lucerne. I definitely thought about stalking it but it was pretty big & I got distracted.
I was going to eat more grass but mummy said "no more grass". Then mummy noticed there were fresh sheep turds on the grass, but not until after she stepped in one. Then we had to go back inside so that mummy could clean the sheep poo off her slipper.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Zombies
Zombies are real and here's the lowdown: I've just realised what they actually are and I'm going to share it with you right now.
Your average zombie is "undead". It lurches toward you at night time, calling "brains, braaains", and leering.
My theory is this: Zombies are just the chronically ill ("undead" definitely means "alive", but suggests an impairment of some sort) looking for someone with "brains" to help cure their condition, and that they need walking sticks (remember the lurching - it's actually a mobility issue). The leering I'm not sure about. Could be myopia...just a guess.
Zombies are the people suffering chronic illnessness who doctors are so far unable to help - that's why their call is "brains, braaains!". It's not that they want to eat brains (that's just something they put in the movies to scare small children & stupid people). They're just looking for people with good brains to get together & figure out what is wrong with them. Or better yet, how to make it right.
In my case for example - I have a chronic pain syndrome. Now any kiddie can tell you that something has to happen before you get pain. Like getting stung by a bee (not a bumblebee, their sting is surprisingly not painful), or stuck with a pin.
Alright, so I understand neuroplasticity - doesn't everyone? - so I get the pain signals are just going around in an endless loop because that's what my neurons have learned to do. I know, it's my fault for creating super pain generating neurons by training them over years, decades even.
Nonetheless where are the brains that are going to help fix this problem I've created?
So today I'm outing myself. I'm a zombie. And zombies are all around you. For every illness that has no cure - every sufferer is a zombie. "Brains, Braaaains!"
Now I'm not saying that if you do see one of the undead lurching toward you gruesomely, leering & calling "brains!" that you shouldn't pick up your bag & move calmly toward your nearest exit, but do just check before you go that it's not just some poor soul looking for an awesome doctor. After all, we're all "undead". I mean, that's just "alive", right?
Your average zombie is "undead". It lurches toward you at night time, calling "brains, braaains", and leering.
My theory is this: Zombies are just the chronically ill ("undead" definitely means "alive", but suggests an impairment of some sort) looking for someone with "brains" to help cure their condition, and that they need walking sticks (remember the lurching - it's actually a mobility issue). The leering I'm not sure about. Could be myopia...just a guess.
Zombies are the people suffering chronic illnessness who doctors are so far unable to help - that's why their call is "brains, braaains!". It's not that they want to eat brains (that's just something they put in the movies to scare small children & stupid people). They're just looking for people with good brains to get together & figure out what is wrong with them. Or better yet, how to make it right.
In my case for example - I have a chronic pain syndrome. Now any kiddie can tell you that something has to happen before you get pain. Like getting stung by a bee (not a bumblebee, their sting is surprisingly not painful), or stuck with a pin.
Alright, so I understand neuroplasticity - doesn't everyone? - so I get the pain signals are just going around in an endless loop because that's what my neurons have learned to do. I know, it's my fault for creating super pain generating neurons by training them over years, decades even.
Nonetheless where are the brains that are going to help fix this problem I've created?
So today I'm outing myself. I'm a zombie. And zombies are all around you. For every illness that has no cure - every sufferer is a zombie. "Brains, Braaaains!"
Now I'm not saying that if you do see one of the undead lurching toward you gruesomely, leering & calling "brains!" that you shouldn't pick up your bag & move calmly toward your nearest exit, but do just check before you go that it's not just some poor soul looking for an awesome doctor. After all, we're all "undead". I mean, that's just "alive", right?
Thursday, November 15, 2012
The Sound of Music
Not the musical, my house.
Yes, I've been absent 6 months. I'll cover that later. But for now, I just have to share...
My Dad loaned me his precious acoustic guitar (he got a new model) & I have been having a glorious time with it thanks to www.justinguitar.com where I'm learning to play. I love this guy, he's brilliant - a great teacher.
So I've been learning a couple of months (I've never played guitar before) & I'm loving it! It's hard to put down. The cat is just beginning to figure out that he really can't access my lap when there's a guitar on it. Best of all, he's no longer afraid of it.
The next awesome & related news is my new piano. Now just to be clear I have been very anti the idea of a digital piano - after all they'll never be the real thing - those shiny plastic keys are not something you can compare with "tinkling the ivories". But...
The other day me & Dr Pink went to look at one of these monsters - and yes I was put off by those shiny plastic keys...and then I saw it's neighbour - "ivory touch" (i.e. plastic, but not shiny & they've tried to make it feel like ivory with a tiny bit of matte texture). It was when it was switched on & I touched the keys that I was sold. Love at first sound. It also helps that it didn't have all the ugly buttons the others have. It's super pretty.
I have a black one, so I didn't feel like I was playing an iPod. It has 88 keys (Brian Eno, a grand piano has 88 keys - 88 not 84!). Sorry folks, Brian Eno was on a podcast I listened to last night when he made this criminal error.
Madly in love with this & the guitar I am kept busy between both - and resting, so I can keep up playing both. And thank goodness for online lessons. Justin whose site I mentioned earlier, has something very special going on there. I'm taking piano lessons at https://www.webpianoteacher.com/, which is nothing like Justin's friendly site but Shawn's lessons are good & easy to follow - if you can find them on the crazily (dis)organised site.
I hope you haven't missed me too much. Alright, yes I missed you too. This is the first blog in a while & now I have to go sort out my domain name & make sure it's up to date (pretty sure I've let it lapse *sigh*).
Yes, I've been absent 6 months. I'll cover that later. But for now, I just have to share...
My Dad loaned me his precious acoustic guitar (he got a new model) & I have been having a glorious time with it thanks to www.justinguitar.com where I'm learning to play. I love this guy, he's brilliant - a great teacher.
So I've been learning a couple of months (I've never played guitar before) & I'm loving it! It's hard to put down. The cat is just beginning to figure out that he really can't access my lap when there's a guitar on it. Best of all, he's no longer afraid of it.
The next awesome & related news is my new piano. Now just to be clear I have been very anti the idea of a digital piano - after all they'll never be the real thing - those shiny plastic keys are not something you can compare with "tinkling the ivories". But...
The other day me & Dr Pink went to look at one of these monsters - and yes I was put off by those shiny plastic keys...and then I saw it's neighbour - "ivory touch" (i.e. plastic, but not shiny & they've tried to make it feel like ivory with a tiny bit of matte texture). It was when it was switched on & I touched the keys that I was sold. Love at first sound. It also helps that it didn't have all the ugly buttons the others have. It's super pretty.
Madly in love with this & the guitar I am kept busy between both - and resting, so I can keep up playing both. And thank goodness for online lessons. Justin whose site I mentioned earlier, has something very special going on there. I'm taking piano lessons at https://www.webpianoteacher.com/, which is nothing like Justin's friendly site but Shawn's lessons are good & easy to follow - if you can find them on the crazily (dis)organised site.
I hope you haven't missed me too much. Alright, yes I missed you too. This is the first blog in a while & now I have to go sort out my domain name & make sure it's up to date (pretty sure I've let it lapse *sigh*).
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Love on the Internet
Only once in my life did I dally with love on the Internet. I was looking, and I knew exactly what type I was interested in; my list of requirements was not long, but I was being very choosy.
I read his advertisement, and my eye was drawn immediately to the photographs. It was the eyes. Those eyes captured me immediately. He lived in a different state. The ad requested applicants from his own area, which disappointed me, although I could understand. After all, there are enough complications in love without adding distance to it.
Still I felt compelled to answer the advertisement. It was the only ad on the site that appealed to me. Did I mention I was being choosy? I said upfront that I lived in another part of the country, I knew this to be a difficulty, but wondered whether I could be considered in the unlikely event that there was no other response to the ad.The answer was affirmative, but within a week I heard that there had been interest shown from someone living locally.
I was unreasonably disappointed. We hadn't yet met or even spoken but something about that advertisement made me feel, strangely, that he was "the one". It's embarrassing to admit it. After all what did I know about him apart from a few written lines and a couple of photographs. And what did he know about me? Nothing. I hadn't included a lot of details in the e-mail I sent.
