centre of the universe - the dreaming

However, I'm going to say them.

This summer, I let a lady do an "Angel Card" reading for me.

First, let's just assume that you know, and that I know, I have a tendency at times to be a bit of a fruitcake.

Second, whatever your thoughts on the accuracy of tarot, I Ching, scrying, automatic writing, dream travel, and/or organised religion, let me just say that I do try (at times) to be tolerant of, if not interested in, many different kinds of (what you may consider to be) fruitcakery. I find many kinds of fruitcakery interesting.

Now. Back to the point. This summer, a lady did an "Angel Card" reading for Yours Truly. The Lady said some things that were Interesting, and she said some things that were Ridiculous ("I know the names of your guardian angels! [insert several cthonic-sounding garbles here]"), and some things that I'm sure she says to everyone. But this post isn't about fortune-telling. It's a post of admonition.

HORSES, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls...HORSES are not guardian angels. Neither are cats. IF (and I say IF in capital letters here) guardian angels exist, and IF they are particularly interested in the, let's be honest, dorky and mundane lives we lead, I ask you: how the hell could angels with no thumbs be of any assistance at all? Listen, I'm all for having mysterious ethereal heebie-jeebies looking out for our best interests. Personally, I'd like to have Dorothy Parker as my guardian angel, but I'm not sure she'd meet the requirements. In fact, I'd like to have Stephen Hawking as my guardian angel, but then there's that thumbs thing again.

What I mean is, it's all well and good for nebulous masses of nearly-nothing to just about in the eeeeeether and watch out for your best interests, but how exactly does this happen? Do your guardian angels wage a gynormous battle with each other in the eeeeeether, with their magic super-powers and their thumbless melee? If you're about to make a Stunningly Bad Decision, does your guardian angel kick you in the proverbial chakra? Does it whisper "back off, numbnuts" in your ear? Do you get the sensation that someone is rubbing your face with a cheese grater dipped in whiskey?

Look, I don't know how these things work. And I don't particularly care. But the idea that a wolf, or a horse, or a bloody UNICORN (who are all *extinct*, so how could they be your GUARDIAN ANGEL? They don't even KNOW YOU) be your guardian angel? Huh? How? Wolves are WILD ANIMALS. They'd just as soon tear the arse off the next guardian angel in the eeeeeether than they would protect you from your own worst efforts of self-sabotage. Cats don't even care when they're ALIVE whether you make good decisions or bad decisions, as long as you feed them. And horses?

Sure, they might prance about and be noble, dedicated creatures. Sure, they're good work animals and are useful as war animals. They're dedicated, fierce, kind, noble, intelligent, and all that jazz. But have you seen the amount that they PEE!? Do you *really* want all that guardian urine all over your personal chakra's eeeeeether? And do you know how BIG horses are? Have you ever even SEEN a horse? In person? What's a horse going to say to your chakra? "NEIGH! NEIGH! NEIGH NEIGH WHINNY!"

Then you'll be all, "that's just great, eeeeether-horse-guardian angel. Thanks for the information."

And your horse guardian angel would be all, "WHINNY! WHINNY!"

And you'll be all, "That doesn't even make SENSE."

And your horse guardian angel would stamp its hooves and snort at you. THEN you'd be covered in angel snot, and where would you be?

Well. You see where I'm going with this.

Let's leave the guardian angel business to REAL ANGELS, okay? It's kind of their job. Theoretically.

Labels: rants

Endometriosis is a condition where the endometrial (uterine) tissue thickens and grows in places it's not supposed to. Generally, this occurs on the outside of the uterus rather than on the inside, but endometrial cells will travel through a woman's entire body. In a woman unaffected by Endometriosis, the cells will thicken, and, provided she is not pregnant, will slough off the lining of the uterine walls and pass these cells out of the body in the process known as menstruation. The process does continue, however, in a woman who has endometriosis; endometrial tissue responds to changes in a woman's hormone levels - when her body tells her to menstruate, she does.

And if that endometrial tissue has lodged in her abdominal cavity or in her lungs, it bleeds. It can form lesions, cysts, and many other complications (including vertigo!).

