The Virtuous Vituperator

20 year old dust!

2008-10-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

Hello 20 year old dust....

As I'm blogging/journalling about my latest life shit I came up with a cool analogy I want to write down before I forget it, but first the usual Beth longwinded preface to the story.

I am a drug addict. In recovery. 21.5 years worth of recovery.

But wait says a pal or two, we've seen you drink?! This is true. Alcohol counts as a drug. I'm counting druuuuuugs, like acid, cocaine, pot, and the like. I stayed sober off of alcohol for a good five or so (maybe more) years. I reintroduced it to my life, and make my personal pilgrimages to full sobriety several times a year to keep myself in check. Sometimes I just plain don't wanna drink, overall, it's social and I'm not a daily drinker, or a drink to drunk person. In fact I haven't been drunk in quite a few years. I have a mild heart condition that prevents that from happening as it were, I cannot get drunk without suffering some nasty consequences. Moderation is key.

I digress. When I was 17 years old, on April 5, 1987 to be precise, I had a mild heart attack. Lesson learned the hard way- drugs are bad. PDAP/12 step recovery here I come. I never looked back at drugs. A terrifying feeling to have a heart attack. It's not something you really forget. How the truly committed drug addicts go back is beyond my reckoning. I was terrified straight.

I did the usual 12step recovery system. Got through it, thinking, whew, glad that's over with, move along. Flash forward 20 years. (21.5 to be precise) and I'm a new person, I have kids, house, work, the usual shit. I'm also doing a lot of personal growth work. Have been for three years. Since the stress-induced vertigo began.

I have a new friend too. This new friend may or may not fully understand this, but I open up to him as I truly AM. All of me. Most people only give a version of themselves to the outside world and save the crazy crusty stuff for a mate or a BFF. Not me- I'm not whole with anyone, including myself. It's a huge part of my addictive personality. Total inadequacy when it comes to settling down and just being me. I have worked my way to a point of actually feeling pretty close to whole. My new friend actually puts me at ease enough to open up to be whole and myself with him and I am infinitely appreciative of the chance to get to do that for the first time in my life. It is also scary as all shit. I am trying super hard to not self-sabotage this and remain true to being ME. Same friend does not "get" that because the only me he knows is ME. Plus, it's too easy for me to fall in to the not me pattern I'm so accustomed to.

I went in for a weekly therapy session as I'm embarking on divorce #2 and well, it's not a lot of fun. In fact, it's kinda sucking even though I am looking forward to the moving on portion of this.

I was sitting there talking about all of the above and more and I said in so many words--- you know I thought I had worked the program all those years ago. But I'm not whole, I'm not comfortable being me and I've spent a LOT! of time and energy putting on the face I think each person wants to see. Carrying bucketloads of work and guilt to try and please each and every one of them. Who on Earth could ever love or like me as I am? Therefore I MUST find a way to please you. And find, and find, and find..... and find some more. I must EARN your false love, because you only tolerate me because I'm useful. Years of work to move past all that pain.

Today I sit there and realize that 21.5 years ago when I went into the 12step program that I worked MOST of it. Most is not good enough when tackling such things. That while I did not fall back to prey to drug addiction I addicted myself to pleasing others. I went back in and looked around and didn't see a pretty and pristine place.

I equate it to living in my room. It's a nice room. Stuff where it ought to be. But upon closer inspection I find little piles of dust in the corners, under the rug, under the bed, little sprinklings everywhere. HMMMMM Dust? How did you get in my pristine little living space? I must sweep you out. Sweep-sweep. Lo! What is this? A big honkin' pile of dust. But it's not dust- it's a dust MONSTER! A dust demon. I blew up my demon a long time ago, but who knew I had to clean out my room from the dust he left behind. So once swept all back together there he is offering me all the cozy comforts I know and lvoe so dearly. Inadequacy. Uselessness. Undeserving of love. Inpatience. Patheticness. And.... oh.......so......much.......more.

21.5 years.
Look at all this dust. What do I do with it? Redistribute it and hide it again so no one will notice? Hmmm that didn't work out so good these past 20 years because I going into my second divorce and have a trail of shit behind me and self-destructive behavior up the wazzoooooo to last 5 people 5 lifetimes each. Do I pretend it's not there and just walk around it? Ummmm it's a honkin huge pile of dust right in front of the door, I CAN'T ignore it. Where I'm at in this game I can't do anything but focus on it.

So I'm getting the broom and I'm REsweeping my room. I'm also going to completely clean it top to bottom. Then I'm going to chip away at that dustpile bit by bit til its gone. I don't think it's going to take too long, but it's embarassing that others have to see it, but is also ok because I'm ok as long as I know it's going down, not up, and when I'm done I will have a beautiful clean new room.

When the dust is gone then I will have completed that 12step program. Not til then. I doing a combo 4, 8, 9 step right now. I thought I did this once before but I didn't do it 100% committed. I'm doing that now. I'm actually slowly sliding into step 10.

My next anniversary of my sobriety will be here in April. I'm going in for my chip. I want it now. Before I had sort of forgotten about it and then was reminded and blew off getting it. Not now. I WANT THAT CHIP!!! It took me this long to figure out why it felt weird to go get it- well now they couldn't keep me away.

Moral of the story- if you're working the program- dig in for the total honesty required to get the job done. Sweep up regularly to be sure. It's too easy to overlook it.

I'm so proud to realize this is it- I'm actually going to be finished.......
Thank you Friend for listening and opening my eyes to where I'm at. You didn't see it or say it, but I was myself with you and the revelation came to me all on its own as a result of our honest chats. While our friendship may be fleeting, I will always have a great affection and admiration for what this has afforded me and I hope you continue your own personal growth and complete your program dust free.

Hey, that's me!

2008-02-25T19:29:00.000-08:00

Air date February 8, 2008.
YAY APFED!

http://www.myfoxhouston.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail?contentId=5723695&version=2&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=1.1.1

A journey

2007-03-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Must.
Blog.

It's going to be my journal. No one has to see it, and if anyone does, it doesn't matter. It doesn't have to make sense to anyone but me- and I am SUPER cool with that. I'm putting myself through a difficult journey into my own heart. It's going to hurt like hell too. I need this trip. Need to rip out my guts, examine them, fill a hole or sixty six, patch what can't be filled, learn to be okay with it all and then put it all back in and cope with the recovery.

Step one.
I quit drinking alcohol (again). 3 weeks now. Feels good.
Step Two.
I quit drinking caffeine. This was hard like a freaking, fracking, fucking mofo! Pardon the UNladylike language, but that's sort of the way it is with me, I call it as I see it. Quitting caffeine was harder than quitting smoking. I smoked on/off for 20 years.
Step Three.
Laying down some rules in my life. Time rules. Hours to work within. People whose life/shit means digging into me in a way that does me harm and make demands on my time that piss me off. Spending more time (than already) with my kids. My kids are everything and I LIKE being with them, so why shouldn't I devote more time to them? Work within my marriage to at least repair the damage I am responsible for and be sure my husband knows that I take responsibility for my share of the crap we've been through. (like all marriages)

Essentially, I want to feel whole, I want to feel good about being whole. Can't do that without some pain to rid myself of the stuff that eats me up on the inside. Further, just saying "I don't care" rid me of about 25% of those internal parasites in one quick swoop. Pretty amazing to know that not dwelling and caring about all the little stupid stuff in life could loosen up this old tightly wound bag of bones.

There's more, but I'm starting with these. Focused therapy and effort and I can do this- I see myself being drawn to a few people in my life (past and present) for certain reasons, and away from others for similar and different ones as well.

All I know is I WANT to take this journey. I want to feel all these emotions bottled up inside of me. If I don't actually experience them I won't appreciate how they got there in the first place.

A GLIMPSE INTO THE LIFE OF.....

2007-01-30T16:50:00.000-08:00

me, my son, and those like our family.

Presidential Volunteer Service Award

2007-01-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

A BIG ol mouthful, isn't it?
Wellllll! My Vice President is receiving one. She was nominated at the federal level which is a different distinction than receiving it from an accredited organization.

I'm giddy!
She deserves this recognition for her time and dedication more than anyone I know. She's receiving it at the White House no less. Not sure who from, but at the WH all the same. When? During our trip there together next month. I wrote the letter for the nomination that was REQUESTED (oooooh ahhhh!) from a WH staffer. So while there, I get to see her recieve this very special distinction.

That's right kids! I'm heading back ot the White House. By invitation again.
Very exciting stuff!!!!

Work is progressing so quickly nowadays I can hardly stand it. I look forward to and dread each day because I need help, I need staff, I need an office outside of my home!!!!

But we're getting there and each day we get a teensy bit closer to the big goals.
yippeeyippeeyippee!!!!

Better pix than last time to follow soon!

BACK TO WORK!

2007-01-11T06:06:00.000-08:00

Woof! You sure gotta climb a lot of steps to get to this Capitol Building here in Washington. But I wonder who that sad little scrap of paper is?

I'm writing my first bill.
Yes, I'm writing a bill.
And I'm looking up to Capitol Hill.
Well, it's a long, long journey
To the capital city.
It's a long, long wait
Just to make it to committee,
But I know I'll amend the budget someday
At least I hope and pray that I will,
But today I am still writing a bill.

