Stop always means stop
"Seduction is often difficult to distinguish from rape. In seduction, the rapist often bothers to buy a bottle of wine." ~ Andrea Dworkin
Dan Abrams had a lengthy interview with a woman who was raped twenty years ago. The attack occurred when she was in college. She reported the rape, but no one pursued the investigation. Twenty years ago, expecting someone to do something about it was bound to end in disappointment. The guy did drop out of college not long after the rape.
Recently,she got a letter from her rapist offering an apology. They had an email dialogue for a while. He had become active in AA and needed to make amends to people he hurt. There's not much of a way to accomplish that when the offense is rape. Eventually, she decided to press charges and, because of a very liberal statute of limitations law, she was able to pursue the criminal conviction.
A lot of the interview was about the post-attack ramifications. She said that she lives with the memory of the rape every day. She thinks about it every day. She wonders why he did it. She blames herself.
These types of stories always cause me to think of my own rape, thirty years ago. Do I live with it every day? No. I think about it more now because I have this blog and one of my goals here is to figure out how I got to this moment in my life. That means that, from time to time, that event gets replayed in my mind. Other than under these circumstances, I rarely think of it.
I don't wonder why he did it. He did it because he could. Maybe he did it because my screaming "Stop! Stop!" was just me being coy. He certainly believed we could continue with a relationship afterwards. I think that's pretty interesting. I always have.
As for whether I blame myself, that's a little more complex. I certainly had an agenda. I wanted to get the first sexual experience out of the way with someone with whom I wasn't already emotionally attached. That must have been in my mind at the time. On the other hand, stop most definitely means stop. He didn't. That's his responsibility.
It's always dificult for me to separate the ramifications of the rape with the all of the sexual abuse I was subjected to prior to the rape. I think the way I was raised almost ensured that I would find myself in that situation. So I'm not certain that he really inflicted more damage on me than had already been done a thousand times over. Certainly I was angry with him and I let him know that. It didn't destroy my trust in men, though. I've never had any.
I do think it contributed to my free floating hostility towards men. It fit in somehow with my need to compete with men, with a certain contempt I had for them. Competitiveness aside, I think I did believe that men outside of my family might not be physically threatening.
I hardened my heart towards men after the rape. I chose not to get emotionally involved until I met the man I later married. I became extremely careful about being in dangerous situations with men. I never went to anyone's house without taking someone with me. Dates always really loved that about me. Yes, I'll come over for dinner, but I'm bringing a couple of friends with me. Surprise.
I think I may have freed myself from that blanket distrust. I still believe that men are easy to manipulate; that's part of the whole competitiveness that lives on within me. If I'm able to manipulate people, they earn a certain measure of contempt. That, by the way, applies to both men and women. Unfortunately, lots of people are easy to manipulate, even when I'm not trying. Generally speaking, I choose not to manipulate others. It's too reminiscent of my father and, let's face it, it's just creepy.
This rape is just one of many that happened to me in my life. Some were far more harmful than this one. I guess that's how I'm different from the woman who was interviewed. The rape didn't fuck up my life because it was already fucked up. In a big way.
America held hostage day 1581
Bushism of the day:
"I'm occasionally reading, I want you to know, in the second term." --Washington, D.C., March 16, 2005
PoliticSpeak
Last night I was watching Barbara Boxer drone on about what Democrats will do, if elected, to repair the damage inflicted on the country by the Republicans. They will fix the deficit, fully fund no child left behind, get us the hell out of Iraq, fix the Medicare insurance plans, get immigration under control and...well, you get the picture. I started to think about how cynical I've become and I sat there wondering exactly how they plan to accomplish any of this. I can't tell anymore whether politicians actuallyl believe what they're saying (which makes them deluded at best) or they just think we will (which makes them opportunistic and manipulative at best).
