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!

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?

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!

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.

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".

"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.

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.

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.