Yes folks, we are finalizing our Political Agenda!
Writing a proclamation, that will pass through easily and National Eosinophilic Awareness Week will live forever because of it.
THEN! The bill and hosting Capitol Hill Day (May 17th tenatively)

We're looking to amend the 2008 Budget to include an appropriation for some research dollars for our little disease group. Very little has been given to this disease, especially when you compare it to less common diseases recieving far more. (Crohn's is a great example)

ON TOP OF THAT! We're also going to the CDC (Center for Disease Control) and HHS (Health and Human Services) and applying for a new ICD-9 ICD-10 code. These are the codes your doctor checks off on your diagnosis sheets. Our disease isn't listed. It's needed for numerous reasons. First and foremost, it helps to have a REAL diagnosis- legitimizing the disease- yeah, that's a good thing. Second, insurance coverage. Yep, that's good too. Third, helps us actually count just how many people suffer with this disease. With the coding we can come back and make our case for a multi-center epidemiological study which will give insight into the diagnostic rate of this ever-growing disease group.

I've got to learn a whole new set of acronyms!!!

We're applying for separate coding for Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EE), Eosinophilic Gastroenteritis (EGE) and Eosinophilic Colitis (EC). I have strong doubts on EGE and EC, but we're pretty confident in EE getting through (this year).

So- that's a lot for the first six months of the year.
My whole way of doing business is about to change because I am actually entering the political arena- why does the Aerosmith song j-j-j-jaded keep going through my head? Perhaps it's because I'm SO green, or perhaps it's because I know in a year I won't be the same lady- either way, right now, I'm tremendously excited!
See what happens when mommies get mad?????

A month already?

2007-01-07T14:44:00.000-08:00

Okay- here's the sad story of my last month. It's been a doozy.

Part 1, I take sick with that NASSSSTY little stomach bug that swarmed around the USA. It catches me and holds for 36 hrs. I lost 6lbs. OUCH. Yes, the hard way. Wake up midday feeling somewhat sweaty and icky and very, very weak- go to my computer and lo! What is this? I didn't change my background... what the??? NOOOOOOOOOO!
My husband and daughter wiped out my ENTIRE harddrive.

They did a neat little trick- managed to wipe it all out.
I have FIVE years of charity work on here. Last back up disc was created over the summer- I KNOW. Off the computer goes to Mr. Wonderful Computer Whiz. He spends three days on it- retrieves my files. 50 gig of this.

Each file is labeled.
.doc
file 1
file 2
file 653246

.jpg
file 1
file 2

etc etc. I have to go through everything one by one. There are duplicates, I had my charity backup disc, so I have to review and compare each file. One by one. 50 gigs worth. 22,000 jpgs alone. I have rename each one. It's months of work in front of me. At least I had the back up disc- and now I have an external hard drive. Oh, the hard way of doing things.

Part 2.
Yes, Charlie is sick. His biopsies were bad. Today we start the prednisone wean. He's puking again. Not a good time. I'm not happy at all with this. Methotrexate- (read: chemo) starts next.

Part 3.
My stepdad is dying. My mom is leaning on me hard. It's rough to watch them both suffer. I've not always been a superfan of his- but no one deserves to suffer. He's been up and down for some time now. Far too young (57) to deal with the blow he's been handed. Cancer sucks.

Part 4.
My neighbor across the street was diagnosed with cancer 3 weeks ago. They gave him 1-2 years. They have five kids- youngest is 2 months old. He died 3 days ago. Did I mention cancer sucks?

Part 5.
Move the couch a week before Christmas to shampoo the carpets. What do we find? MOLD! With an asthmatic/allergic/eczema daughter and Charlie being highly sensitized to mold... not good. It was there since the last shampooing. Carpet was still wet when we put the furniture back.

SO! we, in infinite wisdom decide to recarpet. Well, there's mold under the couch. New furniture is needed too. If we're doing all of that- hey! Why not paint too. Borrow the carpet swatch, go pick out paint- I painted the entire first floor, stairwell, and upstairs hallway in 2.5 days. It was a lot. Go to pay off the carpeting (hell yeah! no financing on that part!) and uhoh, they don't have it in stock. It's now 5 days before Christmas and everything we own for the downstairs is in the garage.

I go ballistic. Then I get calm. Then I go ballistic. Then I laugh. My mom was there- she wants to jumps in, I give her the eye, she lets me handle it. After what started out as a patronizing conversation ended with them upgrading us, by a lot, better padding too. It worked out waaaay to our advantage. Carpet arrives the next day- oopsie. Miscalculation. Only three rooms can be done. Can't get the rest (which we still had to buy- at a negotiated rate lower than the carpet costs- still to our advantage) so the stairs and duh! my office are left out.

Big mistake. Should have left the formal dining room out and did the office. Duh. Computer? Work? Pshhhh what's a few days. I'll tell you what it is- ETERNITY to a workaholic!

Get through Christmas- and then New Years. This last week, FINALLY it's all in. Now I get to play catch up for a month of minimal internet access. GOOD TIMES!
It looks great. The house was all white and gray/blue before. It's now forest green, tans, beiges etc. MUCH nicer. No mold. YAY for that!

I'm exhausted... and haven't been working-working. I've got tons to do- missed my online buddies. Normally I love the holidays, but this year, I'm sooooooo glad they are over.
Hope everyone else had a great holiday.

and so it goes........

2006-12-09T15:38:00.000-08:00

ROAR! no. FUCK!!!!
nope.

DAMMMMMMMMMIT!
nope.

No human word conveys this level of frustration.
Confirmation only lacking the true biopsy results, yes, the boy is sick. He's also bit, by bit, falling off the growth chart... a different set of complications follow that newest development. The ostrich in me is definitely ready to bury my head in the sand. NO such ability to actually do it- but entertaining the idea till Wednesday or Thursday seems like fun till I REALLY get to make some more hard decisions.

4.5 years of steroids is about 4 too long for continuous use.
Now we (meaning the docs) want to go to methotrexate. Methotrexate is used for a variety of illnesses and is essentially a chemo drug. It keeps cells from replicating while quieting the immune system. Side effects can be waaaay nastier than steroids but are not guaranteed to occur. Steroid side effects are essentially always a matter of time. We've been on borrowed time for the entire time.

Everything is always pending biopsy results. But, the pictures support enough to know his disease is back. Even in his esophagus. A place it has not been in a good 3 to 4 years.

I know only about 3 people read this- but I'm venting. So forgive me.
THis sucks.

I work my fucking ass off for other patients, I tell them what I already know about what's up with my kid. We really lack treatment options and they really suck as it is. Anyone reading this who happens across a philanthropist, give em my number okay? SO much to do, and too many being diagnosed with almost zero support. Great odds for those like us.

I know- it can be worse. He's not dying. THat IS a huge comfort, but suffering is suffering. Said that before I know. Hug those who are healthy today. Enjoy the moment that they ARE healthy. I had about 18 months of him being fairly well, I'd kill for one more day of it. :(

Get him back to baseline, try new med, pray he's got mild side effects, and STAY at work to find some new treatments. Cuz this just is getting old.

... and BETTER

2006-11-28T11:02:00.000-08:00

So I got most of it out yesterday. Was pissy, didn't *gasp and horror* put on any makeup and scowled a lot. Slept like a rock. Probably because I needed it and am waaaaay less bitchy today.

Now to survive the next 10 days with loads of work and distractions.

Too good to last.

2006-11-27T18:41:00.000-08:00

And so, it's been a nice run.

My son is sick again. :( It's been a good fight for on/off six months. I'll never concede, EVER! But today I began to admit it to myself. Which completely pisses me off in every way. I don't have the biopsy confirmation yet, but if there are no eosinophils in his digestive system it will further support my contention that he has some sort of autoimmune issue concurrent to his eosinophilic gastroenteritis- or EGE is more than what they think it is.

He did have 18 months of good times of pretty much no illness.
Chronic diseases are just that-
Chronic.

He's been vomiting on and off for a while, complains of pain, has pica (eating nonfoods), and the telltale blackened circles under his eyes are back. To top it off, one of my crowning bragging points in my son is that he's never lost too much weight when he's gone through vomiting spells. Not this time. He's 7, and down about 5-7lbs now. And we've noticed it.

Better days early this past summer.

So now we pack up and trek off to his doctor, 1100 miles away for information I probably already know.

Worse still! He's been on steroids for 4.5 years now and if he comes off of them then he'll start methatrexate (chemo drug) or 6mp (another chemo drug) depending on severity and what they find.

I'm REAAAAAAALLY not looking forward to this trip.

If they find something, we're screwed.
If they find nothing, we're still screwed.

To think I actually have days where I get burned out on trying to explain this disease to people? Honestly, I don't know if I'm burned out or actually more frustrated that we're not much better of than we were six years ago. Okay, I admit it we're better off than 6, but not better than 5 years ago.

No food. On steroids. No new answers, no new treatments. Just more worry that at any moment the side effects will kick in. Goody. The reality is, with steroids one is ALWAYS on borrowed time. It's no exaggeration. I know people who've had it all happen within 5 months- growth issues, severe bone loss, vision problems and moonface/body. Others, like us float around happily oblivious to the side effects till they bitch-slap you with a reminder that corticosteroids are not intended for long-term use.

I know I'm whining. But I get a day (today)- the day after he pretty much fell asleep (read: passed out) immediately after throwing up 10x (literally) a full 6 hours worth of feedings. About 600-700 ml's of fluid, aka 600-700 calories and just shy of 50% of his necessary intake for a day.

Tomorrow I will pull myself together for the good ol time I'll have next week subjecting my son to his 16th endoscopy and 12th colonoscopy complete with the rockin' good time we have doing a cleanout. He's 7. He doesn't deserve this- I can't stop it, nor can I fix it. What kind of shit is that? I'm his mom! He crawls into my lap, puts my hand on his stomach and says it hurts. All I can do is reassure him that we love him and are here to love him as best we can.

He knows I can't fix it, but it doesn't make it any easier as a parent.
And it never will.