It is estimated that as many as 1 in 10 women suffer from endometriosis. The World Endometriosis Research Foundation was established only in 2006, which is a little late to the gate, I think. Better late than never, though. But I'm ahead of myself....*ahem*...as many as 1 in 10 women suffer from endometriosis. It can cause a variety of symptoms, from intense cramping and extremely heavy (even constant) blood flow, extreme pain, bloating, painful intercourse, nausea, vomiting (usually related to the pain), painful or frequent urination or bowel movements, lowered fertility, and can even create susceptibility to other diseases, including some kinds of cancer.

In the past five years, I have known more than ten women who have been suffering from endometriosis for five years or more. They sometimes bleed constantly; they often have to miss work, or cannot work. They have left or stalled their educations, their careers, and their families because they bleed so heavily for two weeks a month that they cannot leave their homes, or they are in so much pain they cannot work...and chronic pain is one thing that can lead to, among other things, depression. These women are not only in constant pain, worry, and an ill state of health, but they are coddled, or their conditions are pooh-poohed by the medical profession.

This is what really burns me up. Okay, no, this is the *second* of two things that really burn me up. I'll get back to it. If I don't, remind me.

The first thing that really burns me up is that the first time young women hear about endometriosis is when they've already been through fifteen years of hell. This is something that should be **mandatory instruction** in health class for girls AND boys. ONE IN TEN WOMEN have endometriosis. Ten percent of the female population. That's a hell of a lot of pain and bleeding. Why is Health Class not about health anymore? Why is it all about drug awareness and how to put condoms on bananas and how to wash your hands, but nobody talks about things like the clitoris and circumcision and endometriosis and prostate cancer? Why is it not preventative? Not that it's BAD to talk about drug awareness and how to put condoms on bananas and how to wash your hands. But what health class you were ever in told girls to pee after having sex to reduce the risk of a bladder infection?

What health class talked about yeast infections and what causes them and how to get rid of them and what happens if you have sex when you have one and the fact that boys can get yeast infections too. Or bacterial vaginitis? Or testicular hernias? Sure, we all saw pictures of pubic lice, and we oooohed and aaaaahed and 'oh GROSS'ed, but who mentioned anything about HPV (genital warts, for those of you who don't know it yet) actually being one of the leading causes of cervical cancer? (And, as an aside, can you believe there are people who don't think girls should have the *option* of being vaccinated against it?)

Now, on to the second thing that really burns me up.

I don't know what it's like to be a man, obviously. I've never had to go to the doctor and 'turn my head and cough' while someone gently cups my nutsack. And maybe this is just as bad for men; I don't know. Young women go to the doctor complaining of cramps and bloating and painful bowel movements, and do you know what they're told? "That's normal."

It is NOT normal. If you eat a healthy, balanced diet and get lots of exercise and plenty of fluids, you should really not be having incapacitating cramps, heavy bleeding, and painful bowel movements. If your hormone levels are where they should be, your periods should not last for two or three weeks. They should not be irregular and debilitating.

But this isn't the worst. It really isn't. Once you've been seeing doctors for years, going over and over and over and over these horrible symptoms...once you've been prescribed painkillers and antidepressants and hormone replacements and The Pill and 'just rest'...once you've been through this for five, ten, fifteen, thirty years, and once the doctors figure out you might have endometriosis, do you know what happens?

Usually, dick all. Because the only test that currently completely confirms whether you have endometriosis is a laproscopic surgery, you get put on a waiting list. I knew a woman who was on that waiting list for three years. Just for the *diagnostic* procedure. She'd already had kids, and just asked for a hysterectomy in the beginning. And the doctor refused; said absolutely not because she was too young (mid thirties) and didn't understand the implications of an hysterectomy. So she waited, in excruciating pain, lost two jobs because she could only work two weeks out of every month, just to have the laproscopic surgery, where they told her she had endometriosis and they had to schedule a hysterectomy, for which she had to wait another nine months!

It's effing bloody ridiculous.

It's pretty difficult for me to imagine that if there is technology that lets you see the zits on an unborn baby's backside in utero, it can't somehow be used to help diagnose endometriosis. Or if you can see a mitochondrial fart in an MRI or PET scan, you can't see endometriosis. Or if you can detect West Nile Virus from a hobo's blood sample, some kind of biopsy or blood test can't be figured out to see if there is endometrial tissue where it oughtn't be.