He had children & was still living with their mother. The kids had all moved out & didn't have much to do with their parents.
I found myself thinking about him a lot. I'd saved the photographs to my computer and occasionally got them out to look at. I know it sounds a bit stalker, but he was extremely handsome, there was no doubt about that, and those eyes still caught me. And then one day I got an email. He was mine if I'd have him. The other "interest" had fallen through: After their initial meeting there had been no further contact.
We were both busy, me a little more than he, so it was 3 weeks until he was on a plane to Melbourne. I arranged to pick him up at the airport & we were to go back to my place. We'd arranged for him to stay there. I had the space after all & it made sense. I tried to break the ice by chatting to him in the taxi on the way home but I could tell he was nervous. Very nervous.
The nerves didn't settle on reaching my place. I'd arranged dinner, but he didn't have the stomach for it. I have to admit that although he was exactly like his photo, he looked like a stranger. For the first time I began to have my doubts. Imagination is one thing, reality is another, and all I'd had up until now was photos & emails - and the ad. What if he didn't like me? He'd not even had a photo of me, I doubt it would have made much difference.
He spent some time going over the apartment & had a rest in his room. He settled a little after & we had an early night. The next day it was obvious he hadn't slept a great deal. But within a short time I was sure this was going to work out.
It did work out. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other & as weeks turned into months we developed a deep connection.
Five years on & he's the love of my life & my husband adores him also. He has been my best online purchase & makes me happy every day of our life together.
I read his advertisement, and my eye was drawn immediately to the photographs. It was the eyes. Those eyes captured me immediately. He lived in a different state. The ad requested applicants from his own area, which disappointed me, although I could understand. After all, there are enough complications in love without adding distance to it.
Still I felt compelled to answer the advertisement. It was the only ad on the site that appealed to me. Did I mention I was being choosy? I said upfront that I lived in another part of the country, I knew this to be a difficulty, but wondered whether I could be considered in the unlikely event that there was no other response to the ad.The answer was affirmative, but within a week I heard that there had been interest shown from someone living locally.
I was unreasonably disappointed. We hadn't yet met or even spoken but something about that advertisement made me feel, strangely, that he was "the one". It's embarrassing to admit it. After all what did I know about him apart from a few written lines and a couple of photographs. And what did he know about me? Nothing. I hadn't included a lot of details in the e-mail I sent.
He had children & was still living with their mother. The kids had all moved out & didn't have much to do with their parents.
I found myself thinking about him a lot. I'd saved the photographs to my computer and occasionally got them out to look at. I know it sounds a bit stalker, but he was extremely handsome, there was no doubt about that, and those eyes still caught me. And then one day I got an email. He was mine if I'd have him. The other "interest" had fallen through: After their initial meeting there had been no further contact.
We were both busy, me a little more than he, so it was 3 weeks until he was on a plane to Melbourne. I arranged to pick him up at the airport & we were to go back to my place. We'd arranged for him to stay there. I had the space after all & it made sense. I tried to break the ice by chatting to him in the taxi on the way home but I could tell he was nervous. Very nervous.
The nerves didn't settle on reaching my place. I'd arranged dinner, but he didn't have the stomach for it. I have to admit that although he was exactly like his photo, he looked like a stranger. For the first time I began to have my doubts. Imagination is one thing, reality is another, and all I'd had up until now was photos & emails - and the ad. What if he didn't like me? He'd not even had a photo of me, I doubt it would have made much difference.
He spent some time going over the apartment & had a rest in his room. He settled a little after & we had an early night. The next day it was obvious he hadn't slept a great deal. But within a short time I was sure this was going to work out.
It did work out. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other & as weeks turned into months we developed a deep connection.
Five years on & he's the love of my life & my husband adores him also. He has been my best online purchase & makes me happy every day of our life together.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Voice recognition software
my cat is sitting on my lap. He's just put as poor out to touch my hand which I think is pretty cute.
Today my voice recognition software arrived. My concept of voice recognition software is that it is bound to put billions of typists out of a job. And apparently as long as I'm talking about voice recognition software this seems to be proof to concept. But as soon as I go to start talking about my cat things change.
For example I want to start talking about is poor as you can see my voice recognition software needs to have further education about Cat S. Apparently it also has trouble with plurals occasionally. You see I want to say is Paul reached out to touch my hands firmly so spend some more time educating my software… Firmly? We have family coming from? I will now run to family. Of course I'm not running to family. That is my voice software I can hardly call it recognition as it's not doing that.
actually its interest in seeing what voice recognition software thinks I'm saying.apparently it will learn although I doubt it will learn patience.you see it doesn't need to.that's my job.quite a big job.
as I was saying the cat is sitting on my knee.he has curled up.and I am talking to my computer and learning terms such as scratch that for delete.although I can say delete.and it will. I think the cash enjoys this.I wouldn't swap him for money .I get the impression that he had Like the sound of my voice I wonder if he thinks I'm talking to Ham.what's fascinating me at the moment are the redundant capitals.I haven't yet learnt how to start a sentence with a capital every time.I'm not sure what the trigger is for this.
I gather that the software will learn as we go along.but nowhere on the box is the mention ( and I think this is a fair comment), that I think of the two of us I will be doing the most learning.
Today my voice recognition software arrived. My concept of voice recognition software is that it is bound to put billions of typists out of a job. And apparently as long as I'm talking about voice recognition software this seems to be proof to concept. But as soon as I go to start talking about my cat things change.
For example I want to start talking about is poor as you can see my voice recognition software needs to have further education about Cat S. Apparently it also has trouble with plurals occasionally. You see I want to say is Paul reached out to touch my hands firmly so spend some more time educating my software… Firmly? We have family coming from? I will now run to family. Of course I'm not running to family. That is my voice software I can hardly call it recognition as it's not doing that.
actually its interest in seeing what voice recognition software thinks I'm saying.apparently it will learn although I doubt it will learn patience.you see it doesn't need to.that's my job.quite a big job.
as I was saying the cat is sitting on my knee.he has curled up.and I am talking to my computer and learning terms such as scratch that for delete.although I can say delete.and it will. I think the cash enjoys this.I wouldn't swap him for money .I get the impression that he had Like the sound of my voice I wonder if he thinks I'm talking to Ham.what's fascinating me at the moment are the redundant capitals.I haven't yet learnt how to start a sentence with a capital every time.I'm not sure what the trigger is for this.
I gather that the software will learn as we go along.but nowhere on the box is the mention ( and I think this is a fair comment), that I think of the two of us I will be doing the most learning.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Apple Bandit
We're on the lookout for suspicious characters in our area after I found our trees plundered of the lovely braeburn apples we were set to harvest this weekend.
Yes, I know, it broke my heart as well. I went down to the garden on Friday afternoon to check on the apples & the strawberries. The strawberries are going great guns & were untouched but on inspection one tree had not a single fruit left on it & the other looked as though it had less than it previously might.
The perpetrators left one fruit carved with a smiley face on the second tree as a mark of their misconduct.
The trees are dwarved so we haven't ruled out hobbits, though we're fairly certain that the Very Hungry Caterpillar is not implicated since there were no signs of fruit with holes through them. Clearly there's no point in doctors looking for them as the thieves took enough apples to keep the doctor away for many, many days. We're checking into whether this includes PhDs, but so far my thus beknighted husband has not had any issue with apples nor apple eaters (as far as we're aware).
If it were possums that took the crop them they must have been dextrous & brought their own bag(s). Normally possums will take a bite or three out of dropped apples but we've not previously seen such thorough possums.
I have to admit, I know it's only apples, but I was quite annoyed at this one. I've been looking after these trees all year, feeding them worm castings & other compost & watering them over the dry summer. They put out beautifully last Autumn & I was looking forward to eating our very own apples again. We were left with a few, hubby is in the kitchen lazily peeling, chopping & cooking the smaller ones while I do all the hard work of blogging mindlessly about them. The large ones are sweet enough for eating, so I hope the pilferers enjoy them.
Keep an eye out & if you see any apples that look like these, the brothers of the nicked apples, let me know immediately, or dial 111 & tell them it's an apple emergency.