A Thought-provoking Read

2006-11-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

It's long, it's inflammatory- I don't care WHO you are, it'll affect you SOMEHOW!
FAIR WARNING! There is a slant to the right, but get past it, get past the language and dig in for a STRONG message.

Being a somewhat liberal-minded lady who is married to a black man, a man whose family came up in the time of segregation, a man whose family rose up in to American successes through education and not buying into the "you cannot" mentality, that they were owed, or somehow less. That through hard work and education they would have comfortable lives in this country where their ancestors had suffered. They live it for all them.

In that- I take this article to heart for my own children. These are a time of crossroads for much of the black community and I support what this author has to say. I don't necessary agree with his language, but his message is clear.

Bill Cosby, a great man who lived through the civil rights movement and has always been considered a great man of the black community and a pioneer in white Hollywood has taken a public image beating these past 5 or 10 years. Why? Because he too believes that through community support and education the Black Americans will achieve what is rightfully their bigger piece of the American Pie.
I support that.
I have to- for the sake of my children.
I support that in honor of my deceased father in law who was a great man, father and mentor to those he touched in his life.

Thank you to my friend Susan who presented this article to me.

Taken from December 2006 Esquire Magazine

December 2006, Volume 146, Issue 6

The Manifesto of Ascendancy for the Modern American Nigger
By John Ridley

For eleven days in 2001, two blacks ran our country. It's their example and their achievement—and not the culture of failure fomented by the leftovers of the Movement—that must set a new agenda for black Americans.

Let me tell you something about niggers, the oppressed minority within our minority. Always down. Always out. Always complaining that they can't catch a break. Notoriously poor about doing for themselves. Constantly in need of a leader but unable to follow in any direction that's navigated by hard work, self-reliance. And though they spliff and drink and procreate their way onto welfare doles and WIC lines, niggers will tell you their state of being is no fault of their own. They are not responsible for their nearly 5 percent incarceration rate and their 9.2 percent unemployment rate. Not responsible for the 11.8 percent rate at which they drop out of high school. For the 69.3 percent of births they create out of wedlock.

Now, let me tell you something about my generation of black Americans. We are the inheritors of "the Deal" forced upon the entrenched white social, political, and legal establishment when my parents' generation won the struggle for civil rights. The Deal: We (blacks) take what is rightfully ours and you (the afore-described establishment) get citizens who will invest the same energy and dedication into raising families and working hard and being all around good people as was invested in snapping the neck of Jim Crow.

In the forty years since the Deal was brokered, since the Voting Rights Act was signed, there have been successes for blacks. But there are still too many blacks in prison, too many kids aggrandizing the thug life, and way too many African-Americans doing far too little with the opportunities others earned for them.

If we as a race could win the centuries-long war against institutionalized racism, why is it that so many of us cannot secure the advantage after decades of freedom?
That which retards us is the worst of "us," those who disdain actual ascendancy gained by way of intellectual expansion and physical toil—who instead value the posture of an "urban," a "street," a "real" existence, no matter that such a culture threatens to render them extinct.
"Them" being niggers.

I have no qualm about using the word nigger. It is a word. It is in the English lexicon, and no amount of political correctness, no amputation into "the n-word"—as if by the castration of a few letters we should then be able to conceptualize its meaning without feeling its sting—will remove it from reality.
So I say this: It's time for ascended blacks to wish niggers good luck. Just as whites may be concerned with the good of all citizens but don't travel their days worrying specifically about the well-being of hill billies from Appalachia, we need to send niggers on their way. We need to start extolling the most virtuous of ourselves. It is time to celebrate the New Black Americans—those who have sealed the Deal, who aren't beholden to liberal indulgence any more than they are to the disdain of the hard Right. It is time to praise blacks who are merely undeniable in their individuality and exemplary in their levels of achievement.

This, then, is how the praise begins. We need to burn into our collective memory the event that marked the beginning of our new timeline: an event from early in this millennium that seemed, for its moment in time, auspicious but that is now all but forgotten. It was lost in the ash of fires in Over-the-Rhine. Buried in the rubble of 9/11. But I for one will not let it go, won't let it get dumped into a potter's field of U. S. politics. It was too important. Far too significant. It was eleven days when two blacks ran America.

If the situation were just slightly altered, Condoleezza Rice might have been, and would have made, a better Mrs. George W. Bush than the current Mrs. George W. Bush. Same as George, Condi's politics are right. Her worldview is faith based, courtesy of her reverend pops. A protege of Brent Scowcroft's, she served as a special assistant for national-security affairs to George H. W. Bush, so she was preapproved by Dad. And should anyone posit that a woman of color would not be welcome to Thanksgiving dinner in Kennebunkport, well, Bush brother Jeb had married himself a minority, so even that trail was previously blazed.

But for G. B. the second, much to his credit, his interest in Condi was less about her being a woman, let alone a black woman, and more about her being an accomplished individual. And Dr. Condi is accomplished as hell: a Ph.D. in poli-sci from the University of Denver. Former provost of Stanford. At thirty-five, barely a kid in Washington years, she was a staffer at the National Security Council. She came onto the foreign-policy train wreck that was the early days of G. W. Bush's 2000 campaign. Helped mold his malapropism-afflicted worldview into a demicoherent one. After the certification of Bush's election, Dr. Condi got herself easily appointed as national security advisor.

Firsts all the way around. Black America should have been singing hosannas.
But Condi was Republican. So never mind. Never mind she'd spent a lifetime facing down racism. Born in Birmingham at the peak of race hate, Condi was a schoolmate of Denise McNair, one of the "four little girls" bombed to death in September of '63 at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. Niggers and old-school shines couldn't abide her. Same as with Clarence Thomas, they let her politics obfuscate her accomplishments. They stamped her: Not Officially Black. Loggers tagged her a "Sally Hemming for the Twenty-first Century." Left-leaning pundits smeared her with the slurs "Aunt Jemima" and "brown sugar." Julian Bond, reaching deep into the old-school bag of tricks, turned to rhyme to asperse Dr. Rice's authenticity: "Just because they are your skin folks, doesn't mean they're your kinfolks."

Cute.
Then they went back to entertaining themselves with another Wayans-brothers movie.
Anyway.
As NSA and confidante, Dr. Condi was with Bush and the real Mrs. Bush as they took some time with an old Yale buddy at Camp David on the last weekend in March of 2001.
Nine-fifteen P.M. on the thirty-first. They got the call. A U. S. EP-3E signals recon plane had literally gotten into a tangle with a People's Liberation Army (read that: Chinese) J-8 interceptor jet off the coast of China. The Chinese jet got shredded by the EP-3E's prop. The American plane, with a crew of twenty-four, was badly damaged. The Chinese jet went down, the pilot most likely killed. The U. S. pilot did better. Managed to land the FUBAR American plane. But he landed the plane on the island of Hanna. Chinese territory. And the Chinese claimed that the Americans had been spying over what were sovereign waters. And the Chinese claimed the plane had landed without permission. And its taillights were out.

From the get, this was stacking up to be a slightly dicey situation—China being in possession of twenty-four American servicemen and women and one of our top-tier surveillance planes (and the appropriate U.S. spokespeople went out of their way to note that it was a surveillance plane, not a spy plane). The People's Republic wasn't exactly our enemy, but it was hardly our close bud, either. Coming into the White House, following the domestic Chinese-spy-scandal scare of the late nineties, Bush had shifted the rhetoric re: China. Had dropped the Clinton-era designation of China as a "strategic partner" for the tough-talk appellation of "strategic competitor." The actual meaning of "strategic competitor" no one in the administration has ever tried to explain, but it struck the appropriately tough-talk chord in the new president's neoconservative base. Though such tough talk ignored the fact that China was a major trading partner that was doing $116 billion in annual business with the U. S., in millennium bucks.

So, then, here was the crux of Bochco's first international incident: Having swung his meat at China, Bush now very much had to be diplomatically shrewd while looking domestically strong in dealing with our strategic competitor.
This clearly required high-mindedness. Bush turned the situation over to the highest mind on his team: Dr. Condi.

Made sense.
Condi was a Russia expert. Wasn't this—this "Hanna Incident"—just some modern-day old-school commie-era nonsense? But that decision, right and plain as it seemed, set up the real conflict of the event. That conflict would not turn out to be the obvious one—U. S. versus China. It would be "us," elevated blacks, versus "them," those who not only hold little regard for people of color but who wish to make niggers of us all.

Dick Cheney and Donald Rusted were, are, old-school relics. Political leftovers of the Nixon-Ford years, they are the Retro Guard, sporting metaphorical wide ties emblematic of the '72 landslide. To appease the base, Bush had given such men seats at his otherwise progressive table. Wedging them in created multiple fractures across the administration. From the jump, it would be the old against the new. War hawks against moderates. Those who thought the republic was best governed in secrecy and shadow against those who recalled that the preamble to the Constitution is "We the People," not "Us the Government." The administration was a case study in "unified independence," a group working toward separate objectives rather than individuals working as a team.

Cheney and Rusted fronted the hard line of the Hanna Incident—the cadre who saw little to no value in talk and diplomacy and wanted to get with the figurative nuclear option quick as possible. It was against such a mind-set as much as the Chinese government that Condi would have to navigate. But she would not have to wield her intellect solo. Colin Powell was the undisputed superstar of American politics. His bio was bulletproof. His bona fides undeniable: service in 'Nam. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Part of the team that cruised to victory in Gulf War I. Author of the Powell Doctrine, which states that overwhelming force makes an enemy your bee-botch.

When he quit the military, real quick Powell became "the Get." Both parties wanted to snag him, wag him from their standard. Powell went right.

