What would you do if Christians came to a spiritual event that you were at, and recorded it, then publicized it and ridiculed it without your consent?
Sue, sue, sue. And hope for karmic payback. Way to make the religion look bad, y’all. Judge not, render unto Ceaser. Stop making your brethern look bad.
And now for something completely different: A bit of humor.
Three weeks or so ago, when it was still warm outside, Eloric was lounging on the sofa with his feet up on the cushions. He was wearing a baggy pair of shorts. Doodoe came up to him and stood up on his hind legs. He thrust one of his paws into the leg of Eloric’s shorts, pulled the leg out and looked up it and declared “Yarrrrr!” while stareing up his shorts.
And people still wonder why his nickname, is Pervert. Now we look at each other and exclaim “Yarrr!” at random times, especially when someone is showing too much flesh.
Well, yesterday was the 2 year anniversary of my definite symptoms of IC. I’ve been celebrateing it by having a horrible flare as the one that sent me to the doctor and the ER 2 years ago. Ironic.
I had always feared that I would wind up with the “mystery bladder illness” that my cousin Grace supposedly had/has that I’d heard about since childhood. Whether this is what she has/had is beyond me. I wouldn’t ask her for fear that it would hurt her or bring up bad thoughts. But gods know how I love to go on and on about my case. *heh*
I still can hardly believe that I lost my best friend over this illness and her asshattedness over it… among other issues. I won’t say anything else about her since that would be unfair but it’s remarkable, how many people lose friends and lovers and are alienated by family because of this illness. I always think that if it were something *everyone* had a chance of experiencing, they wouldn’t be so cavalier towards people who have it. But since it has to do with shameful or funny things like wee, vulvas, using the restroom, peeing your pants, and admitting that you have so much pain that you cannot deal with it without drugs, people tend to brush it off or tell you that you’re a whiney baby because you can’t deal with it without help. I can’t think of a better attention-whoring device than having an incurable, chronic pain condition that no one can see. Sign me up for another of them.
I get mad at myself sometimes because I can’t fight the pain. And since I can’t control the pain, I get the stigma of being unemployed to go along with it. In fact, I was fired because I was sick too much, despite the signed leave papers that the store manager had to attend to himself. And each time I think I have this thing under enough control to get a new job, my bladder puts me in my place again- like this week, for example. I’ve had it with in-laws and shirt-tail relatives asking me if I’m working yet. Well, lessee- maybe when I can string two good months in a row together? I’ve been in a semi-remission but I’ve still had enough crappy days to get myself fired. Mind your own bloody business.
I’ve learned how to make myself my sanctuary. I’ve learned who I can trust. I’ve started several new hobbies. I try to be positive about this but sometimes I can’t help but think how life would be if I had never come down with this illness. I try not to whine so much in the blog nowdays because people get tired of reading about it but the disease consumes so much of your life and the doctors don’t believe how much pain you’re in when you tell them, even when you present them with a pain diary. And people think you’re a junkie when you tell them how much medicine you take when you’re ill. It’s hard for me to be positive- I’m the sort of person who, when confronted with a half glass of Coke, asks for the waitress because, dammit, I ordered Sprite! Dammit, I ordered a life without a chronic pain condition! *L* I want free dessert! Like a lovely cottage in a forest somewhere…
Two years. I wonder what I’ll be saying when it’s 10… or 20. Hopefully by then there’ll be a cure.
Please gods, in my lifetime.
I’m afraid this UTI is not a UTI but one of my MoaFs, that is: Mother of all Flares. I have absolutely no idea as to why I should be flareing like this, if flare it is, other than I’ve recently been eating a very great deal of seaweed. Then again, this period seems to be worse as well and there’s a connection between the two. Sometimes I actually finding myself believing that souls are born as women because they have scads of karma to resolve. But that’s silly, really. Though totally believable when I feel this way.