Yes, I know, it broke my heart as well. I went down to the garden on Friday afternoon to check on the apples & the strawberries. The strawberries are going great guns & were untouched but on inspection one tree had not a single fruit left on it & the other looked as though it had less than it previously might.
The perpetrators left one fruit carved with a smiley face on the second tree as a mark of their misconduct.
The trees are dwarved so we haven't ruled out hobbits, though we're fairly certain that the Very Hungry Caterpillar is not implicated since there were no signs of fruit with holes through them. Clearly there's no point in doctors looking for them as the thieves took enough apples to keep the doctor away for many, many days. We're checking into whether this includes PhDs, but so far my thus beknighted husband has not had any issue with apples nor apple eaters (as far as we're aware).
If it were possums that took the crop them they must have been dextrous & brought their own bag(s). Normally possums will take a bite or three out of dropped apples but we've not previously seen such thorough possums.
I have to admit, I know it's only apples, but I was quite annoyed at this one. I've been looking after these trees all year, feeding them worm castings & other compost & watering them over the dry summer. They put out beautifully last Autumn & I was looking forward to eating our very own apples again. We were left with a few, hubby is in the kitchen lazily peeling, chopping & cooking the smaller ones while I do all the hard work of blogging mindlessly about them. The large ones are sweet enough for eating, so I hope the pilferers enjoy them.
Keep an eye out & if you see any apples that look like these, the brothers of the nicked apples, let me know immediately, or dial 111 & tell them it's an apple emergency.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Sheepish
Well...now we all know which underwear I'm wearing, what is there left to talk about?
What about the lovely visitor we had over January? Some of you will have already heard about Sheepy the Sheep (so imaginative) who decided to spend her summer holiday at our place.
Sheepy came to see us on multiple occasions & was so friendly that she would alert us to her presence by walking up to the window of the room we were in & vocalising quite loudly, any time of the morning or afternoon. But as you can see, she's so cute it's hard to get cross about being woken early by a sheep.
And upon one occasion Sheepy even brought a pal around to introduce us. Sheepy's pal was a little shy but quite happy to come & hang out at our place.
Having sheep visiting your home is a great way to meet the neighbours."Hi, have you by any chance lost a sheep?". We learned to trade technological skills (using the print button on a computer & retuning a television) for shepherding abilities. And hubby has learned quite a lot about rural living. That's in spite of us living in an urban area.
Over January Sheepy became quite a frequent visitor, and eventually we cut a hole in our back fence to make it simpler for us to help her home. I have to admit that I considered returning her with sprigs of rosemary & mint tied to her hooves, but it just seemed too unkind. We were concerned for her safety (and possibly more so, the safety of motorists & cyclists on our winding road), so we did chat to the owner about fixing her fence. Bo Peep seemed less than concerned, however magically Sheepy has stopped coming to see us. While we miss her we are happy she is safe (for now).
I've been tardy in keeping up my blog due to some difficulties from the hypermobile joint syndrome. Or alternatively from the spondylitis. Pain is pain & it doesn't tend to matter what's causing it. Rheumatology clinic next week - they haven't seen me coming!
What about the lovely visitor we had over January? Some of you will have already heard about Sheepy the Sheep (so imaginative) who decided to spend her summer holiday at our place.
Sheepy came to see us on multiple occasions & was so friendly that she would alert us to her presence by walking up to the window of the room we were in & vocalising quite loudly, any time of the morning or afternoon. But as you can see, she's so cute it's hard to get cross about being woken early by a sheep.
And upon one occasion Sheepy even brought a pal around to introduce us. Sheepy's pal was a little shy but quite happy to come & hang out at our place.
Having sheep visiting your home is a great way to meet the neighbours."Hi, have you by any chance lost a sheep?". We learned to trade technological skills (using the print button on a computer & retuning a television) for shepherding abilities. And hubby has learned quite a lot about rural living. That's in spite of us living in an urban area.
Over January Sheepy became quite a frequent visitor, and eventually we cut a hole in our back fence to make it simpler for us to help her home. I have to admit that I considered returning her with sprigs of rosemary & mint tied to her hooves, but it just seemed too unkind. We were concerned for her safety (and possibly more so, the safety of motorists & cyclists on our winding road), so we did chat to the owner about fixing her fence. Bo Peep seemed less than concerned, however magically Sheepy has stopped coming to see us. While we miss her we are happy she is safe (for now).
I've been tardy in keeping up my blog due to some difficulties from the hypermobile joint syndrome. Or alternatively from the spondylitis. Pain is pain & it doesn't tend to matter what's causing it. Rheumatology clinic next week - they haven't seen me coming!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Brassiere geoeconomics
My cheap bras have had it. I went to Arthur Barnett, thinking it was the safest bet for getting in & out again quickly.
Approaching the lingerie service counter I was faced by 4 women standing around not doing anything, who all looked at me, and stood silent while I waited to be served. Finally the furthest away & eldest of the group realised I was in fact a customer & came around to ask whether she could help. What followed was a geoeconomic discussion on why it is impossible for a woman in New Zealand such as I, to buy a bra made in China with cotton grown in Pakistan, India or South Asia.
I really only want a cotton bra, that is it. But not one bra in the store is 100% cotton, has cotton lining, or in fact any cotton in it whatsoever. Not even the sports bras, the maternity bras or the bras for elderly women contain a fraction of cotton in them.
I am frankly amazed. Back when I began wearing bras cotton was the only option. When I was in my 20s I was wearing what I now realise was essentially the last of the cotton bras. It was by Bendon & called a "Cotton Capri". It was later updated with a synthetic version that looked much the same but more sophisticated. And from then cotton bras no longer featured anywhere in my underwear drawer. And of course knickers must match the bra, so against advice from doctors & mothers everywhere I, & probably a large number of women in the western world shifted into synthetic underthings. As sales of Canesten (or equivalent anti-fungal) sales increased, cotton appears to have vanished from the racks of both women & of intimate apparel departments.
The lady serving me explained that the current lack of cotton in their range was due to the recent flooding in Pakistan, which had rotted the cotton crop leading to scarcity & subsequent price rise in cotton sales. Bra manufacturers were therefore shifting their production into cheaper synthetic fabrics. While she was informing me that I really had no option & ought to consider giving up the cotton idea right away, I began to take quite an interest in the geographical economic lecture she was giving me. As I became more enthusiastic at seeing the connection between the complete lack of cotton on her sales floor & a serious weather event in a usually far more distant country, she became irritated as it became clear I was far more interested in the whyfores than in giving up my nouveau-hippie dream of cotton, switching to synthetic & marching out of her store owing my credit company a further $200.
Her irritation was slightly quenched by me leaving with a pair of 100% cotton boxer shorts & armed with the information that I would not find a cotton bra anywhere. "You'll be back - and in synthetic too" her look seemed to say.
I am currently wearing a gorgeous 100% organic cotton bra (organic cotton being a different market, and apparently one currently unaffected by economies of climate vagaries). This cotton has probably come from India or the United States, who provide most of the organic cotton.
www.faeriesdance.com, or, depending on your choice & your abilities in the langue française, www.peau-ethique.com.
Next week: Cotton futures trading. Actually not really. Nor another post about my underwear. Not one more. This is the last. Promise. Maybe. Maybe I'll actually start posting about spondyloarthropathy or EDS. Needs Assessments. That sort of thing. But this is just so much more fun!
Approaching the lingerie service counter I was faced by 4 women standing around not doing anything, who all looked at me, and stood silent while I waited to be served. Finally the furthest away & eldest of the group realised I was in fact a customer & came around to ask whether she could help. What followed was a geoeconomic discussion on why it is impossible for a woman in New Zealand such as I, to buy a bra made in China with cotton grown in Pakistan, India or South Asia.
I really only want a cotton bra, that is it. But not one bra in the store is 100% cotton, has cotton lining, or in fact any cotton in it whatsoever. Not even the sports bras, the maternity bras or the bras for elderly women contain a fraction of cotton in them.
I am frankly amazed. Back when I began wearing bras cotton was the only option. When I was in my 20s I was wearing what I now realise was essentially the last of the cotton bras. It was by Bendon & called a "Cotton Capri". It was later updated with a synthetic version that looked much the same but more sophisticated. And from then cotton bras no longer featured anywhere in my underwear drawer. And of course knickers must match the bra, so against advice from doctors & mothers everywhere I, & probably a large number of women in the western world shifted into synthetic underthings. As sales of Canesten (or equivalent anti-fungal) sales increased, cotton appears to have vanished from the racks of both women & of intimate apparel departments.