Predictably, niggers immediately abandoned him. How could any self-respecting black man want to run from the Liberal Plantation? Never mind that he was a self-made modern American hero who openly espoused the value of affirmative action. Old-scholars tagged Powell with the usual left-wing racist jabber.
Powell was a sellout.
A Tom.
In a particularly ugly rant, Harry Belafonte infamously alluded to Powell as being a house nigger.

At every opportunity, Powell was hit up with the invectives reserved for black men who succeed by way of intelligence and hard work. (How ironic that while the Left attempted to subjugate Powell with the bullwhip of liberal racism, Bush, who later would be accused by Kane West of hating blacks, somehow managed to see in Powell a sovereign black man.)

As secretary of state in G. W. Ebb's first term, Powell would spearhead communications with China during the Hanna Incident while Rice would be the conduit through which all information would flow to the president.

Dr. Condi and Colin.
The administration went into the Hanna situation thinking the China incident would go down like this: We make denials; they make demands. There's a shadow deal that gets us back our boys and toys in exchange for some tractors and a few bushels of wheat.

But this wasn't 1957. The Chinese weren't a superpower dying on the vine. They were more concerned about getting their international prospers than they were about quid pro quo. And respect had been a long time coming from the U. S. Most Chinese citizens recalled G. H. W. Bush being an apologist for the Deng regime after the Tiananmen Square crackdown. And then there was us dropping a bomb right down the Chinese embassy's smokestack in Belgrade during the air war over Kosovo.
And, you know, there was that strategic partner/strategic competitor thing.
But Dr. Condi and Colin strategize, surmised that all China was looking for was some contrition. A little humility. Secure in the knowledge that offering regret is different from taking blame, they figured they could show some remorse for the Chinese pilot without turning all of America into a weak sister weeping like she'd just messed her best Sunday dress. Just give a "My bad" and get the crew home.

Dr. Condi and Colin would not immediately get the chance to test their strategy Forty-eight hours after the American plane went down, after just two days of silence from China, the far-right hard-liners lost whatever patience they owned. What little confidence they had that Rice and Powell could end the situation quickly dissipated like a brief, bad smell. Diplomacy was boring and time-consuming and rarely came with the requisite display of machismo. Though delicatessen was the smarter play over sanctions, all the Retro Guard cared about was keeping Bush, just twelve weeks in Washington, from looking like Jimmy Carter on, say, day 239 of 444 of the Iranian-hostage thing.

Sabers got rattled. Tact got kicked to the curb. Cheney stomped around Washington doing a public nix on expressing any regret. Insisted being American meant never having to say you're sorry.

Illinois representative Henry Hyde—who is chairman of the House International Relations Committee—referred to the U. S. crew as "hostages," which put an ugly public spin on the benign truth. Was consciously counter to Powell's assessment that the crew was merely being detained.

Bush, feeling the pressure to back up all his reelection rhetoric, flinched. Or "blinked," in the pop-culture sense of making a quick decision based on suspect intelligence.

In a Rose Garden appearance, a hardened Bush excoriated the Chinese for not doing "the right thing." Insisted that "now it is time for our servicemen and women to return home."

These were, politically, cold assertions. The holdback was equally frosty.
A day later, Chinese president Kiang Zelman finally responded. Zelman wanted nothing less than total kowtowing. Wanted the U. S. to "bear all responsibilities" for the collision. Wanted an apology. Wanted concessions. Wanted the U. S. to quit its spy flights along the China coast. Forever. And it got real clear the circumstances might not now resolve themselves in a timely manner.

Just a few words. A few words choreographed to create some tough-guy theatrics from Bush and the situation had devolved from "incident" to "standoff."
And the loud-voiced whispers as to whether Bush had what it took to be a world leader began. Diplomacy was needed. Smarts. Intellect and canny.

Bush made another decision. No "blink" involved. As The Washington Post reported, the way forward was made emphatic to all concerned: No more useless posturing. No more Independent Unity. Cheney was sent out to stump for the tax cuts Bush was shilling. And while Rusted claimed to support the shift toward diplomacy, truthfully he was flatly told to butt out.

Dr. Condi and Colin would be given free rein.
We, collectively—not just black America but all of America that truly bought into the bromides of liberty and justice for all—we had risen.
The accomplishment was unmistakable. For seven days running, in the written press and the international media, and doing the rounds in the 24/7 cable-news meat grinder, it was Condi and Colin. They pulled the administration out of a Retro Guard–dug hole. Projected calm and rationality, where just prior there was only ego. Sticking with their game plan to double-team with poise and savoir faire, they expressed "regret" over the loss of the Chinese pilot. Powell followed up his public statements with an international "sympathy card" sent to the Chinese: a regret letter of his own.

Simultaneously, Condi counseled the president to display some humanity. Bush made a public statement that he was sending his prayers to the dead Chinese pilot and his family.
Little gestures.
Big results.
By Thursday, April 5, the Chinese foreign ministry, if not quite ready to sing kumbayas, acknowledged the U. Esq.'s new moves were a "step in the right direction."
At the same time, Powell came with another, stronger statement of lament re: the Chinese pilot's death. And contrary to the hawks' beliefs, the heavens didn't open and the stock market didn't drop and the commies weren't turning our wives and daughters into pleasure girls. But twenty-four servicemen and women were that much closer to coming home.

So close the scavengers could pick up the stink of imminent triumph. Around they came, real late in the game, looking to gain some stature by glomming on to the accomplishments of others.

Jesse Jackson came knocking.
Jesse Jackson, who is president of the Rainbow PUSH Coalition. He put in a call to Powell offering help. Offering to add an "ecumenical religious component" to Powell's efforts. It was really just Jesse looking to shine up his image. It'd been just months since he'd been outed as having fathered a kid with the former head of the Rainbow Coalition's Washington, D. C., office, then given the girl tens of thousands of dollars from the Rainbow PUSH coffers as "shut up/go away" money.
Not sure if that's the ecumenical religious component Jesse had wanted to add to the standoff.

Powell smartly gave Jesse the go-by. Jesse and his old-school ways, even if they hadn't been offered belatedly and with self-service, were of no use to the New Black American.

Victory was at hand. The U. S. crewmen were just days and an official letter of regret to the Chinese government away from returning home. And you know that homecoming would have been filled with hoopla and pageantry. The Retro Guard would have to kneel before the superior intellect of the ascended black. Likewise, the Old-School Negroes and their liberal massas would be forced to acknowledge the evolutionary brother and sister. When the images of the homecoming were played and played and played from the morning empty-chat shows through the nightly news to Larry King and his first exclusive primetime interview (with call-ins!) of the crew, all of America would see freedom was won by a black man, a black woman.
They would have seen all that.

Except.
Niggers fucked it up.
The last thing recorded by the dash-mounted camera in the police cruiser was officer Stephen Roach running across an intersection off Republic Street in Cincinnati. Then he enters an alley. Then you can hear a shot being fired. Beyond that, all you can do is speculate. And/or take Roach's statements as to what led to Timothy Thomas's shooting death.
What we know:

White cop. Black kid. Nineteen years old. Troubles with the law. Fourteen outstanding warrants. All misdemeanors.

In the early-morning hours of April 7, 2001, Thomas was confronted by some cops looking to pop him for those warrants. Thomas ran. Same as he'd run twice before when cops were trying to pop him. Backup got called in. Roach was among them. Thomas wasn't armed. Roach had no way of knowing. All the cop knew was that he was doing a foot pursuit in what's plainly one of the most dangerous sections of Cincinnati: Over-the-Rhine.

Thomas headed down that dark alley. Ordered to stop, he complied. Made a sudden move for his waistband. Roach fired. Thomas took a single slug to the chest. Died.
"Fifteen since '95" was the cry. Timothy Thomas being the fifteenth Cincinnati black man to die during an arrest or shortly after being apprehended by the cops. "Fifteen since '95" was heard from local Blacktivists hot for justice, for whom vengeance by way of legal recourse would not do: the New Black Panthers. Some outfit called the Special Forces. Only things special about them were the white-hatin', Jew-hatin' rants they could call up at a moment's notice. And did so at a city-council meeting they crashed the day after Thomas got shot. Crashed it along with Thomas's moms. And a couple hundred more whipped-up locals of color. They showed up to "talk" with city officials.

There was some white-hatin'. Some Jew-hatin'. Precious little talking.
After three hours of contained ranting, the hatin' spilled out into the streets. Another thousand or so protesters got whipped up and swept along as the Blacktivists made their way to the Cinci police HQ. More screaming! More hatin'! Through the evening and into the night.

"Fifteen since '95!"
Rocks thrown. Bottles thrown. Broken glass was hurled at cops.
"Fifteen since '95!"

By 1:00 A.M. on Monday, April 9, while Powell and Rice were working to free detained Americans, the Blacktivists had achieved what they were pushing for, the typical post-civil-rights-era expression of urban rage when it unilaterally deems itself wronged: burning of businesses. Looting of businesses. Indiscriminate violence against whites and nonblacks; yanked from cars. Beaten near to death.
Simply, rioting.

If a gang of whites had done the same, the screams from the Blacktivists would've been of a roving racist pack. They, the whites, would've been called a lynch mob.
But the rioters were of color. What was begging to be heard by the rampaging mob was some tacit approval from the self-appointed HNICs that burning and beating and stealing were the way to go.

Approval was given.
Kweisi Mfume (real name Frizzell Gray), who was the president and CEO of the NAACP, ranted that Cinci was the "belly of the whale."
Al Sharpton—he who is the high self-appointed HNIC of a constituency that no longer exists—demanded the feds take control of Cinci's police. Of all America's cops!
The Big House of the Liberal Plantation, The New York Times, opined that economic discrimination was at the heart of the riot (though it failed to explain why poor whites rarely did the same).