It's no wonder most of the population doesn't vote. It's hard to motivate yourself to go to the trouble of voting when you know everyting the politicians are saying is just more bullshit. That's why more people vote for American Idol contestants than for politicians. At least we know they are, in fact, going to sing. I guess we also know that our Congressional leaders are going to do something, but it won't have any impact on what's really gone wrong with America. That is, if you believe that America is not heading in the right direction. They're can be counted on to generate more feel-good legislation, like the propsed immigration legislation. More laws that won't be enforced just the same way the existing laws aren't enforced. It sounds good, though. It sounds like someone is doing something. God forbid that anyone should note that the elephant in the room is a deficit that will choke generations of Americans. We can't round up illegal aliens because all of our money is going to Iraq.
Democrat or Republican, our leaders will not say the truth because the truth will get them voted out of office. Is this our fault or theirs? I mean, if telling the truth means you lose your cushy job, would you tell the truth? Yeah, I'm cynical.
What Went Wrong
"... everything in nature is lyrical in its ideal essence, tragic in its fate, and comic in its existence." ~ George Santayana
Here's something odd. My horoscope today says to forget what went wrong. I don't think I can do that. Just to backtrack a bit, I lost my mother's keys in my house two weeks ago and still haven't located them. I was only in two rooms. I fear I may have thrown them in the trash.
Yesterday I noticed that I lost my marcasite ring. It didn't fall off my hand; it was too snug. No, I took it off somewhere, but I can't imagine where or why. I've looked everywhere and I guess I'm just out of luck.
At my radiation appointment on Tuesday, the oncologist got really worried about these nodes that seem to come and go on my skin in the treatment area. He and the nurse were very somber about it and told me they were "hoping" everything was okay. You can imagine how that hit me. I didn't want to think it was nothing, because the last time I thought it was nothing it was really something. On the other hand, I was trying hard to not obsess and worry about it. He sent me to see a surgeon Wednesday morning. The surgeon took a look and told me to see a dermatologist. He didn't think it was the return of cancer.
Meanwhile, I'm still eating at home. I hate that. I want my old life back. Hubby has dug us into a financial hole so deep that I can't see my way out of it. I'm planning to make some inroads by using breast cancer slush fund money, but I can't be sure that strategy is going to result in getting the old life back. Radiation is making me lose my appetite and when I look in the refrigerator, it only confirms the sense that maybe I should just skip food altogether. Unfortunately, I have to eat. I'm supposed to be keeping my strength up so that the body can keep replenishing the cells killed by radiation. As I sit here, I'm down to my last two prunes. I ate one of those oatmeal cookie healthy things. I hate trying to be healthy.
Thank God for the NBA.
America held hostage day 1570
Bushism of the day: "He can't have it both ways. He can't take the high horse and then claim the low road."
The Book of Judas
"Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests. And said unto them, 'What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver." ~ Bible
I've noticed a couple of television programs which have explained and explored the "Book of Judas." Their conclusions--and the existence of the Book--don't come as a surprise to me. I reached a similar conclusion several years ago. The central question is this:
Was it God's will that Jesus die on the cross?
If the answer is no, then everyone is correct in vilifying Judas. If the answer is yes, then Judas served a higher good by taking those 30 pieces of silver. Someone would have to be the instrument of Jesus' death. It seems pretty simple to me. So how do you answer that question?
America held hostage day 1568
Bushism of the day:
"Now, we talked to Joan Hanover. She and her husband, George, were visiting with us. They are near retirement—retiring —in the process of retiring, meaning they're very smart, active, capable people who are retirement age and are retiring."—Alexandria, Va., Feb. 12, 2003
The Book of Judas
"Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests. And said unto them, 'What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver." ~ Bible
I've noticed a couple of television programs which have explained and explored the "Book of Judas." Their conclusions--and the existence of the Book--don't come as a surprise to me. I reached a similar conclusion several years ago. The central question is this:
Was it God's will that Jesus die on the cross?
If the answer is no, then everyone is correct in vilifying Judas. If the answer is yes, then Judas served a higher good by taking those 30 pieces of silver. Someone would have to be the instrument of Jesus' death. It seems pretty simple to me. So how do you answer that question?