The lady serving me explained that the current lack of cotton in their range was due to the recent flooding in Pakistan, which had rotted the cotton crop leading to scarcity & subsequent price rise in cotton sales. Bra manufacturers were therefore shifting their production into cheaper synthetic fabrics. While she was informing me that I really had no option & ought to consider giving up the cotton idea right away, I began to take quite an interest in the geographical economic lecture she was giving me. As I became more enthusiastic at seeing the connection between the complete lack of cotton on her sales floor & a serious weather event in a usually far more distant country, she became irritated as it became clear I was far more interested in the whyfores than in giving up my nouveau-hippie dream of cotton, switching to synthetic & marching out of her store owing my credit company a further $200.
Her irritation was slightly quenched by me leaving with a pair of 100% cotton boxer shorts & armed with the information that I would not find a cotton bra anywhere. "You'll be back - and in synthetic too" her look seemed to say.
I am currently wearing a gorgeous 100% organic cotton bra (organic cotton being a different market, and apparently one currently unaffected by economies of climate vagaries). This cotton has probably come from India or the United States, who provide most of the organic cotton.
www.faeriesdance.com, or, depending on your choice & your abilities in the langue française, www.peau-ethique.com.
Next week: Cotton futures trading. Actually not really. Nor another post about my underwear. Not one more. This is the last. Promise. Maybe. Maybe I'll actually start posting about spondyloarthropathy or EDS. Needs Assessments. That sort of thing. But this is just so much more fun!
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Uncomfortable conversations about comfortable underpants
Yes, these are The Comfy Underpants. Like men's underwear they come in only 2 colours: black & white. No pink, baby blue or candy stripes. Black & white, that's it.
The other day I was at my physiotherapist - my wonderful, fabulous physiotherapist who is absolutely the best ever. "Strip down to your undies this time I think" she says...and then we did the usual conversational dance: "Ha ha, I wonder what underwear I put on this morning ha ha". Of course I know what underpants I put on this morning. I might not recall which colour, but I am never wearing any other kind of underpants ever again until they stop making these ones, at which point I might stage a one woman riot. Or start going commando. Given what's to follow, let's not go there.
I climb up on the physio table & turn on my side as I'm directed by my awesome physiotherapist. And casually I say "Oh, that's right, I blogged about these undies the other day" *I just said what???*. "You what...?" says the brilliant physiotherapist. "Blogged. Blogged about my undies, I write a blog, just stuff..." mumbled before quickly trailing off.
In case you missed it, here's an example of a conversation never to have with your physiotherapist. Not ever. It's weird. No good can come of it. I'd go so far as to say it's an example of a conversation to have with no-one. Blogging about underpants is weird. Talking about blogging about underpants is freaky & people will think you are some sort of, well, freak.
"So do people read your blog?"
"Well, my mum does ha ha..." (weakly) "some other people..." Change the subject!!!
We did change the subject, but still it lingered around the topic of underwear..."yes, they do look a bit like the ones...(insert some All Black's name here)...advertises on the television".
Next conversation never to have, especially when you're trying to get out of an awkward conversation already: "Um, who? No, I haven't seen it. I don't watch television". "During the world cup?". "Um, sure, I watched a bit".
Lies, all lies! I watched the haka, then I went to bed & listened on the transistor radio. For the semi final & final we recorded it & before we had any contact with the outside world the following day we watched it. I don't watch live telly & I watch virtually no recorded telly, except at the moment we're recording "Whose line is it anyway?" because it is tummy hurtingly funny.
After admitting that while you have a television you don't actually watch television, there isn't a lot to say. It's already clear that you are at least "odd". That's if it wasn't already made completely clear by the fact that you wrote about your underpants & that you talked about writing about your underpants.
Just to cement the image I thought the best way to tie it all up was to blog about having a conversation about blogging about underpants. It really can't go any further than that. Can it?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Comfy underpants
This one is a bit more for women who will know what I am talking about. Comfy underpants are a bit of a holy grail among women, so I wanted to share with you my story of finding a pair of truly comfy underwear.
For the uninitiated (by which I mean blokes) it's important to know there are only 2 kinds of women's underwear:
Granny pants
Granny pants look like something your grandmother would have worn - heck, they look like something she might have made at home herself. They sit approximately 2 sizes too big. They come up over your belly button & extend to your knees. And they are not comfortable. The Bridget Jones movie got that wrong - they just aren't. Mind you the second type of underwear isn't either.
Ooh la la undies
Ooh la la undies look really sexy on the rack, before you put them on. They might even look sexy on. They are a tiny piece of synthetic (awful itchy nylon pretending to be silk). If we could afford silk ones, I'm not sure we'd escape the next problem: Ooh la la undies feel 2 sizes too small & creep up your bum during the day so you end up having to "discretely" pick them out of your butt crack twice on the way to work, on all of your breaks at work and at least twice while you're at your desk. On the way home you've usually just given up & are ignoring it.
It's about this point some of us have given up & gone for g-strings. I'm not going to give them their own category because they are really just another version of Ooh la la undies for those of us who've given up. G strings already sit right up in your butt crack so once you get used to the fact that they're there it's just a case of ignoring it. You can pretend all you like that it's for fashion, or that it's because you don't want VPL (Visible Panty Line), but really, it's because you've given up.
I gave up once. For quite a while I wore those little things. They do dry quickly on the line. And I suppose in terms of resources you could say that the small amount of fabric required to make that piece of underwear is about 5% of what goes into the granny undies. So, they're environmentally friendly knickers.
Blokes do not seem to have the problems women have with underwear. You see the selection of blokes underwear - it's all the same. Basically you've got either jocks or boxers. As far as I can tell boxers are kind of like going commando & jocks are for the man who prefers a little "support". But they just don't have the same issues women do - it's basically white, grey or navy.
So this time I saw a pair of undies that were clearly for women but they looked like blokes underpants. They even looked as though they had stitched support for a *cough* "package". I walked away (actually I was online shopping, so technically I clicked away). I can't wear boys undies. It's just wrong. But I kept coming back. They looked just like boys underwear. Boys seem to be really comfortable. *I* want to be really comfortable.
After a while I began to cave. I knew. I knew they were going to be properly comfy underpants. So I bought a pair. Just one. Just to try.
You know what I'm going to say don't you? Of course they were comfortable! The most comfortable pair of underwear I've ever worn. And yes, I went straight back online & bought enough to never have to wear uncomfortable underwear ever again. And I don't care if they look like boys underpants. I just don't. I'm going to wear my boy pants with pride!
For the uninitiated (by which I mean blokes) it's important to know there are only 2 kinds of women's underwear:
Granny pants
Granny pants look like something your grandmother would have worn - heck, they look like something she might have made at home herself. They sit approximately 2 sizes too big. They come up over your belly button & extend to your knees. And they are not comfortable. The Bridget Jones movie got that wrong - they just aren't. Mind you the second type of underwear isn't either.
Ooh la la undies
Ooh la la undies look really sexy on the rack, before you put them on. They might even look sexy on. They are a tiny piece of synthetic (awful itchy nylon pretending to be silk). If we could afford silk ones, I'm not sure we'd escape the next problem: Ooh la la undies feel 2 sizes too small & creep up your bum during the day so you end up having to "discretely" pick them out of your butt crack twice on the way to work, on all of your breaks at work and at least twice while you're at your desk. On the way home you've usually just given up & are ignoring it.
It's about this point some of us have given up & gone for g-strings. I'm not going to give them their own category because they are really just another version of Ooh la la undies for those of us who've given up. G strings already sit right up in your butt crack so once you get used to the fact that they're there it's just a case of ignoring it. You can pretend all you like that it's for fashion, or that it's because you don't want VPL (Visible Panty Line), but really, it's because you've given up.
I gave up once. For quite a while I wore those little things. They do dry quickly on the line. And I suppose in terms of resources you could say that the small amount of fabric required to make that piece of underwear is about 5% of what goes into the granny undies. So, they're environmentally friendly knickers.