Now, the World Endometriosis Society helps to host the World Congress on Endometriosis every year (there have been ten), and that's good news. And there is some research that indicates that some of the rise in Endometriosis rates could be environmentally linked. That kind of research is difficult, though, because the fact remains that womens' reproductive health is still somewhat taboo. I'll save my rant about how pissed off I get when people get 'grossed out' over menstrual products or how cheesed I am that some putz is making so much money off of douche and 'scented wipes'. The bottom line, if you'll pardon a bit of a pun there, is that since women's reproductive health has not really been taken seriously since the 'riddance' of community midwives, it's difficult to get accurate records. In 1962, a woman with endometriosis probably would just have been prescribed valium and possibly might have been assessed for 'neuroses'.

In the 1970s, she would have been given MASSIVE amounts of estrogen and progesterone to most likely stop her periods altogether (there's another rant about 'birth control' that stops a woman's cycles for three months). It's just really difficult to tell how long women have been suffering from this condition in these numbers.

There are several herbs, by the way, that can be used as uterine tonics. The safest is red raspberry leaves. Make a tea with the loose leaves. Of course, you should check with your doctor or midwife before you begin taking any herbal medicines.

But anyway, this has been making me peevish for the last few days. I want more money, time, and effort devoted to simple things like educating young girls about their bodies and about what conditions are common out there (and I consider 1 in 10 to be pretty bloody common), and to finding better ways of diagnosing reproductive health issues. Okay, GO!

Labels: health, rants, women

I was speaking to my friend, who was acting as my doctor, but my doctor from 1994. She was discussing with me all sorts of health issues, most of which are pretty good, until she shoved my file aside and looked me square in the face.

"Your problem isn't low thyroid. Your thyroid is fine."
"But I did these tests," I say.
"It's not your thyroid."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"You're depressed."
"No I'm not," I protest, although at the edges of my vision, the darkness begins to close in on me.
"Yes, you are. The good news is that there have been many advances in ..."
"No." I rise to my feet.
"I can't just let you go. You could be a danger to yourself or to others."
"You know who's a danger? Bloody drug companies that try to convince people that the biggest problem they have is that they don't feel *happy*. We're not supposed to be *happy*. Things aren't supposed to be all skittles and beer. If you get a moment of happiness in your *entire life* after the age of twelve, you should savour that moment, because it's not supposed to last forever. That's what makes them so precious. If you're particularly lucky, you might get a whole string of happy moments."
"You see? You're proving my point..."
"No!" I shout at her, dropping my accoutrements to the ground. "That's just the thing! It's not supposed to be miserable, either! IT's supposed to just *be*. If you can manage to do the things well and make something good happen for a few people, you're doing a bloody good job of things. What's a danger to myself and others are these huge corporations trying to sell everything from sex to continence to acne remedies. And maybe those three things are all related. Sure, some folks need medication; that's what they want us to believe. Sure, some of these drugs seem to help people. But you don't get to say I'm depressed because I don't have a Pollyanna view of the way things work."
"I wasn't..." she stammered.
"You *were*. Go hock your tawdry wares with someone else. I've seen that darkness; it's covered me before. It took five years of my life. Don't think I don't know when that darkness peeks out from the corners. Those are the days you hang the laundry on the line and open the house to the sun."

Then my children climbed into bed with me. Had they not, I'd have woken angry that some quack of a pysician tried to prescribe antidepressants after having had me in her office for no more than five minutes, and hearing the words "I'm more tired than usual". As it was, I woke to kisses and snuggles and one of those moments you live your whole life to find.

Labels: darkness, dreams, rants

Not in *general*, because pretending *in general* is a good thing.

But specifically, let's just stop pretending either that Christmas is a secular event or that Christmas is not a secular event. Let's get all our horses going in the same direction here, before the waggon spills our flour all over the trail.

Either Christmas is a time of sharing, giving, togetherness, and reflection/meditation/prayer regardless of whether you believe in the Great Heebie Jeebie or not, or if you do, how you worship him/her/it/them, OR Christmas is none of the above and shouldn't be celebrated at all.