America held hostage day 1568
Bushism of the day:
"Now, we talked to Joan Hanover. She and her husband, George, were visiting with us. They are near retirement—retiring —in the process of retiring, meaning they're very smart, active, capable people who are retirement age and are retiring."—Alexandria, Va., Feb. 12, 2003
Tomorrow is my father's birthday. On Friday, I spent some time with a co-worker who has a friend whose son committed suicide recently. I shared with her some information I amassed after my father's suicide and it reminded me of that dark time in my own life. It's important to stay in touch with the grieving friend. It's really amazing how many people simply drift away when someone commits suicide. The survivors are left to try to mend their lives alone. For me, that wasn't such a big deal. I'm a dealing with it alone kind of person. My mom, however, felt that people blamed her for his death. That's a very difficult thing to deal with when you blame yourself and everyone blames themselves. There are a million things you see that might have made a difference had you thought of them in time. That's incorrect. There is, in fact, not a thing in the world that you can do if someone really wishes to die. There's no way you can monitor them 24 hours a day. There's no way you can remove every means by which suicide might be accomplished. None of that matters, though. It's just a part of the process. You feel guilty. You feel that you should have seen it coming and done something about it.
People who kill themselves tend to be difficult all of their lives. As far as my father was concerned, that's the understatement of the century. It took really hard work to have a relationship with him because the world was all about Ed. Ed was insulted if you got him the wrong Christmas present. No matter what was going on in my life, everything had to come to a screeching halt when Ed phoned. If Ed gave me a gift, I could say thank you a million times and it was never enough. He sucked all of the oxygen out of every room he ever walked into. I hated him and I loved him. I was furious with him and I pitied him. Any complex relationship I've had since then has been a day at the beach compared to him.
My co-worker believes that suicide is a profoundly selfish act. Actually, I have a number of friends who feel the same way. I suppose it is. However, the mind state of a person who's getting ready to pull the trigger doesn't really allow much thought about anyone else. They've been sucked into a vortex that doesn't have room for wondering what will become of the survivors. I've been suicidal many times in my life and I guarantee you that it's a very dark space to inhabit. The pain of living is so intense that there really is no room to think about anyone else. You just want the pain to end. Ironically, though I have a lot of sympathy for people who decide to cash in their chips early, I hold it against people who kill themselves in the house they share with loved ones. That really pisses me off. Could you not just walk out of the fucking door to pull the trigger? My dad had the decency to go down the street from my parents' house. Well, I guess the truth is that he was just trying
Blood Work, Stevie Nash and What the Hell is Wrong with Pat Riley?
Women are always complaining about men's fascination with breasts. But what if men were absolutely indifferent to breasts? What would women do then with these things that serve one function once or twice in a lifetime, and the rest of the time are just in the way? ~ Jonathan Carroll
I just got back from an extended trip for radiation. After they irradiated me, I had to visit my doctor. That means he pulls my hospital gown down and looks at the place where the other girl used to be. I don't care. I'm so accustomed to having strangers look at my breasts that I'm thinking of doing a calendar or something. I guess I'd need to wait until the left girl gets reconstructed. Very few people find mastectomy scars worth paying for.
After the doctor visit, I had to go do blood work. I have to do that four more times at various intervals, so I came back to work and wrote "blood work" on those dates in my calendar. I started thinking about how weird that looks written on my calendar. That's when it occurred to me that there should be a band somewhere with that name, don't you think? Blood Work performing Saturday at Emo's? It's one of those names that could go with any type of music--alt, country, jazz, rap. Someone needs to get busy on this. Get a band, people.
Why oh why do they only bring on the good NBA playoff games after my bed time? It breaks my heart that I wasn't able to watch the Phoenix game last night. The NBA needs to schedule the Detroit-Cavs game at 10:00 and bring on little Stevie Nash early.
I'm thinking the Miami game might be really competitive. Poor Pat Riley. He's coaching alright, but when you look at his eyes, he's looking really depressed. He should quit coaching and go grieve his mother's passing. Or maybe he's just depressed that his team appears to be ignoring him. I hate it that he's started dyeing his hair now that he's back in the coaching biz. What's that all about, I wonder? I think he went back to coaching because Phil did. He's very competitive with Phil Jackson. It must give him some solace that Phil's sittting at home right about now, wondering why Kobe wouldn't take any shots in the second quarter of the seventh game. I know it makes me feel better.