Blokes do not seem to have the problems women have with underwear. You see the selection of blokes underwear - it's all the same. Basically you've got either jocks or boxers. As far as I can tell boxers are kind of like going commando & jocks are for the man who prefers a little "support". But they just don't have the same issues women do - it's basically white, grey or navy.
So this time I saw a pair of undies that were clearly for women but they looked like blokes underpants. They even looked as though they had stitched support for a *cough* "package". I walked away (actually I was online shopping, so technically I clicked away). I can't wear boys undies. It's just wrong. But I kept coming back. They looked just like boys underwear. Boys seem to be really comfortable. *I* want to be really comfortable.
After a while I began to cave. I knew. I knew they were going to be properly comfy underpants. So I bought a pair. Just one. Just to try.
You know what I'm going to say don't you? Of course they were comfortable! The most comfortable pair of underwear I've ever worn. And yes, I went straight back online & bought enough to never have to wear uncomfortable underwear ever again. And I don't care if they look like boys underpants. I just don't. I'm going to wear my boy pants with pride!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sunshine & worm poo
From a few posts back some might remember me talking about my worm farm.
That worm farm has progressed into two - the worms have multiplied plentifully over the months, it's been quite a population explosion. And I've been enjoying putting our food scraps out into the farm, rather than chucking them in the bin. Makes you feel all virtuous ;o).
It's been a few months & I realised it was definitely time to start harvesting some of that lovely worm compost. Vermicast they call it. All the sites on the net talking about worm farms talk about this aspect with real pride - it's clearly something to look forward to. The chance to reap what you've sown, the fruits of your labours...the prize.
Nowhere on the net does it tell you that worm poo or vermicast as devotees lovingly call it, smells just as bad as poo from any other creature. Pongs. Reeks. Stinks. I thought my cat's poo was pretty stinky some days. Nothing prepared me for the smell of poo from my worm farm.
I'd been so clever - lured almost all of the worms down one end of the bin so I could get to the "compost" at the other end. A few remained, which meant I had to hand pick through the smelly, smelly worm poo to recover them & pop them back in with their cousins (well they must be fairly well inbred by now. I bet not even those first 1000 worms all came from different families).
A half hour later I had about six litres of "vermicast" & was pretty much over the smell. I had to get out. I had to get out immediately.
It's not a lot of compost - not when you have rhubarb & fruit trees. On the other hand I don't know if I could handle any more worm poo. I'm not really looking forward to next time. But there will be a next time. That insane feeling of virtuousness I get from not putting food scraps in the bin & recycling them into something for my garden demands I keep this worm farm thing going. Bokashi is just not quite the same somehow (though so much less smelly!).
It's not all sunshine & worm poo. I haven't been doing so flash lately & realised one of the side effects of my pain medication is feelings of intense sadness. Well then, that could explain it I guess. You can't have everything. Hopefully it will settle down with the rest of the side effects.
That worm farm has progressed into two - the worms have multiplied plentifully over the months, it's been quite a population explosion. And I've been enjoying putting our food scraps out into the farm, rather than chucking them in the bin. Makes you feel all virtuous ;o).
It's been a few months & I realised it was definitely time to start harvesting some of that lovely worm compost. Vermicast they call it. All the sites on the net talking about worm farms talk about this aspect with real pride - it's clearly something to look forward to. The chance to reap what you've sown, the fruits of your labours...the prize.
Nowhere on the net does it tell you that worm poo or vermicast as devotees lovingly call it, smells just as bad as poo from any other creature. Pongs. Reeks. Stinks. I thought my cat's poo was pretty stinky some days. Nothing prepared me for the smell of poo from my worm farm.
I'd been so clever - lured almost all of the worms down one end of the bin so I could get to the "compost" at the other end. A few remained, which meant I had to hand pick through the smelly, smelly worm poo to recover them & pop them back in with their cousins (well they must be fairly well inbred by now. I bet not even those first 1000 worms all came from different families).
A half hour later I had about six litres of "vermicast" & was pretty much over the smell. I had to get out. I had to get out immediately.
It's not a lot of compost - not when you have rhubarb & fruit trees. On the other hand I don't know if I could handle any more worm poo. I'm not really looking forward to next time. But there will be a next time. That insane feeling of virtuousness I get from not putting food scraps in the bin & recycling them into something for my garden demands I keep this worm farm thing going. Bokashi is just not quite the same somehow (though so much less smelly!).
It's not all sunshine & worm poo. I haven't been doing so flash lately & realised one of the side effects of my pain medication is feelings of intense sadness. Well then, that could explain it I guess. You can't have everything. Hopefully it will settle down with the rest of the side effects.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Patience
Today I called Access Ability. I don't know anything about the service, but the disability people said I needed an assessment to see what sort of things we're going to have to think of with me & here at home, to make life manageable. So I called. I left a message for the nice voice on the answer phone since she wasn't there.That all seemed to go pretty normally.
A little while later I got a call back:
"Hi this is ***** from Access Ability".
Good for you. I'm so sorry for the people who have to talk to you today. If they're ringing you to ask for help, then it's not such a good day. They've just discovered their lives are not what they thought they were going to be, that they need help to manage day to day. Their world has been turned upside down. They are lost and confused. They have no clue what they need. They don't know who you are, or why they need to call you. They don't understand why you are being so rude. There is a way you treat people with a disability: it's called the same way you treat everyone else.
Anyone with a basic understanding of disability is aware of the experience of powerlessness that being disabled can create. Why on earth would you treat someone like this?
As for being "a client" - if you were a store I would not shop there. I would go somewhere else. If I had any choice whatsoever in the matter I would not use your service I would choose another.
For the record, I worked in mental health support for 4 years, was on the phones at Lifeline for 5 years. I assisted with the Total Mobility Scheme at my regional council, answering the phone to people who "wanted an assessment". I can do this woman's job with my disabilities, standing on my head. If she dislikes it as much as it sounded over the phone. I will be very happy to have it. It would be an absolute walk in the park for me & and an absolute pleasure besides.
Access Ability, if you have a think & decide you'd like a new receptionist - may I apply for the job? Your clients will be so well looked after & absolutely delighted with their contact. They definitely will not be a puddle of tears after making the call, unless it's because finally they spoke to someone who was kind.
A little while later I got a call back:
"Hi this is ***** from Access Ability".
"Oh hi *****".
*waits for a clue - like "how can I help you" - anything*.....um, I'm calling to arrange an assessment....".
"Are you a client of ours?"
*thinks - I've joined so many things, did I join this?* "No, I don't think I am".
"Is it you who is disabled or are you calling for someone else?".
*Oh, I know the answer to this one!* "Me, I'm disabled" *Oh my God. I'm disabled. How weird does that sound?*.
"There is a process to go through"."Okay, I just rang because the disability people told me I should call you".
"There is a process to go through - what is your disability?".*That was officious - what did I do wrong?* "I have two. Spondyloarthropathy & Hypermobile Joint Syndrome".
"There is a process to go through [yes, I got that impression, I'm beginning to wonder what it is...], you'll need a letter from your doctor saying what your disability is before you can access our service".Okay...I have to prove it. That all seems fair. I figured that would be part of a form filling out thing anyway...except I hadn't really thought that far ahead, because I still don't know exactly what it is Access Ability do apart from give assessments.
"I'll send you out some forms to fill in - you'll have to provide some paperwork from your doctor saying what your disability is"*ok, so I get it, I really have to prove it....wonders how many people spend their days calling up agencies pretending to be disabled just so they can ask for an assessment*
"What's your address"*gives address*
"I'll send you the forms, you fill them out & send them back"."I hope your day improves for you". Yes I am just enough of a bitch to say it.
"My day is great, thank you".Good for you. I'm so sorry for the people who have to talk to you today. If they're ringing you to ask for help, then it's not such a good day. They've just discovered their lives are not what they thought they were going to be, that they need help to manage day to day. Their world has been turned upside down. They are lost and confused. They have no clue what they need. They don't know who you are, or why they need to call you. They don't understand why you are being so rude. There is a way you treat people with a disability: it's called the same way you treat everyone else.