The Blacktivists of Cinci got what they wanted: some old-school R-Card shysters doing some fire fueling with platitudes and the war cry:
"Fifteen since '95."

On the surface the numbers held up; at the hands of the police, fifteen black men had died since '95. But the stats didn't reflect fact. Have you had a chance to meet some of the fifteen poster kids of cop abuse in Cincinnati?

Say hey to Harvey Price, who hacked up his girlfriend's daughter with an ax. She was fifteen. Harvey got shot when he refused to surrender peaceably. Went at tactical cops with a knife.

Give a yo to Mr. Jeffrey Irons. Confronted for stealing a few bucks in toiletries, Irons responded by grabbing a cop's gun. Shooting the officer in the hand. Another officer, options up, looking to avoid worse, shot and killed Irons.

Can I get a what-up for Daniel Williams? In February of '98 Danny flagged down officer Kathleen Conway's cop car. Then he punched her in the face. Then shot her. Four times, .357 Magnum. After all that, Conway managed to fire back—I would safely say in self-defense—killing Williams.

The final count of those "fifteen since '95"? Twelve had threatened arresting officers' lives with some type of weapon before they were killed. Seven of those twelve threatened cops with guns. Four cops were killed or wounded in making those arrests (in a period when three Cinci cops had been killed in three years).
But facts don't serve the cause. And "a couple since '95" doesn't make for much of a war cry.

Three days of chaos. Nearly $4 million in damage to the city, most of it in predominantly black areas that could ill afford economic downturn. Record levels of homicides, particularly among blacks, as the police, hamstrung by new rules of engagement, could no longer effectively protect the very people who had demonized them.

It was a mess.
The Blacktivists, they would call it victory.
The night of 4/11/01 was the worst of the rioting in Over-the-Rhine. Lowlights included a cop shot, a state of emergency declared.
The next day, 4/12/01, while Cinci was still calming down, the detained U. S. crew got loaded onto a commandeered Continental Airlines jet. Were flown from Hanna to Guam, Guam to Hawaii. The patience, the intelligence, of two blacks had set them free. But for Powell and Rice there was no reaction from the greater—or lesser—black community. None from lefty America. Energy drained by the orgy of appeasement it had been forced to offer up over Cincinnati, the best the black establishment and the national media could or would toss Dr. Condi and Colin was a collective shrug. A dismissive act, the effect of which was to minify the significance of their accomplishment.

And maybe in early 2001 it didn't matter so much. After averting crisis, there were sure to be other achievements. But, you know, things change. Nine-eleven. The towers came down. The Pentagon got opened up. A hole was made in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The war in Afghanistan. The war in Iraq.
And Hanna was officially forgotten.

NO MORE.
No more can we allow the crowning moment in our history to live in shadow, just as we cannot allow the deeds of our most accomplished to be overshadowed by the antics of our least ambitious. Near the end of his mortal existence, Dr. Martin Luther King famously queried, "Where do we go from here: chaos or community?"
Over-the-Rhine was chaos. Is this what we choose for ourselves? To continue as the ungodly construct of victim and aggressor?

I say there is only one direction for us to travel, the path already set. Dr. Condi and Colin are exceptional but not unique. Empirically, Hanna wasn't a one-off. With the pair as way points by which to plot a course, our collective ascension will be assured.

Undoubtedly, knees will jerk over this contention. The Reverends Al and Jesse and all those who judge actions by the single criterion of how they affect the remnants of the Movement will ask: These? These two are your ne plus ultra blacks? These two who caved to the will of the Right? Powell, whose dog-and-pony show at the UN revealed his true bent? Rice, whose "Why We Know Iraq Is Lying" for The New York Times showed her lack of spine? These two who sent America off to folly in Iraq?

I say yes.

Black America must look to that lost moment and realize that, short of a brother or sister actually being elected president, Hanna was the high-water mark of black political power. And whether Operation Iraqi Freedom is ultimately good and right and just, or if it is lousily named and uniformly disastrous, what is essential is that Dr. Condi and Colin earned for themselves positions from which to sway public debate.

That is, power.
Dr. Condi and Colin personify what niggers have forgotten: All that matters is accomplishment. The very pinnacle of ascendancy is the ability to live and work without regard for the sentiments of others and with, as Sister Rand would tell us, a selfish virtue.
We came up from slavery to freedom without regard for the Constitution, which gave us nothing, and the plantation masters, who gave us the whip. We came up from oppression to civil rights without regard for hurled bricks and sicced police dogs. Water hoses. The word nigger.

This, then, is my directive: Let us achieve with equal disregard for the limitations of racism and the weight of those of us who threaten to drag all of us down with the clinging nature of their eternal victimization. Our preservation is too essential to be stunted by those unwilling to advance. And in my heart I don't believe all blacks cannot achieve in the absence of aid any more than I believe the best way to teach a child to run is by forcing him to spend a lifetime on his knees.

As long as we remain committed to holding high our individuals of supreme finish, others will be inspired to loose themselves of the gravity of the waywards and downtroddens.

Once free, they will rise. They will drift high toward the attainments of which we are invariably capable; being better fathers and husbands and lovers. Better mothers and daughters, sisters and best friends. We will rise to the simple obligation of taking care of our own with the same dedication we will give to improving our community and country and our world. Yes, our influence will extend so.
Where do we go from here?
The only direction we can.
The New Black America will ascend.

One kidney washing another?

2006-11-20T13:25:00.000-08:00

WOW! This is an interesting twist to organ donation! It really puts it to the families to support others around them! Truly amazing what we can accomplish when working together, eh?

Five lives saved! Way to go Hopkins!

5-way kidney swap performed at Hopkins By ALEX DOMINGUEZ, Associated Press Writer
1 hour, 1 minute ago

It took 12 surgeons, six operating rooms and five donors to pull it off, but five desperate strangers simultaneously received new organs in what hospital officials Monday described as the first-ever quintuple kidney transplant.

All five recipients — three men and two women — were doing fine, as were the five organ donors, all women, said Eric Vohr, a spokesman at the Johns Hopkins Comprehensive Transplant Center. The 10 participants came from Canada, Maine, Maryland, West Virginia, Florida and California.

Several triple transplants have been done at Johns Hopkins, but hospital officials said the five simultaneous transplants performed last Tuesday were a first.

Four of the sick patients had approached Johns Hopkins with a relative who was willing to donate a kidney but was an incompatible donor. The fifth patient had been on a waiting list for a kidney from a dead person.

Together, those nine people and an "altruistic donor" — someone willing to give a kidney to anyone who needed it — had enough matched kidneys among them to pull off a complex, five-way swap.

Dr. Robert Montgomery, director of Hopkins' transplant center and head of the transplant team, pronounced the swap "a demonstration to the rest of the country that this is what's possible when people work together."

Sheila Thornton, 63, of Edgewood, said she felt "just joy, joy, it's almost inexplicable," after she learned she would receive a kidney from Sandra Loevner, 63, of Sarasota, Fla., whom she had never met.

"That really hit home," Thornton said of receiving a lifesaving gift from a stranger. "How do you thank somebody?"

The altruistic donor, Honore Rothstein of Martinsburg, W.Va., decided to donate a kidney after losing her husband to a brain hemorrhage and her daughter to an overdose. She did not know any of the donors or recipients.

"I'm thrilled I'm giving to somebody," Rothstein said, sitting next to Kristine Jantzi, 40, of Bangor, Maine, who received her kidney. "Her mom couldn't give to her, and I couldn't save my daughter."

The operations involved six operating rooms, 12 surgeons, 11 anesthesiologists, and 18 nurses, and took place over 10 hours. The removal of the donor organs began at 7:15 a.m. and was completed by 11 a.m. The kidneys were implanted in operations that began at 1 p.m. and were finished at 5:15 p.m.

Last year, Johns Hopkins doctors performed a triple transplant also involving an altruistic donor. The donor was from a Christian group, many of whose members have given kidneys to strangers.

Annie Moore, a spokeswoman for the United Network for Organ Sharing, the nonprofit organization that coordinates U.S. organ transplants, said she wasn't aware of any other quintuple kidney transplants. Triple transplants are the biggest that have been performed up to now, and paired transplants are more common, Moore said.

Most kidney transplants use organs taken from cadavers, but doctors prefer organs from live donors because the success rates are higher.

In a live-donor practice used increasingly in the U.S. over the past few years, a patient who needs a kidney is matched up with a compatible stranger if the patient lines up a friend or relative willing to donate an organ to a stranger, too.

About 16,500 kidney transplants were performed in the United States in 2005, of which about 10,000 involved organs taken from dead people and 6,500 from living donors, according to the Organ Procurement and Transportation Network.

About 70,000 people are waiting for a kidney transplant in the United States. The wait averages about five years, during which time 30,000 will either die or become too sick for a transplant, Montgomery said.

Montgomery called for a national kidney-swap program, saying it could help ease the shortage of transplant organs and cut costs by getting people off dialysis. He said 6,000 people on the waiting list for a kidney from a dead person have a willing but incompatible donor.

He noted, however, that live-donor kidney swaps present ethical problems for some institutions since federal law prohibits receiving something of value in exchange for an organ. Some institutions feel multiple arrangements come uncomfortably close to quid pro quo, Montgomery said. He called for a clarification of the law.

___

The Trip

2006-11-19T18:51:00.000-08:00

Well, my trip to DC was OUT OF THIS WORLD!

My new friend (first and foremost) works at the White House. He's renewed my faith in high-level government employees. Dedicated, smart and carries a tremendous desire to help others. First class in every capacity.