The Mavs-Spurs game is starting at 8:00-ish tonight. All of my co-workers are rooting for the Spurs. I used to be a big Mavs fan, but they let Steve Nash go to Phoenix. What idiots. Who needs Steve Nash, anyway? He's just the MVP for the second year in a row. Yeah, let's get rid of him. Even though I'll never forgive Dallas for that, I still don't think I can root for the Spurs. I hate their owner. I used to work with him about 30 years ago because of some irritating interpersonal interactions between us. Yes, I hold a grudge.
America held hostage day 1560
Bushism of the day:
"If the terriers and bariffs are torn down, this economy will grow."
Blood Work, Stevie Nash and What the Hell is Wrong with Pat Riley?
Women are always complaining about men's fascination with breasts. But what if men were absolutely indifferent to breasts? What would women do then with these things that serve one function once or twice in a lifetime, and the rest of the time are just in the way? ~ Jonathan Carroll
I just got back from an extended trip for radiation. After they irradiated me, I had to visit my doctor. That means he pulls my hospital gown down and looks at the place where the other girl used to be. I don't care. I'm so accustomed to having strangers look at my breasts that I'm thinking of doing a calendar or something. I guess I'd need to wait until the left girl gets reconstructed. Very few people find mastectomy scars worth paying for.
After the doctor visit, I had to go do blood work. I have to do that four more times at various intervals, so I came back to work and wrote "blood work" on those dates in my calendar. I started thinking about how weird that looks written on my calendar. That's when it occurred to me that there should be a band somewhere with that name, don't you think? Blood Work performing Saturday at Emo's? It's one of those names that could go with any type of music--alt, country, jazz, rap. Someone needs to get busy on this. Get a band, people.
Why oh why do they only bring on the good NBA playoff games after my bed time? It breaks my heart that I wasn't able to watch the Phoenix game last night. The NBA needs to schedule the Detroit-Cavs game at 10:00 and bring on little Stevie Nash early.
I'm thinking the Miami game might be really competitive. Poor Pat Riley. He's coaching alright, but when you look at his eyes, he's looking really depressed. He should quit coaching and go grieve his mother's passing. Or maybe he's just depressed that his team appears to be ignoring him. I hate it that he's started dyeing his hair now that he's back in the coaching biz. What's that all about, I wonder? I think he went back to coaching because Phil did. He's very competitive with Phil Jackson. It must give him some solace that Phil's sittting at home right about now, wondering why Kobe wouldn't take any shots in the second quarter of the seventh game. I know it makes me feel better.
The Mavs-Spurs game is starting at 8:00-ish tonight. All of my co-workers are rooting for the Spurs. I used to be a big Mavs fan, but they let Steve Nash go to Phoenix. What idiots. Who needs Steve Nash, anyway? He's just the MVP for the second year in a row. Yeah, let's get rid of him. Even though I'll never forgive Dallas for that, I still don't think I can root for the Spurs. I hate their owner. I used to work with him about 30 years ago because of some irritating interpersonal interactions between us. Yes, I hold a grudge.
America held hostage day 1560
Bushism of the day:
"If the terriers and bariffs are torn down, this economy will grow."
Kobe
“Serious sport is war minus the shooting.” ~ George Orwell
Even though I have some critically important business to take care of, I spent my pre-radiation morning searching the Internet for just one snotty editorial about Kobe. I couldn't find anything. What the hell is wrong with people? The fact that Kobe took three shots in the second half of the seventh game is what? Just fine with you? Okay, okay. I'll just do it myself. Jesus.
I used to be something of a Kobe fan. When he first entered the League, he was a bit of a hot dog, but I figured that was okay because he was twelve or thirteen, right? He was obviously pheonemenally gifted. When you're young and gifted, it's not uncommon to be a little arrogant. I was when I was a young person and I was in no way as talented as he. Hey, I'm a forgiving kind of person and I loved watching him play.