I’m thinking it’s a flare because I haven’t had a call from Dr. Asshat’s office after giving them a little plastic cup of my non-traditionally-colored wee. If I’m not infected, they so kindly (not!) send me a letter by regular post, informing me that I’m silly and not infected. He has me on a medicine he said he’d never give me- Pyridium Plus. That stuff made me sleep for almost 2 days straight. I only got up to eat some mashed potatoes so I could take the next installment and then pass out. I had some very interesting dreams and audio hallucinations of a male and female voice saying “acid crystal knife” over and over again. I was too tired to worry about that. I’ve been taking my usual cocktail lately so I can be semi-awake. I really don’t want to give up the fucus but I will if this is the result.
In other news- I promised Eloric that I would play WoW for a time after the expansion comes out and I can play a Blood Elf. They look pissed off enough for me to play. Pity they probably won’t have Druids. He has reserved my name for me- Elerah, naturally. He will be playing his elven name Eloric. For his sake, I hope I can get into it again. I guess I’ll probably be a warlock then. Want druid!
I believe I have me a UTI.
I need me some drugs.
Bugger indeed.
I just wanted to update and let everyone know that my father is home. He was diagnosed with acute pulmonary edema (which I still insist is their fault), acute COPD, and will need heart surgery within a year because of a weak/faulty heart valve. None of us are too happy about that but at least they caught it before he becomes old enough to be a high-risk surgery. He is happy and feeling fine- I envy him as he insists that he had no pain at all in his abdomen from the surgery. He is on oxygen and about 5 medicines, which he says is a pain in the arse but everything looks good… considering.
I still feel a bit iffy about the work I did for Dad before the surgery, though since he’s doing so well, I had to have had a partial success. I suppose, if it helps him in the long-term, then I’ll count it a greater success. I should probably look at things differently, I guess. But I’m still going to work on my routine for when I do “big ritual”. I’ve been told I put too much personal energy into spells when I ought to be working with Universal Energy, so this seems like a wake-up to me. I have a nice exercize here to use to work on that, so we’ll see.
I’ll probably answer all of my e-mail and comments tonight. I’ve been a little out of the loop since Dad came home and because of my Great Aunt’s 90th birthday party yesterday. I promise I’m not ignoring anyone. I also have a Witches Weekly to do. And baking. And cleaning. And probably other things I’m forgetting.
Night before last Dad ran into some complications. It turns out that the doctor ordered his IV run too high and too fast and it caused fluid to accumulate on his lungs and gave him a very irregular heartbeat. I’m pissed. I knew something like this would happen as the hospital he is in is the byword for malpractice and patient-killing.
And it gets better- It turns out nobody thought to inform him, my mother, me, or the dog that Dad has a leaky heart valve. This problem apparently needs “addressed” but what “addressed” actually means is anyone’s guess. There is talk of medicine; there is talk of a possible surgery. To top it off, this irregular heartbeat that he had- they think he may have had a heart attack but they won’t know for sure until they do an echocardiagram later today. If they helped cause him to have a heart attack, there will be more than hell to pay. I guess the spell I cast Sunday either headed off worse incompetence or didn’t work very well. Either way. ANGER!
Any way- He’s feeling remarkably well for all the drama he’s had in the past two days. He looks good and is in good spirits. He’s talking a lot and teasing his nurses. Today they fed him and though he was hungry, he was picky enough to turn his nose up at the orange sherbet that they gave him. Well, I don’t blame him- if I were in his place, I’d want something edible as opposed to some gooey, cloying orange stuff.