Anyone with a basic understanding of disability is aware of the experience of powerlessness that being disabled can create. Why on earth would you treat someone like this?
As for being "a client" - if you were a store I would not shop there. I would go somewhere else. If I had any choice whatsoever in the matter I would not use your service I would choose another.
For the record, I worked in mental health support for 4 years, was on the phones at Lifeline for 5 years. I assisted with the Total Mobility Scheme at my regional council, answering the phone to people who "wanted an assessment". I can do this woman's job with my disabilities, standing on my head. If she dislikes it as much as it sounded over the phone. I will be very happy to have it. It would be an absolute walk in the park for me & and an absolute pleasure besides.
Access Ability, if you have a think & decide you'd like a new receptionist - may I apply for the job? Your clients will be so well looked after & absolutely delighted with their contact. They definitely will not be a puddle of tears after making the call, unless it's because finally they spoke to someone who was kind.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Pain
Since I last posted I have lost someone, a gorgeous soul, a very dear lady who I adore.
I am lucky to have a life filled with some very special people. Angels. The pain of knowing that they suffer & of losing them is mitigated only by the absolute joy of having had them in my life.
xxx
This post is about every day pain.
This weekend I put my back out. It's pretty crippling, no two ways about it, once your back is a mess you really are screwed. This is the third time in less than a month though, which makes it harder.
One of the problems with hypermobile joint syndrome or EDS (III) is that joints go "out" all the time. I sprained my wrist twice yesterday. I did it again today. That's just part of the package. It hurts.
And that's where the fun begins. This isn't just a condition where joints go out. It's about pain. It's about all the time pain. Not just when the joints go out - joints are always going out. I hurt all the time. Gravity is not my friend. Lying down a few times a day helps to decompress the joints that are otherwise compressed from being upright most of the time.
So, what do you do when for five years you've been told you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS/ME), there's nothing that can be done about it, and then suddenly you're told - well actually you have a chronic pain condition. And if we manage the pain then you'll probably get some relief from the CFS/ME. I can tell you what you do. The moment that fatigue is a little less than it was you begin to do everything that you haven't done in five years. Which is great. Except...you hurt yourself all the time doing it.
The reality begins to sink in that you're merely trading one set of limitations for another set of limitations that look remarkably the same - but that are topped off with extra pain.
And then you have to once again start the grieving process for the life you don't have. And the life you won't ever have. You have to learn to accept the new one - this new one that is almost exactly the same as the old one that you had already accepted. But because it's different, you have to grieve again. It's in the rules.
Not only is there the physical pain. There's the emotional pain of grieving. For everything you can't do, for everything you will never be able to do. For the hope you had of getting better "someday".
And perhaps it's not so strange that you grieve for all of the other people who are suffering from various disabilities & who have lost the lives they expected, wanted or hoped to live.
I am lucky to have a life filled with some very special people. Angels. The pain of knowing that they suffer & of losing them is mitigated only by the absolute joy of having had them in my life.
xxx
This post is about every day pain.
This weekend I put my back out. It's pretty crippling, no two ways about it, once your back is a mess you really are screwed. This is the third time in less than a month though, which makes it harder.
One of the problems with hypermobile joint syndrome or EDS (III) is that joints go "out" all the time. I sprained my wrist twice yesterday. I did it again today. That's just part of the package. It hurts.
And that's where the fun begins. This isn't just a condition where joints go out. It's about pain. It's about all the time pain. Not just when the joints go out - joints are always going out. I hurt all the time. Gravity is not my friend. Lying down a few times a day helps to decompress the joints that are otherwise compressed from being upright most of the time.
So, what do you do when for five years you've been told you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS/ME), there's nothing that can be done about it, and then suddenly you're told - well actually you have a chronic pain condition. And if we manage the pain then you'll probably get some relief from the CFS/ME. I can tell you what you do. The moment that fatigue is a little less than it was you begin to do everything that you haven't done in five years. Which is great. Except...you hurt yourself all the time doing it.
The reality begins to sink in that you're merely trading one set of limitations for another set of limitations that look remarkably the same - but that are topped off with extra pain.
And then you have to once again start the grieving process for the life you don't have. And the life you won't ever have. You have to learn to accept the new one - this new one that is almost exactly the same as the old one that you had already accepted. But because it's different, you have to grieve again. It's in the rules.
Not only is there the physical pain. There's the emotional pain of grieving. For everything you can't do, for everything you will never be able to do. For the hope you had of getting better "someday".
And perhaps it's not so strange that you grieve for all of the other people who are suffering from various disabilities & who have lost the lives they expected, wanted or hoped to live.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Ink Pink does the Happy Dance
About 3 months ago I saw this awesome doc. A conventional one, at a real hospital & everything.
He didn't bat an eyelid at the whole ME/CFS & the MCS thing (even though I had a carbon filter mask on). He did a very thorough examination & then started telling me what was wrong with me...
He called it Central Sensitisation. It's something you can find out about by googling, but basically the way I interpret it, it means that my central nervous system (CNS) has gone ballistic & started producing really weird symptoms...like all the symptoms that go with ME/CFS, and MCS, among other things.
He talked to me about pain...Pain, what pain?...I don't have pain...well, not really, I mean it doesn't count. I mean, it's normal, isn't it? I just sprain things occasionally, I don't worry about it or anything...medication? No, I don't worry about that. Not unless I'm desperate. Even then...
Apparently because I have had this joint disorder (Benign Hypermobile Joint Syndrome - benign doesn't mean what you think it means) forever, I have had a whole lot of pain all my life. Because it's always been there I thought it was normal. And because I thought it was normal I ignored it. Meanwhile (it gets slightly more tricky) the neurons in my CNS got really good at firing for pain signals. Basically my CNS got a PhD in pain while I wasn't looking.
So. The doc tells me off for not taking pain meds & asks me to take then 4 x a day. Sure Doc. No problem, I can do that.
So I do. I take the pain meds. And when he tells me to increase them, I shrug my shoulders & increase them. He tries me on a few other meds that are supposed to help settle my CNS (down boy!) but they make me pretty ill so we lay off those & stick with the pain meds.
In 2 months I suddenly realise...my MCS isn't as bad as it was. I can go into a store without getting sick! And my ME/CFS! I can go out in the garden. I can "do stuff". I have more energy. Surely this isn't connected to the pain medication...
On my next visit to the doc he's looking pretty smug as I tell him how my whole life is turning on its head. I was sick. I was very sick. I'm beginning to realise that each time I start to feel fatigued, or each time I have brain fog, I can take pain meds & my symptoms will go away. I learn to scan my body to check for pain when I get fatigue or brain fog. I realise that every time I have these symptoms my pain has ramped up without me noticing.
This doctor has seen people like me before. He's seen people with MCS. He doesn't think we're freaks. He doesn't think people with ME/CFS are malingerers. He thinks I am funny because I am a walking talking textbook example.
Now I'm out in the garden. I'm doing housework. I'm out walking in the gardens, walking down the main street in town. In 3 weeks I go from needing a full respirator to go to my GP clinic to not even needing a carbon filter mask. I am beginning to live like a "normal". In just 3 months of taking nothing other than pain meds. No magic detox diet. No miracle treatment.
Everything (well ok, maybe not everything) that has been wrong with me over the past few years comes down to one simple thing. Pain. Talk about holistic. Every symptom I have he was able to track back to this one cause.
I'm not cured. I'm still sick. But I have this awesome feeling of freedom. I am recovering. I am certain this is going somewhere good.
He didn't bat an eyelid at the whole ME/CFS & the MCS thing (even though I had a carbon filter mask on). He did a very thorough examination & then started telling me what was wrong with me...
He called it Central Sensitisation. It's something you can find out about by googling, but basically the way I interpret it, it means that my central nervous system (CNS) has gone ballistic & started producing really weird symptoms...like all the symptoms that go with ME/CFS, and MCS, among other things.
He talked to me about pain...Pain, what pain?...I don't have pain...well, not really, I mean it doesn't count. I mean, it's normal, isn't it? I just sprain things occasionally, I don't worry about it or anything...medication? No, I don't worry about that. Not unless I'm desperate. Even then...