As time went on, it seemed likely that L.A. was going to have to build a new arena just to house Kobe's enormous ego. When he came to play, he could just check the ego in next door because it was way to big to fit in the locker room with the rest of the guys.
Then there was the Shaq, Phil and Kobe thing. I wasn't a big Shaq fan (that's another story) and even Phil's luster dimmed a bit (yet another story), but when Kobe single-handedly broke up the juggernaut of basketball, the Lakers, I had had just about enough of young Kobe.
I'm sure you can guess what the clencher was--the rape allegation. The kid who got on so famously with his family, was polite and God-fearing showed the other side of the mask. Not such a nice guy after all. At the very least, he cheated on his wife and then made her show up at that pathetic news conference to convince us that she was standing by her man. As an aside, I bet Kobe still has to check in with Vanessa every five minutes or so when he's out of town.
At worst, he sexually assaulted someone. Either way, I was fed up with young Kobe.
I haven't liked Kobe in at least a year or so and I'm always excited by the prospect of the Lakers being beaten (even though I'm a big fan of Luke Walton). Game 7 was one of the best days of my life. (Yes, I know exactly how sad that is.) Even when Kobe was actually trying, Steve Nash et al were torching them. Then he just quit.
He didn't want to play anymore. He wanted to take his toys and go home. Fuck the home town fans, even if one of them is Jack Nicholson. As far as I can tell, Kobe hasn't provided us with any good explanation for his uselessness. Was he pouting? Was he just letting us all know how much better he is than his team mates? Maybe he was irritated with his team members because they weren't stepping it up. I certainly have no idea, but I hope he spends the summer thinking a lot about why they were out of the play offs in the first round.
As for me, it's been a very, very good playoff season already.
America held hostage day 1556.
Bushism of the day:
"Now, we talked to Joan Hanover. She and her husband, George, were visiting with us. They are near retirement—retiring —in the process of retiring, meaning they're very smart, active, capable people who are retirement age and are retiring."—Alexandria, Va., Feb. 12, 2003
Radiation, basketball and Bush
Radiation. I started radiation therapy yesterday and had another treatment today. It's pretty bizarre. I first went there for a "simulation," where they have you lie on a table with a bean bag under the area which will be irradiated. Somehow, after you leave and before your next appointment, the bean bag hardens sort of like a cast. It ensures that you are always in exactly the same position so that the radiation will be delivered to that exact spot. They take measurements which are entered into a computer. That involves a lot of pushing and pulling by people while you're lying on the incredibly uncomfortable table. They take some x-rays and you're good to go.
The actual treatment is relatively quick. The machine moves around you while you try to stay completely still and relaxed. I've spent my time meditating because it's the best way for me to just let go physically. Everyone leaves the room, of course, while radiation is being delivered. It's just you and the machine. When you're finished, they hang your bean bag up like a body bag or something.
My treatment will continue for 33 days, five days a week. I get to have the weekends off to recuperate. I'm not allowed to wear a bra while we're doing this because of the potential for chafing and, thus, infection. I'm still trying to get accustomed to not having a prosthesis. I wear cotton tee shirts (required) and then a loose button-up shirt over it. That's supposed to disguise the fact that I only have one breast. It doesn't really work.
I decided that, since I look weird anyway, I might as well go without my wig for a while. I drive around without it all of the time because it's extremely hot. At work, I've been wearing a pink baseball cap, whether or not it matches the rest of the clothes I have on. It hasn't for the past two days. I'm working up to not wearing anything; it's suprisingly difficult. It's become an incredibly intimate act to allow others to see me bald. I'm actually more comfortable letting them see I only have one breast.
Basketball. Luckily, we're in the middle of basketball playoff season. I've been so tired lately that I tend to sleep during at least some portion of every game. I sleep sitting up on the sofa. It's actually pretty impressive. My team is officially the Knicks, but since they still suck, I've had to whore myself out to other teams. I'm pretty much into Phoenix right not, which will probably mean they're doomed to lose. Whenever I support a team, they start losing. Teams should start paying me not to support them.