Had dinner at the Capital Grille on Thursday night, saw Senator Coleman from Minnesota. He arrived shortly after we did, essentially bumping us down the wait time list (and we had a reservation)... THANKS SENATOR! ; ) He also sat at the next table. Didn't get to chat with him, but it was cool to see him. (at least to me anyway) Had a great dinner. CapGrille is always a nice meal for us meat eaters. Conversation was mostly light and we covered a lot of ground for my organization.

Highlights: An invite to the White House for the next day. Huh?! Are you serious? How's my schedule? NOW CLEARED!!!!! Also, my VP of APFED is officially being nominated for a Presidential Volunteer Service Award. Prestigious and well-deserved. I hope she gets it as there are few human beings finer than she. Offers to set up meetings with key people that we need to chat with to begin our political life in DC. Loads of "wows" throughout the evening.

Next Day. I had a meeting, then the White House. Had to wait on my background check, which was kind of weird and scary. We weren't IN the WH, but in the building next door, the Eisenhower Bldg. aka the Administration Bldg (I think). Met the Special Asst to the President, one of two. That was really cool and he was incredibly nice. Covered more APFED stuff and got a mini-tour of the area.

Below is the entrance to the West Wing.

We went in the doors, but without advance notice of a personal tour, we couldn't go any further. Promised a next visit personal tour of the inside. We were literally 1 minute's walking distance to the Oval Office. The entrance is in a side road, it's lined with TONS of black vans, trucks and scary guys with guns. I'd say it was one of the most exciting moments of my life to stand where every major political person in the history of that entrance has stood. Truly an honor. The public isn't allowed in this area- obviously.

Next pic- the side steps up to the front lawn of the WH.

Our guide/friend tried to get us up on to the front lawn to take pix. Also a rare opportunity. But something was going on up there and we couldn't go up. Not disappointed. It too was an honor to even stand there! Up those steps and quite literally- ON the front lawn.

How cool is that. I won't bore anyone with the mundane details of my organization's legislative agenda until we actually HAVE ONE! LOL. Suffice it to say, I feel renewed, energized and soooooooo appreciative of some of the people on the Hill in this Administration.

I don't always agree with President Bush's agenda. I don't always agree with ANY of the Presidents we've had. I do know he has some truly quality people working for him that took a LOT of time (3 hrs on Thurs and 2 on Friday) to see a lady who has almost nothing to offer them, asked little and just wanted to be heard.

For anyone who has every tried to get in to see their Congressman/woman, you know that IF you get in, you get 15 minutes and that is it. They are all so busy.

GO!
All the time.

I understand my privilege and do not take it for granted. All I can hope to do is see it through and make the most of representing the patient-community I try to make heard.
YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Pedestal

2006-11-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

Ever have a hero? A person you admire? A person you look up to? How about a person you identify with? Perhaps this person is famous, maybe they are a friend, or a relative. All of that part is irrelevant in most ways.

What is relevant to me right now is that a person I identified with when I was younger is; gasp! Human. The sad part of it all is not only is this person human, but they are a person I am now finding myself angry with. I don't know this person at all. I recently read an autobiography and found myself conflicted and annoyed. I had actually put off reading it because I had a suspicion I would feel that way.

I don't know why I didn't get that what I identified with (then) was the sicker part of this person's personality. It's derived from tough times and a self-abuse thinking suffering was the answer. I got through it and so did they, sort of.

It's like a kid growing up who loved Mickey Mantle. This adult-kid finds themself with liver disease (not of his own making) he needs a transplant. Along comes Mickey Mantle, his childhood hero, who drank himself stupid and sick, he gets moved up the transplant list (and is all too happy to do so) and bumps you down closer to dying for no other purpose than he is a selfish bastard. "Selfish Bastard" is not too strong either- one would have to be a selfish bastard to have advanced liver disease from alcohol abuse and accept being moved up the list on name value alone in front of people who are actually sick for no other reason than; they are.

How do you not feel like you've been kicked in the teeth by this person?

So this person I identified with in my own misspent youth is human. But that's not it- I didn't have a false expectation that delusional. I cannot quite put my finger on WHAT is making me angry. Perhaps it was the callous way the autobiography read... like he's invincible, realizes he isn't, shouldn't be here, but is, and still just doesn't 100% GET how lucky he is in this life. Perhaps it is that he brags throughout the text instead of recounts. Expresses zero remorse for the grief he caused many in his own life, and seems to take the fans who identified with him for granted.

Fans of books, music, art, film, tv, sports, whatever aren't your personal fans permanently. The fans aren't here to tell you how fantastic you are all day long or purchase tickets, books, movies etc to keep you in a new Mazarati. They admire or like you for a reason. When you fall from grace, nearly lose everything and make a comeback- howzabout showing some appreciation for those, your fans, who are still trying to hang in there and be supportive of your now floundering career.

The diehards (of which I am admittedly not one) are REmaking you rich again- they go away, your career goes away. It's really stupid to feel this way, but it kinda pisses me off to see someone take a talent for granted, waste it, use it up, come back and still not GET that they should appreciate each day, that very specific talent and those who support it.

Jinxing?

2006-11-13T17:28:00.000-08:00

I'm on a roll. A BIG ONE!

This terrifies me. Too much great stuff worries me because I am a firm believer in the balance of life. While for a few months there I had my world ripped from under me several times, this trip to Washington DC just took a big ol' public policy/healthcare/advocacy turn to the amazing!

Am I jinxing myself by even bringing it up?
For wanting to scream from the rooftops that great things are happening?
Will it come back to haunt me for taking pride in our hard work?

So it sounds silly to wonder if I'm jinxing myself. I'm not super-superstitious, but that balance thing always finds me. Perhaps I should just leave it at WOOOOOHOOOOO! and post the details next week.

Wish me luck. (in the unsuperstitious way!)

DC Bound

2006-11-12T14:33:00.000-08:00

Just got home from Philly, now I'm off to Washington DC, then NYC. A day in each.

I LOVE! to travel. I always did. If I didn't have kids I know I would have a job that had me bouncing all over the world. But, reality is, I have children, a home, a husband and a life. I love my life too. When I'm away I miss it all so much.

It is such a dual existence.

In all honesty, every time I'm walking through the airport in heels with my laptop and business clothes on I almost feel like I am playing dressup working Barbie. Like somehow someone can see through the mid-30s exterior and see a confused kid trying to get by, yet at the same time I'm extra-confident in what I do. Again, that duality.

This is not my first trip to Washington, DC. Although it is the first trip where I am going up there for my own governmental purposes. My meeting is with an allergy society and piggybacked to this trip is the chance to start meeting with certain government agencies for APFED's agenda. It's almost like "making it" but we're not quite there yet. ALMOST there, allllllmost there... ALLLLLMOST! THERE!

I get to play dress-up, talk about things I am comfortable and confident speaking of and act as though I have a clue about how legislative agendas actually go- then I get to miss my kids, go back to feel oh, so self-important, miss my home, try to win over people who hear the same sob stories daily, get excited to get to go to NYC (which is always such a joy to just stroll through), catch a train (something we don't get to do in Texas) miss the kids again, not sleep, eat all too well and too much, call my husband 22x a day, hop on a plane home and be exhausted for a week.

I wouldn't trade it for the world. Now, how to split myself into two so I can enjoy both lives a bit more without the attached guilt of either being away from home or neglecting a love of my work and the accompanying travel.

Growing up TOO fast.

2006-11-11T16:55:00.000-08:00

Now I am lucky, blessed and downright appreciative of the fact I have GREAT kids!!!! But darn it when did two of them grow up on me like this?

I trust my babygirl implicitly, but, sniffle, tonight she went to her first Homecoming Dance. It's killing me with proud mommy stuff and also with the first big time pangs of "where did the time go?"

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
It's just not fair. I want to live it WITH them, and I am, but in the parental way! Darnit. I would have loved to have been at school with my kids and get to see them as they are when they are free from the home stuff. In their element- I'll never truly know that feeling because I'm always first and foremost their mom. A job I love, but it is a piece of them I can only glimpse and get.

Where does it go? She was just in First Grade?! I swear it! Someone built a time machine and moved me forward without my consent! Now can someone PLEASE! beam me back to my comfort zone?

The Video, 2

2006-11-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

Part 3, the Final Version is being completed. Sharing is a GOOD thing- also visible on www.apfed.org

Good for the Goose

2006-09-07T21:48:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny how what is good for one isn't good for another?

Perhaps a person usually goes to an extreme while a friend stands by and watches and laughs and has some fun with it- but in the reverse, it's not quite as funny? Why is that okay? Why does friend B feel badly for behavior similar or less than the more extreme friend?

OR- a person is a thief or criminal. Steals, lies, cheats their way to the top, yet holds their peers, or staff to a far greater standard. Hypocritical at least.

OR- perhaps this person is a friendship vampire- sucking the life out of every friend they have but not really spending any time to listen or care for those who have cared for them?

Why is this okay? What makes some of us endure the way these people present themselves or behave? I've tried to rid myself of these sort of people in my life for quite some time now. Every now and again I find one still lingering about.

But then, when I really dig into it- do I do this to anyone else? Am I hurting another person in the same fashion I loathe in others? Those I am so desperately wanting to cleanse myself of- am I actually one of them?

Perhaps there are friends we all know we can lean on at times when we really need them. The trick is to know we give as much as we receive. Am I a taker? A listener? A receiver? A vampire of my friends energy?

To suck the life out of someone with constant needs, wants, bitchings, dramas and travails is to be the worst of friends. It's not a real friendship but rather a slow demise of a person's trust in another. Worse, cutting that person off is no simple task. The personal pain of the victim in this scenario is to cut off a person who does nothing but take- a person in perpetual need. To the blood-sucked, you become that person's personal hero. Whether the advice is good or bad- it does not matter.

They don't listen anyway.