Also, there was one other incident that pissed me off. This fellow with the look of a preacher wandered into Dad’s room and hemmed and hawed for a while, then asked him if he “wanted some prayer”. I understand it might comfort some people but where do these people get off just wandering in? There are papers where you say whether you want some roaming two-bit preacher man to come in and pray with you and they should be observed instead of just used as book marks. So. Father tells him, no, thanks, he does not want any prayer. The polite thing for the man to have then done would have been to have left with a nice word of leaving. No. He leans over my father and says: “Well who will take care of you if He doesn’t take care of you?” Is that any of your fscking business? When someone in a hospital bed says no thank you, they mean no thank you, not “Please convince me to pray” or “Continue to hawk your god to the sick person, they really like it when you bully them when they’re feeling poorly and away from home”. I stood up and was just on the verge of taking his arm and escorting him out when father told him that mother would take care of him, thank you, see you later. And you bet your bottom end that I would have escorted him out too. No one bullies my father when he’s been through so much and gets away with it.
According to my mother, I had quite the look on my face. She thought I was going to walk out of the room. I was offended but not because the fellow wanted to pray or because of his religious affiliation. I was offended because the git wouldn’t leave when he was told no thank you and bullied Dad. It was inconsiderate and he was going to be leaving with me and with a not-so-gentle word in his ear. It’s one thing to ask someone if they want to pray, even if it’s unsolicited. It’s another thing entirely to try to intimidate or scare someone into praying when they would rather do it their way. My father is not an openly religious person and if there was to be prayer, he would have done it in his head. No means no- even if it comes to religion.
Father had his surgery yesterday. Everything is fine and it seems that it is possibly the best-case scenerio for someone who has colon cancer.
There was a lot of waiting involved. 8 hours, all told. It was sort of brutal but not until Mother started pacing around like a linebacker in Swan Lake. I read about 500 pages or two books. Eloric fell asleep and sort of sleep-pinched me. There was a horrible woman who brought her kids into the waiting room where three people were trying to sleep and blared Spongebob Square Pants on some sort of portable video thing. I don’t care if anyone thinks differently- That’s rude. I wanted to strangle her but settled for the Look of Death. It’s a hospital, ffs, you have to mediate your unwillingness to quietly entertain your kids with the personal space of others. I do wish she would have read to them or brought them toys to play with quietly. No. Sponge Bob Freaking Square Pants, loud enough to wake one of the sleepers. People these days have no respect for the common need. It’s all me, me, me. *grr*
We went and saw Dad today and he looked much better than he did yesterday- not ashen and rather happy. We brought him the card Eloric had the oldsters pass around at the Seniors’ Gold Outing today and he was very pleased by it- there must have been 50 signatures on it. Father is rather popular.
Aunt Ellen called Mother and was bawling like a cow-faucet. “We’ve had him for so long,” *loud, blubbering sob* “He’s more like a brother than a brother-in-law,” *snuffle, cry*. When mother told me that while we were at the grocery I said: “For crying out loud! She’s acting like he’s up and died, not in the hospital and doing fine. What’s wrong with her?” Aunt Ellen is taking it worse than we are and she hasn’t even seen what all they have him hooked to or seen him hold his stomach when he coughs. Aunt Louise is no better; she’s also acting as if he’s dead. She announced that she’s driving the 8 hours from her house to see Mother and will be there by 1:30pm tomorrow so she “doesn’t have to be in that house all alone.” Mother is actually quite pleased with her quiet time. But I guess people want to help. We just laugh when we’re alone.
In a few days Pop will probably get to come home. He’s already talked about making a jail break but the nurses know that he’s no flight risk at the moment. In a day or two, however, they should worried- he’s a very determined fellow. He’s even toying with the idea of getting out of bed just to set off the bed alarm, then getting back in to play with the nurses.
Things are looking up. 
is married. multifaith/hybrid faith. certified food handler.
author. poet. otherkin. INFJ/INTJ. type 4. loathes wal*mart and her state government. adores 
cats, trees, earthsea, history,reading, coffee houses, and world music. david gray. boney james. mercan dede. hates having celiac disease. Interstitial Cystitis.
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Love in a Torn Land: Joanna of Kurdistan: The True Story of a Freedom Fighter’s Escape from Iraqi V by Jean Sasson