Apparently because I have had this joint disorder (Benign Hypermobile Joint Syndrome - benign doesn't mean what you think it means) forever, I have had a whole lot of pain all my life. Because it's always been there I thought it was normal. And because I thought it was normal I ignored it. Meanwhile (it gets slightly more tricky) the neurons in my CNS got really good at firing for pain signals. Basically my CNS got a PhD in pain while I wasn't looking.
So. The doc tells me off for not taking pain meds & asks me to take then 4 x a day. Sure Doc. No problem, I can do that.
So I do. I take the pain meds. And when he tells me to increase them, I shrug my shoulders & increase them. He tries me on a few other meds that are supposed to help settle my CNS (down boy!) but they make me pretty ill so we lay off those & stick with the pain meds.
In 2 months I suddenly realise...my MCS isn't as bad as it was. I can go into a store without getting sick! And my ME/CFS! I can go out in the garden. I can "do stuff". I have more energy. Surely this isn't connected to the pain medication...
On my next visit to the doc he's looking pretty smug as I tell him how my whole life is turning on its head. I was sick. I was very sick. I'm beginning to realise that each time I start to feel fatigued, or each time I have brain fog, I can take pain meds & my symptoms will go away. I learn to scan my body to check for pain when I get fatigue or brain fog. I realise that every time I have these symptoms my pain has ramped up without me noticing.
This doctor has seen people like me before. He's seen people with MCS. He doesn't think we're freaks. He doesn't think people with ME/CFS are malingerers. He thinks I am funny because I am a walking talking textbook example.
Now I'm out in the garden. I'm doing housework. I'm out walking in the gardens, walking down the main street in town. In 3 weeks I go from needing a full respirator to go to my GP clinic to not even needing a carbon filter mask. I am beginning to live like a "normal". In just 3 months of taking nothing other than pain meds. No magic detox diet. No miracle treatment.
Everything (well ok, maybe not everything) that has been wrong with me over the past few years comes down to one simple thing. Pain. Talk about holistic. Every symptom I have he was able to track back to this one cause.
I'm not cured. I'm still sick. But I have this awesome feeling of freedom. I am recovering. I am certain this is going somewhere good.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The best risotto you've ever eaten
For anyone who tried "Chicken soup for the sensitive soul" or is planning it, here is the advanced version:
The best risotto you've ever eaten
Instead of turning the stock left over from cooking the chicken (see chicken soup for the sensitive soul) , we're going to turn it into an orgasmic risotto.
You need to heat up the stock (I'm assuming that after you cooked the chicken, you froze the stock & ate the chicken. If you tore some meat off the chook & put that & maybe even some bones in you have an amazing stock ready to use). So get about 4 cups of it in a pot & heat it up.
At the same time you're heating the stock put a cup of arborio rice in a decent sized pot with a bit of oil & cook it for a couple of minutes.
If you're a 'normal' by all means fry off some diced onion before you start on the other ingredients. I don't because of the whole sulfur thing. If you can tolerate sulfur you're probably going to be able to make this even more awesome by adding a small amount of white wine (1/8-1/4 cup).
Dice some pumpkin into 1cm pieces, and chop some spinach.
Chuck the pumpkin & 1 cup of the warm stock in with the rice.
Wait until the rice has absorbed most of the stock and then add the second cup.
Do the same again with cups 3 & 4 of the stock, waiting between each for the stock to be absorbed before adding the next lot.
After you've added the fourth cup of stock put in the spinach. You don't want that to turn into over cooked mush, it's nicer this way.
While the risotto is still wet, but everything is cooked (rice should be al dente), take it off & it's ready to go. And it is divine. So prepare yourself.
I really think this recipe is going to work well with really decent tasting mushroom in it, but I have tested myself on mushrooms yet so I haven't tried, but you will know what I mean & if you are a mushroom person by all means go for it. In fact you could even switch the pumpkin for mushrooms. It would be oh so tasty. Especially with some truffle, but I'm guessing most of us don't keep that in our kitchen. I wish.
You can top it with parmesan if you can tolerate dairy. I like to toast some pine nuts just briefly & chuck those on. But honestly this stuff is so good it doesn't need any mucking about with. I'd just bung it in a bowl & eat it.
Don't think you can get away with using a carton of chicken stock. It will not be orgasmic risotto. It will be very average risotto. I will be able to tell.
One you've tried this one, let me know how blimmin' awesome you thought it was. I know loads of people are making the soup, but this is a whole new level for your tastebuds. Yum.
The best risotto you've ever eaten
Instead of turning the stock left over from cooking the chicken (see chicken soup for the sensitive soul) , we're going to turn it into an orgasmic risotto.
You need to heat up the stock (I'm assuming that after you cooked the chicken, you froze the stock & ate the chicken. If you tore some meat off the chook & put that & maybe even some bones in you have an amazing stock ready to use). So get about 4 cups of it in a pot & heat it up.
At the same time you're heating the stock put a cup of arborio rice in a decent sized pot with a bit of oil & cook it for a couple of minutes.
If you're a 'normal' by all means fry off some diced onion before you start on the other ingredients. I don't because of the whole sulfur thing. If you can tolerate sulfur you're probably going to be able to make this even more awesome by adding a small amount of white wine (1/8-1/4 cup).
Dice some pumpkin into 1cm pieces, and chop some spinach.
Chuck the pumpkin & 1 cup of the warm stock in with the rice.
Wait until the rice has absorbed most of the stock and then add the second cup.
Do the same again with cups 3 & 4 of the stock, waiting between each for the stock to be absorbed before adding the next lot.
After you've added the fourth cup of stock put in the spinach. You don't want that to turn into over cooked mush, it's nicer this way.
While the risotto is still wet, but everything is cooked (rice should be al dente), take it off & it's ready to go. And it is divine. So prepare yourself.
I really think this recipe is going to work well with really decent tasting mushroom in it, but I have tested myself on mushrooms yet so I haven't tried, but you will know what I mean & if you are a mushroom person by all means go for it. In fact you could even switch the pumpkin for mushrooms. It would be oh so tasty. Especially with some truffle, but I'm guessing most of us don't keep that in our kitchen. I wish.
You can top it with parmesan if you can tolerate dairy. I like to toast some pine nuts just briefly & chuck those on. But honestly this stuff is so good it doesn't need any mucking about with. I'd just bung it in a bowl & eat it.
Don't think you can get away with using a carton of chicken stock. It will not be orgasmic risotto. It will be very average risotto. I will be able to tell.
One you've tried this one, let me know how blimmin' awesome you thought it was. I know loads of people are making the soup, but this is a whole new level for your tastebuds. Yum.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Les oiseaux & le pain
This morning the birds at our house are enjoying what I would like to think of as a "French" breakfast, in spite of its lack of coffee or chocolate. I remember fondly when fruit & bread would have seemed a perfectly civilised lunch at our house. That was before gluten intolerance. Still though, I am enjoying thinking that our birds are treated to the highest class of food in the neighbourhood.
They seem to think so at any rate. Brownie (the name we've given our frequent blackbird visitor) was there even before I had finished cutting up the pear cores. If I don't cut it, Brownie will steal the entire core, leaving nothing for Chunky (Chaffinch) nor any of the assorted (and unnamed) wax eyes.
I am beginning to think the physiotherapist I went to see the other week does not know as much about hypermobile joint syndrome as I would like to think she does. "Push up off the floor, breathe out & let your back slump toward the floor...". My vertebrae promptly slid into unaccommodating positions. I would be tempted to tell her "you broke it, you bought it", but the ramifications are too serious.
If there could possibly be a good side to a soft tissue lumbar injury then it is that I finally broke down & confessed first to my husband & then my GP how severe my pain actually is. The poker face usually maintained by my GP slipped briefly into amusement when I described my reaction to the tricyclics that had been proffered to reduce my pain. "I have never been so depressed in all my life", I wailed, as she smiled on.
It was all seriousness after that, but the letter from the latest specialist must have been "special" indeed as the GP decided to break out the "good" drugs.
As we left the clinic we passed Dr Arse, smiling kindly at us. A broken woman, I returned the smile. It turns out he is the registrar my husband saw & thought was really good. Since it was "random act of kindness day" I decided to forgive him. Perhaps "Arse" was a little harsh. Besides, it isn't like there aren't other health professionals for me to actively detest.