But- somewhere inside you feel the pain of turning your back and ears away from someone who truly believes their woes are the worst, even when trivial.

At the same time- the freedom that follows is a HUGE breath of fresh air. The world has released you. Darkness becomes light. No longer fearing the ring of the phone. No longer dreading the standing lunch date. A person becomes free to allow a true and meaningful friendship to grow and be shared. It has to be a conscious decision to make this leap- but once done-

ohhhhhhhhhh the sense of openness.
I'm heard. I'm valued. I'm saved.

EVERYONE has a person like this- knowing who this person is- confronting them and, if necessary, being willing to let the friendship end is an inner strength builder.

Somehow, many of us are led to believe that all friendships must endure. They MUST go on forever. If not, we've somehow failed ourselves or the other person. Sometimes a friendship has run its course without being one-sided.

Knowing that it is time is a weird feeling. It's time, it just is. It's a relationship. It had value and love and positiveness and fights and sad times and more. When it ends, perhaps knowing it was good when it was, perhaps the future will rekindle it, perhaps not. It is OK to allow these relationships to end. It's natural. They don't all last a lifetime.

When lopsided, it's necessary. When not, it's okay. Where in the code of friendships is it dictated that we must endure all? Be there at all times regardless? Yes, I want to be a good friend- but there are some friendships that have run their course, prolonging them with dutiful and daily attention only drives a certainty that one cannot remain casually friends/acquaintances when the drifting apart naturally occurs. Or worse- when "the fight" happens and the ultimate ending occurs.

I feel stronger and definitely older and most assuredly wiser to come to this realization. I hope I don't hurt too many people along the way, it is not my intent.
When it's time, it is simply time.

Frankly- some are past their time.

Pictures, for scientific purposes, of course!

2006-08-19T21:42:00.000-07:00

Oh man, oh man! (literally)

Out of New Delhi comes what would be many a man's dream come true-

Sat Aug 19, 10:10 AM ET
NEW DELHI (Reuters) - An Indian businessman born with two penises wants one of them removed surgically as he wants to marry and lead a normal sexual life, a newspaper report said Saturday.

The 24-year-old man from the northern state of Uttar Pradesh admitted himself to a New Delhi hospital this week with an extremely rare medical condition called penile duplication or diphallus, the Times of India said.
"Two fully functional penes is unheard of even in medical literature. In the more common form of diphallus, one organ is rudimentary," the newspaper quoted a surgeon as saying.
The surgery was expected to be challenging as both organs were well-formed and full blood supply to the retained penis had to be ensured to allow it to function normally, he added.
The newspaper did not disclose the identity of the man or the hospital to protect the patient's privacy.

There are about 100 such reported cases of diphallus around the world and it is known to occur among one in 5.5 million men, the newspaper said.
It is caused by the failure of the mesodermal bands in the embryo to fuse properly. The mesodermal bands are one of three primary layers of the embryo from which several body parts are formed.

While we all smile inwardly, I am now pondering some of the unanswered questions.
Are they both hooked up to the same bladder? Does he pee twice as much? Can he masterbate with both hands? (great way to be ambidexterous) Has he actually had sex with both of them? At the same time? Can he be an "organ" donor? Define fully-formed for me? Is it hereditary? What were his parents thinking when they let him grow up like this? What about the ob/gyn who delivered this fellow into existence? Where was he? Are they horizontally placed or vertically? Diagonally? How does one choose which one to remove? Did his girlfriend/boyfriend get a say-so on this operation?

While getting a chuckle, this poor man may have suffered a bit through his life. He has probably suffered mentally, and silently for the better part of his life. I can see why he is doing this quietly. Who would want that sort of press? Although, now that it has made international newslines, his odds of remaining anonymous are slim.

I'm TRYING to be sensitive to this situation because I feel oddly rubbernecker-ish. I hate that feeling. Gawking at someone elses pain (and apparently, he's not happy as he is) is wrong. It's cruel. It cannot be psychologically comfortable for this man to attempt to have a normal dating/sex life.

Our snickers actually magnify that to me. We laugh, but do we really want to be that one in a billion person with a third breast? Second penis? Honestly, aside from being a sideshow attraction, or a well-paid porn-star, it really serves one no good in living a normal life if word of something like that were to get out.

So while I draw attention to it, I also learn from it. Many folks may say to themselves, "oh to have such a problem" Not so easy if you live with it.
And sadly to admit it- I would still want to see the pictures!

Big Win for the Little Guy!

2006-08-18T11:18:00.000-07:00

I chalk this one up to a victory of empowering people with the choice to manage their own health care. When assisted suicide is banned or legal depending on the state you live in- and you've endured so much as a patient, generally a person knows what they can and cannot face. They are already looking death in the eye. It's there, they've conversed, and I believe this young man has made his own inner peace with himself, his God and Death.

ACCOMAC, Va. - A 16-year-old cancer patient's legal fight ended in victory Wednesday when his family's attorneys and social services officials reached an agreement that would allow him to forgo chemotherapy.
At the start of what was scheduled to be a two-day hearing, Accomack County Circuit Judge Glen A. Tyler announced that both sides had reached a consent decree, which Tyler approved.
Under the decree, Starchild Abraham Cherrix, who is battling Hodgkin's disease, will be treated by an oncologist of his choice who is board-certified in radiation therapy and interested in alternative treatments. The family must provide the court updates on Abraham's treatment and condition every three months until he is cured or turns 18.

"It's all over. It's everything we fought for, everything we wanted to ever have, we've won. We got our freedom back," Abraham said outside the courthouse after the hearing.
Tyler emphasized that the decree states that the parents weren't medically neglectful.
Abraham said that he saw the doctor last week, and the doctor assured him that his cancer is curable. The teen said he will continue following an alternative herbal treatment called the Hoxsey method, as well as his doctor's treatment plan. The regimen won't include chemotherapy, but radiation is a possibility, he said.

After the short hearing, the judge looked at Abraham and said, "God bless you, Mr. Cherrix."
Last summer, the teen was found to have Hodgkin's disease, a cancer of the lymphatic system considered very treatable in its early stages. He was so debilitated by three months of chemotherapy that he declined a second, more intensive round that doctors recommended early this year.

He since has been using the Hoxsey method, the sale of which was banned in the United States in 1960. After Abraham chose to go on the sugar-free, organic diet and take liquid herbal supplements under the supervision of a Mexican clinic, a social worker asked a juvenile court judge to intervene to protect the teen's health. Last month, the judge found Abraham's parents neglectful and ordered Abraham to report to a hospital for treatment as doctors deem necessary.

Lawyers for the family appealed, and an Accomack County Circuit Court judge suspended that order and scheduled a new trial to settle the dispute. The judge scheduled the trial for two days but has indicated he would like to finish in one, said John Stepanovich, a lawyer for the parents.
Carl H. Bundick, attorney for the Accomack County Department of Social Services, told the judge the department considers the agreement to be in Abraham's best interest.
Abraham is still on the Hoxsey method, but Stepanovich stressed that the family hasn't ruled out other possible treatments, such as immunotherapy or radiation treatment in small doses.
According to the American Cancer Society, there is no scientific evidence that Hoxsey is effective in treating cancer in people. The herbal treatment is illegal in the United States but can be obtained through clinics in Mexico, and some U.S. naturopathic practitioners use adapted versions of the formula.
___

Kudos to him and his parents for going the way they believe is best for them. No one can judge or deem what is best when sane and loving people have done what "they" said to do, have exhausted their internal and external resources to beat a microscopic demon.

I could never say what I would do in that situation until I lived it. It can't be answered until you hear the words, "you have cancer". It's yours. It lives inside of you. I find young Mr. Cherrix to be very brave. Whether he dies is his cross to bear. People are told all the time their cancer is treatable and they'll be fine- only to die six months later. Others are told they have six months to live and go on for 10 more years.

The truth is- a positive outlook and living the life you have is important. If you had an undetermined amount of time left, and you were 16 years old- would you want to be ravaged by chemotherapy? Possible to die in the hands of the treatment that is supposed to save you? Especially if you had done that once before and knew what you were in for- Or would you want to explore alternatives and truly live the life you were given? It's a rhetorical question saved only for those who actually face it.

It's a brave choice and I firmly believe in this circumstance especially, no court has the right to tell this family what to do.
HOORAY FOR THE CHERRIX FAMILY!

I can only pray this fellow beats his cancer and goes on to become the amazing advocate he may be destined to be!!

Where's my damned gold star???

2006-08-16T22:40:00.000-07:00

I'm a wife and a mother of four. Yay for me! I didn't get my gold star at the door so maybe there's a side entrance into this place? Everyone else has a gold star!

I also work about 60 hours a week on a volunteer job I love. Work another 15 hours a week at our gym for to offset the expense of having three All-Star cheerleaders, run errands, make sure the bills are paid on time, do laundry, try to cook on occassion and somewhere in there actually get some sleep. So does it make me special? nope.

What's up with all this competitiveness on how much we all work and how stressed we all are nowadays?

Would people simply cease to go to work without a spouse or child? no. But, oh, the martyrdom of the working parent. It's not a contest, it's not a race, even though I felt the need to spell out my typical week first. Somewhere along the way the long suffering parent has to come to the reality that it is like this for most of us. They called the 70's the "Me Decade", I really don't see it that way. That was a precursor of work-work-working to earn more and obtain more of the 80s. The semi-backlash of it we had going in the 90s, but it was actually a big-business grunge, HMO good times- and now the backlash of it all for those busting their asses these past 30 years who all want their parades.