Face it. The word "Christmas" has lost its meaning. It's become the Great Hallmark™ Consumer Sales Push, regardless of your religion (or disregard thereof), denomination ($100s won't be accepted because of counterfeit bills in circulation), or culture (whatever's in the fridge that USED to be eggnog. Last year). We all pretend like there's this great love of humanity and love for one another that surfaces during the third week of December for some magical reason, but ultimately, we all know the truth. Behind that forced smile is a cuss word waiting to leap out of your mouth.

I know...I KNOW! I have it too.

So I don't get what the big deal is with people getting all irate if their kid's school does or doesn't mention Jesus or the Menorah or Muhammed or freaking Ras smoking gange on a beach. IT DOESN'T MATTER, people. The only "reason for the season" is to boost the economy. You know it; I know it...the Prime Minister knows it. Everyone knows it. Oh sure, you get all teary-eyed when you watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but that's just nostalgia. You're in line with everyone else buying that CD or DVD or fancy pair of underpants.

And there's nothing wrong with it, really. Boosting the economy is a good thing, right? Because if we spend more, the government tells us, the economy will roll over and we'll be out of this recession. That's all it takes. Just one person to buy another fridge magnet that says some derogatory thing about men in the kitchen. It really does matter if you shop, Johnny, because even your five dollars counts!

This is so much easier to sell than 'you should vote because it matters', isn't it? Because there's instant gratification. I know how hollow and pointless your life would have been had you not received a package of razors in your stocking. Folks running the country claiming parliamentary democracy is illegal? Doesn't matter. What matters is that the ten-spot you dropped on flavoured coffee for mum-in-law is going to be packaged up and left under the counter along with the flavoured hot chocolate from last year. The rum always seems to go, though...odd.

The kids *need* to have presents under the tree, otherwise they'll feel left out, or marginalised, or it won't be as much fun. And just remember, when you were little, *you* always had presents under the tree, and we couldn't afford much back then, but we always managed to scrape together enough for a new pair of socks, though what we'd have done if Old Mrs. Murphy up the street hadn't been able to knit them from the remnants of Granddad's ratty old blanket, I don't want to think about. You know, our feet all went cold the year she had a stroke and couldn't purl anymore.

So do it for your country! For the good of your family! For your children's well being! Buy that stir stick with reindeer horns! Shell out some dough for the latest edition of Pretend To Be In A Band software! And wrap it all up in brightly coloured wrapping paper that was made from trees harvested in Canada and sold for less than their market value to mills in other countries who underpay their employees and overprice their products. Because that's what Christmas really means, isn't it? You're not up in arms because your kid's school made wee Arthur sing about baby Jesus. You're not upset because it's so hard to find a good Menorah these days. It hasn't anything to do with the marginalisation (nay, vilification) of Ramadan. It's about how you're pissed off because the asshole in the Dodge stole the parking spot you've been waiting for for two minutes outside the store that just sold the very last one of the latest Whores 'R' Us Bratz™ doll that your sister's new husband's daughter's niece said she'd DIE if she didn't get. Guess you'd better stop at the funeral home to pick out a nice coffin.

So let's just stop the lies. It hasn't anything to do with religion. You know it and I know it. We could debate for hours about how the Christians tagged their own brand of lunacy on to solstice celebrations. We could argue about how **ACTUALLY** the fir trees used to decorate our homes are **ACTUALLY** representations of the boughs of cedar the druids used to use to celebrate being blind drunk in the middle of winter and how the actual reason we light the Menorah has nothing to do with the rededication of temples and pressing olives, but how that tradition was STOLEN from some EVEN OLDER group of worshippers who lit each other on fire because it was so Goddamned cold outside for eight straight days. In fact, we could argue about pretty much anything, but let's just make it easier on ourselves.

This is the shopping season. That's it. That's all there is to it. We call it "Christmas" because it's convenient, and because deep down inside, we like to argue about what it all means. It is the culmination of the 11 months of credit card payments we've been making throughout the rest of the year, and it prepares us for the upcoming 11 months of credit card payments we will continue to make. It is the season that reminds us that we give gifts to make other people feel shitty about not having got you anything; the season of one-upmanship.

So here's to dirt in your eye, my friend.

Merry One-Upmanship Season.

Labels: Christmas, consumerism, dirt in your eye, rants