They seem to think so at any rate. Brownie (the name we've given our frequent blackbird visitor) was there even before I had finished cutting up the pear cores. If I don't cut it, Brownie will steal the entire core, leaving nothing for Chunky (Chaffinch) nor any of the assorted (and unnamed) wax eyes.
I am beginning to think the physiotherapist I went to see the other week does not know as much about hypermobile joint syndrome as I would like to think she does. "Push up off the floor, breathe out & let your back slump toward the floor...". My vertebrae promptly slid into unaccommodating positions. I would be tempted to tell her "you broke it, you bought it", but the ramifications are too serious.
If there could possibly be a good side to a soft tissue lumbar injury then it is that I finally broke down & confessed first to my husband & then my GP how severe my pain actually is. The poker face usually maintained by my GP slipped briefly into amusement when I described my reaction to the tricyclics that had been proffered to reduce my pain. "I have never been so depressed in all my life", I wailed, as she smiled on.
It was all seriousness after that, but the letter from the latest specialist must have been "special" indeed as the GP decided to break out the "good" drugs.
As we left the clinic we passed Dr Arse, smiling kindly at us. A broken woman, I returned the smile. It turns out he is the registrar my husband saw & thought was really good. Since it was "random act of kindness day" I decided to forgive him. Perhaps "Arse" was a little harsh. Besides, it isn't like there aren't other health professionals for me to actively detest.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Ranty pants goes to the doctor
Today I went to the doctor. It was just to talk about the fluid I've had in my ears for 2 weeks. But he decided to take the opportunity to play "Twenty Questions".
"So, how's your pain?"
"It's worse than ever" I reply.
"What's changed lately?"
"Well, nothing really. I have hypermobile joint syndrome."
"Yes, I see that. But you would have known about that all your life, right?"
"No."
"Oh well. I wouldn't worry about it too much."
Really. I shouldn't worry about the severe & chronic pain I suffer every single day. About my pelvis & upper back subluxating at least once a day. Huh. Good to know. I wish I had known that when I was spending the last few days in tears scared I can't breed because my pelvis won't cope with pregnancy, that this condition is inherited & the drugs I am on are not conducive to baby-making.
"Well, I wouldn't if it didn't hurt so much", I say. "I'm really only here because my ears have been blocked for a fortnight."
"Yeah, well it says here benign hypermobile joint syndrome, see?"
You're an Arse. Don't you know the difference between hypermobile joints & benign hypermobile joint syndrome? One means you're a little bit more flexi than average. The other one stalks you like death. It changes the way you live your life. It's like the difference between CF & ME/CFS. It's the difference between a headache & migraine. A cold & pneumonia. Do they not teach you anything at school these days? You are an Arse & if I didn't need you & your prescription pad I would tell you that you are an Arse.
Maybe you can tell I don't really like doctors all that much. This one had a band-aid on his finger that looked like it had been there a week; fraying & dirty. He asked me about my meds but didn't know any of them when I told him. When I stood to leave he didn't move toward the door to see me out. I waited politely & then opened the door & let myself out.
"So, how's your pain?"
"It's worse than ever" I reply.
"What's changed lately?"
"Well, nothing really. I have hypermobile joint syndrome."
"Yes, I see that. But you would have known about that all your life, right?"
"No."
"Oh well. I wouldn't worry about it too much."
Really. I shouldn't worry about the severe & chronic pain I suffer every single day. About my pelvis & upper back subluxating at least once a day. Huh. Good to know. I wish I had known that when I was spending the last few days in tears scared I can't breed because my pelvis won't cope with pregnancy, that this condition is inherited & the drugs I am on are not conducive to baby-making.
"Well, I wouldn't if it didn't hurt so much", I say. "I'm really only here because my ears have been blocked for a fortnight."
"Yeah, well it says here benign hypermobile joint syndrome, see?"
You're an Arse. Don't you know the difference between hypermobile joints & benign hypermobile joint syndrome? One means you're a little bit more flexi than average. The other one stalks you like death. It changes the way you live your life. It's like the difference between CF & ME/CFS. It's the difference between a headache & migraine. A cold & pneumonia. Do they not teach you anything at school these days? You are an Arse & if I didn't need you & your prescription pad I would tell you that you are an Arse.
Maybe you can tell I don't really like doctors all that much. This one had a band-aid on his finger that looked like it had been there a week; fraying & dirty. He asked me about my meds but didn't know any of them when I told him. When I stood to leave he didn't move toward the door to see me out. I waited politely & then opened the door & let myself out.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Extreme recycling
Recycling at our place (with help from Dad) has really taken off. At our new home I've been amazed at what we can recycle. Back living in an apartment in The Big City we'd separate our waste from paper, plastics & glass & that seemed alright. But I've attained a whole new level of recycling now we've got a spot with a section. It's a level I like to call "extreme recycling". Yeah.
The bird feeder
Crusts & mouldy bread rates pretty highly with the birdlife at our place. They also get our apple & pear cores (and any other fruit bits), fat (skimmed from the top of the Chicken soup for the curiously sensitive soul). Cooked rice that has been sitting in the fridge for a day too long is very popular, as are the flax seed innards from my recently worn through heat pack.
The birds do very well out of this deal & I have to admit to supplementing their diet with seeds bought from the store as well as jam. But mostly they just eat what we have left over. They get a feed, I love watching the birds & so does my cat.
The worm farm
The worms eat pretty much anything the birds don't. Except meat & dairy. Which is fine because we don't eat those either, except for the chicken. The worms enjoy the vege trimmings & peelings. Vege that sat in the fridge a day too long they love. Egg shells are good in there too. Plus this is where any paper or cardboard that has already been recycled (e.g. egg cartons) go. The worms are going gangbusters, to my amazement. I honestly thought they'd all be dead inside eight weeks. The worm farm is in a shed out the back. I don't think they'd have coped with the snow the other week.
The worm farm itself is made from recycled bins that were left at the property when we moved in, with a bit of info on how to build a worm farm from ye olde internet.
I got a council subsidised "Bokashi Bin" as well, but the worms are developing quite an appetite & I might not be using it much longer.
After that we do the glass/plastics/paper/cardboard separating & what's left is not much.
We've also (thanks to my Dad), had some joy recycling some other bits & pieces.
So far our "new" house has gained:
The bird feeder
Crusts & mouldy bread rates pretty highly with the birdlife at our place. They also get our apple & pear cores (and any other fruit bits), fat (skimmed from the top of the Chicken soup for the curiously sensitive soul). Cooked rice that has been sitting in the fridge for a day too long is very popular, as are the flax seed innards from my recently worn through heat pack.
The birds do very well out of this deal & I have to admit to supplementing their diet with seeds bought from the store as well as jam. But mostly they just eat what we have left over. They get a feed, I love watching the birds & so does my cat.
The worm farm
The worms eat pretty much anything the birds don't. Except meat & dairy. Which is fine because we don't eat those either, except for the chicken. The worms enjoy the vege trimmings & peelings. Vege that sat in the fridge a day too long they love. Egg shells are good in there too. Plus this is where any paper or cardboard that has already been recycled (e.g. egg cartons) go. The worms are going gangbusters, to my amazement. I honestly thought they'd all be dead inside eight weeks. The worm farm is in a shed out the back. I don't think they'd have coped with the snow the other week.
The worm farm itself is made from recycled bins that were left at the property when we moved in, with a bit of info on how to build a worm farm from ye olde internet.
I got a council subsidised "Bokashi Bin" as well, but the worms are developing quite an appetite & I might not be using it much longer.
After that we do the glass/plastics/paper/cardboard separating & what's left is not much.
We've also (thanks to my Dad), had some joy recycling some other bits & pieces.
So far our "new" house has gained:
- 1 recycled rimu lounge floor
- 1 shower door, circa 1970s. It was in the family house when we moved in & it wasn't new then. It's now our shower door.
- 1 glass panel door, origin unknown (that is, Dad was asked to store it by someone who has never returned to collect it. Dad can't remember who that was). The door is not an exact fit for the doorway. Actually there's an inch gap at the bottom.
- 1 weather proofing strip. I can't remember how long Dad said this had been sitting upstairs at the shop. Maybe 10 years.
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