I'm also fond of Detroit, but I still have trouble getting over the whole Joe Dumars, Dennis Rodman period. I really hated them then and, even though they've left their thug-ish ways behind, some kernel of distaste for the team remains.
Dallas used to be one of my teams until they managed to lose Steve Nash and Michael Findley. I'm never going to be able to forgive them for that. My co-workers are all crazed about San Antonio, but I hate the owner of the Spurs so I'm not as fond of the team as they are.
The best news is that L.A. lost last night. That means Kobe lost. I really loathe Kobe...along with virtually everyone else in America.
Bush. Speaking of loathing. Can his poll numbers continue to tank? Yes, I believe they can. What the fuck were all of the people who voted for him thinking? Did anyone read the news during the buildup to war in Iraq? Apparently not. Of course, our journalists haven't made it easy to find the truth. I think they've just gotten so sensitive about their alleged political bias that they just fell all over themselves sucking up to W. God forbid that the American people know the truth about The Moron. It's just so much more important to not be thought of as having a "liberal bias."
I could go on and on with this, but suffice it to say that I'm happy that the poll numbers continue to slide southward. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, folks.
Medical Malpractice
Please read the below email from the mother of medical malpractice victim, Michael Skolnik. As the Senate prepares for debate on legislation that will restrict the rights of families like the Skolniks, we need to make sure her voice is heard. Please read, post to blogs, and forward to as many people as possible. - Kristin
My name is Patty Skolnik and my son was the victim of medical malpractice. Please read my story and forward to others so we can prevent this from happening to other families.
In September 2001 my 23-year-old son Michael passed out.
A CT scan showed that he might have a colloid cyst in his brain. I consulted with a neurosurgeon, who said it was urgent to place Michael in ICU.
The neurosurgeon did not mince words, claiming that Michael was lucky he had not died when he passed out. He needed a ventricular drain put in his skull immediately to drain cerebral spinal fluids and would have to have brain surgery within two days.
Shortly after Michael arrived in his hospital room, a nurse holding a hand drill arrived to assist the doctor in putting in the ventricular drain. They used the hand drill to make the hole to insert the drain.
Michael's three hour surgery spiraled into a six hour ordeal. The surgeon came back and said he never found a cyst, but had to do "heavy manipulation" of my son's brain.
Then he took the weekend off.
The neurosurgeon's pressure to rush Michael into surgery turned out to be unwarranted, which became clear after further examination of the CT scan.
We then endured a thirty-two month nightmare of brain surgeries, infections, pulmonary embolisms, blood clots, and eventually paralysis. Our medical bills exceeded more than $4,000,000. All consequences of a procedure that was totally unnecessary.
After five months in ICU and rehabilitation, Michael was paralyzed on one side of his body, fifty percent blind in both eyes, had no short term memory, suffered a severe seizure disorder, and was psychotic. All consequences of a procedure that was totally unnecessary.
On June 2004, Michael had a severe seizure after the attending nurse fell asleep while she was supposed to be monitoring him. During the seizure, Michael aspirated vomit and other fluids, which then went into his lungs because the nurse was not available to turn him on his side. When Michael was finally rushed by ambulance to the hospital, it was already too late. The fluids on his lungs led to pneumonia.
Three days later, Michael looked his father in the eyes, mouthed the words, "I love you," and died.
Congress is about to debate a bill that would determine that my son's life, and anyone else killed by a medical negligence is worth no more than $250,000. Shouldn't judges and juries decide this on a case by case basis, not Congress from Washington, DC?
If you believe this "one size fits all" approach is wrong, please forward my family's story to everyone you know and tell your senator by going to
http://action.peopleoverprofits.org/action/index.asp?step=2&" title="http://action.peopleoverprofits.org/action/index.asp?step=2&" target="_blank"http://action.peopleoverprofi...;item=29881.
Please forward my story to others. I know that nothing can be done to change what happened to Michael, but I hope that if we keep the laws strong maybe people will be more careful in the future and no one will ever have to go through what our family had to.