Working moms do have it hard. Single working parents have it harder. We're all into our Zen candles, quiet corners, happy pills, ongoing therapy, 5th marriages and retreats again. It has shades of the 60's without the flower power crap. We all want our peace and piece at the same time. Earn enough to take it easy in that rustic little 5,000 sq ft house in the mountains, complete with internet, satellite radio and digital.........everything. Gotta stay connected, ya know.

So how is it folks have more stuff to make life easier, but work more? Or do we work more? Is that a real stastitic? We're playing on the internet at work- according to one survey (Jupiter Media Metrix, 2001) people spend more than 22hrs a month on the web while at work. That's almost one full day out of the full month, not factoring in weekends etc. Perhaps that includes research etc but that's a LOT of time since you're only at work (supposedly) 160 hrs a month. That's 13.7% of your work time. That was five years ago- it has to be closer to 20% easily now. One-fifth of our work time. Well, if work isn't getting done, then perhaps that extra 10 hours of "work" a week isn't really extra work, it's make up time.... hmmmm? Now I have to ponder if I am actually "working" those 60+ some hours a week. And I know I'm not...

Now I think I get why resumes' have to include a new catchphrase- Good Time Management.
Liars.

I think the competitiveness comes from wanting more, doing less and trying to put on the brave face about just how much we accomplished while squeezing Yahoo Gaming time under the radar from the Bossperson. So we're all bragging and boasting and falling behind on the work that, in all probability could have been done in 40 hrs and putting in overtime on the weekends thinking we're still suffering for The Man.

I still want my gold star...

Appreciation

2006-08-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

I've just hosted my fourth conference for patients suffering from a common ailment. It's a lot of work, I love what I do. Each year I often have felt how much people simply do not "get" the amount of work that goes into bringing in patients for a shared goal- education.

This year the opposite happened. I received accolades for both myself and my team. It's a bit overwhelming and I am not accustomed to it. Now I find myself in a strange bit of inner confusion.

I do not wish to be the person who sits back and martyrs myself for THE CAUSE- unappreciated and willing to share it with anyone who will listen. At the same time, too much acknowledgement is, well, too much. I do not like being the center of attention in this capacity. I'm not used to it, I don't like it either.

Simple "thank you's" suffice. How often does that actually happen though? Not often enough. Finding a middle ground is usually not such an easy thing. We wouldn't have a 60% divorce rate in the US if that were the case.

I've learned a lesson I didn't realize I needed to learn out of this inner conflict. Saying "thank you" once (and meaning it) is sufficient. Whether I am saying it, or am the recepient of the gratitude, it IS enough. Who made it not okay to accept a simple thanks anymore? Why does thanks have to be given, and shown, and paid for, and reciprocated with dinner in a never ending cycle of appreciation?

There are certain circumstances where these things are warranted. I do find that it is not always necessary and this year I was on the opposite end of this equation. Maybe its just me, but the whole "they don't appreciate me" thing has a new, and lower meaning in my book now. I won't use that sentence so cavalier-ly in the future. It was as easy as opening my eyes AND MY EARS to the folks around me.

DUH!

Blogging Ain't Easy!

2006-07-26T19:38:00.000-07:00

You know blogging isn't as easy as it seems. It is NOT that I have nothing to say, nor that I am shy on topics to expound my wisdom upon- no. It's time.

The time it takes to commit to a blog (aka: A Journal) is hard to come by. I'm impressed by daily bloggers who tear through the news and keep up with it all in order to formulate opinions and ideas on all matters relating to our world.

It's more than a hobby. You have to actually commit to your blog. You have to love and nourish it for it to grow. Then when the unexpected happens- someone you don't know reads it- you delve a little deeper.

Kudos to all of you regular bloggers. Whether I agree with your views of the world we share, I admire your dedication to keeping up with it all.

Air Soft, My ASS

2006-07-13T20:17:00.000-07:00

Yes well.
I can start with I am DEFINITELY for gun control. I always was, but my feelings about it changed this week when my daughter was accidentally shot in the eye by an air soft gun.

I can wholeheartedly say there is nothing soft about this gun. My daughter got to keep her eye (barely!). Had it hit her 1-2mm (yes, MILLIMETERS) higher on her eye, she would have lost it. The gun was fired from the ground up to the window on the second story of our home, went through the screen and hit her eye. I do not consider that "safe". The distance was EASILY 25-30ft and through a screen window.

For those not in the know-
From http://www.mfiap.com/airsoft/airsoft.htm#airsoft

These air guns in the past were imported under the Air Soft name... This is a colloquial term in reference to BB guns that use plastic or ceramic BBs larger than the common BBs guns used for sporting purposes. It is a bit of a misnomer as there is nothing "soft" about being hit by a plastic bb at 15 feet. Standard BBs are copper or steel with a diameter of 0.177 caliber or (4.5mm). Air Soft BBs are generally 6mm or near 0.24 caliber. Most of the air guns we sell are technically not "Air Soft" as these are all EXPORT MODELS that make use of slightly higher compression springs, motors and gears that would be illegal in most countries where air soft guns are sold. Additionally our particular air guns have been re-designed to accommodate the use of metallic ammunition.
Air Soft was originally designed as a toy. It later gained popularity as a training tool for Law Enforcement Live Fire Training. This low velocity (compared to a regular bb gun) adds in that it takes away the danger of misdirected fire that with a live round would kill. The advantage is that officers can safely train with weapons that appear to be identical to those they normally use and can train against a live, moving and like armed hostile without the fear or serious injury. In the past few years as the number of air soft guns in the USA increases so has the interest from the general public for general propose shooting and gaming.

Isn't it nice that this dealer has modified his toys to accomodate REAL metal ammunition.
AKA... bullets.

Dear daughter (dd) is not all roses and fine.
No. She sustained a severe hyphaema (hi-fee-mah) Essentially a huge blood clot on the eye. She is at immediate risk of requiring a major surgery to "clean out her eye of the blood and clots" if it starts to bleed again, cataracts, glaucoma and even blindness in that eye. Even if all goes well, we will not know the full extent of any vision loss for a few months.

She has to stay 100% stationary for approximately 7 days and had to be blinded by a sleeping mask for 100% of the time. She is only allowed to remove it to go to the bathroom, go up and down the stairs safely (once per day) and to get one of her 6 rounds of medications. Other than that she can lay on her good side, or on her back, propped up and listen to the world go by during what's left of her summer vacation. She is currently on round the clock pain medication as well. Yes, the pain is THAT bad.

Air soft guns are NOT toys. Sorry folks. My son is devastated to have done this to his sister. He absolutely was not intending to hit her. Forgiveness is all around and for that I am proud and thankful for their love of each other. He had already been educated about gun safety and the serious attitude we have about them. He took the gun as a toy, which too many people make the mistake of doing, he took it even though we forbade it- played with it anyway and there have been SERIOUS consequences. His words now- "I will never touch another gun as long as I live."

The parents in the neighborhood (all but one) have taken away their kid's air soft toy guns. No one thought they were truly, truly dangerous. The boy that owns the gun is 10. He plays with it openly and around his younger 5 and 6 year old brothers. Most of the boys wear safety goggles when they play with them out in the street. Wellllllllll.... what about all of the other people out there? The other kids? They aren't wearing safety goggles. Something we noted when our 8 year old daughter took a stray pellet in the leg a month ago.

"Oh they sting, but the kids are safe" was the response we received.

For anyone who reads this who has a child (especially a young one) who wants one of these popular toys. My advice is to just say no. They hurt when they hit pretty much anywhere on the body. It's NOT a toy, and even with gun safety taught- accidents happen. Gun safety is taught at home... blah, blah, blah.

When it's your child- that accident may not seem so random.

Solitude

2006-06-28T07:53:00.000-07:00

The older I get, and I'm not that old, the more I appreciate solitude. For the people who ask you to do dinner just to have a person to talk to so they won't appear to be the lonliest person in the world, I ask you, what is so terrible about taking a meal with a book or the paper? Or just going to eat because you like the food somewhere? It's boring?

Have we socialized ourselves into being afraid of being alone?

It seems as though we have. Everything in society and the media tells us it is bad to be alone. Get married, have children, attend parties, there are more nightclubs than ever before, drink to be social, smoke to be social, be social at McDonald's and more. Even therapy. You have a problem? Why attempt to sort through it yourself when you can talk to someone? While I support therapy's benefits, are we required to bounce everything off of someone else for their opinion, approval or telling us to figure it out on our own?

I have friends, family, husband, children and the things that are supposed to keep us fulfilled. I love them all. What is wrong with occassionally wanting to be alone? It doesn't mean I am anti-social, it just means I don't have to be around everyone all the time. If I don't call every second or third day, don't be offended, perhaps I was busy. You haven't been knocked out of my heart and head.

I like being social. I think most people would describe me as a very friendly person. I also like quiet and alone time. I had to learn to take it and appreciate it, but I find it is one of the greatest things I have given myself. The ability to do things alone is something that actually takes practice. Ask your friends to lunch and tell them you will meet them inside and see how many wait for you at the door or outside anyway. If you are late and they must sit alone, too many people would be uneasy with that aloneness.

I've been on a quest to understand my own peculiarities and become more at ease with myself. I don't like self-loathing. It has been incredibly destructive to me mentally. Doing this requires me to take time to meditate/reflect. To think deeply, or to not think at all requires no outside influence. Now that I do this several times a week I find myself on a much more even keel about not needing to please others all the time. *when I say all the time, I mean all the time!

The growing me I refer to as "The New Beth" because I hated the Old Beth. Both in the first and third person! I embrace the ability to simply go to a restaurant and enjoy a good meal on my own. So if you see me sitting there reading and eating, don't insist on joining me or me joining you because you think I must be lonely to eat lunch alone. Simply wave hello, perhaps make a greeting, and let me enjoy my time, my way.