Ignorance
09.06.05 (1:23 pm) [edit]
"Ignorance is like a delicate flower: touch it and the bloom is gone." ~ Oscar Wilde
As is so frequently the case, I was up to absolutely nothing over the Labor Day weekend. I'm still obsessed with this rash that arose the day after I had my last surgery. I don't think they're related. My g.p. thinks it's poison ivy to which, up until this moment, I was not allergic. She prescribed some hydrocortisone cream and prednisone. The cream was working for a while, it seemed, but then new outbreaks are occurring on my hand. I look like a fucking leper. I broke down and started taking the prednisone. I don't like it that my auto-immune system is now compromised for however long I take it. Worst of all, though, is that jittery feeling that comes over me. I'm having enough difficulty in managing my anxiety without feeding it a little more with this drug.
Hubby and I rented a Sundance movie, "Dirty Filthy Love," was the title, I think. It's about a man with ocd and Tourette's Sydrome. He had no idea what was wrong with him, nor did anyone else in his life. He lost his job, his wife, his self esteem. You get the picture. He started going to a support group, although what it was supporting was never made particularly clear. The big moment, at the end of the film, is when he recognizes that he's always been that way. I don't know. Parts of it seemed a little funny, but both of those particular afflictions take a huge toll on people. Laughing at it didn't feel very good.
When I was about 23, I was taking the Grayhound bus from the city where my parents lived back to where I was living. There was no direct airline service between these two cities, but you could fly the last leg of the journey in one of those little crop duster planes. I had my book and was settled into studiously avoiding anyone sitting anywhere near me. I was successful until there was something of a commotion in one of the seats behind me. At first, I wasn't sure what I was hearing, it seemed so unlikely. The woman behind me was barking. I knew nothing about Tourette Syndrome and I would bet money that no one else on that bus knew anything about it, either. In what I suspect was a pre-emptive defensive activity, the woman actually got out of her seat and was offering candy to everyone on the bus. I think it was the kind that comes in little individual wrappers. I don't know if anyone ever took her up on the offer. She looked like a person who probably needed a visit to a psychiatric institution. Her eyes had dark circles underneath and she looked a little dishevelled. Many years later, when I learned about Tourette Syndrome, I remembered her with great sadness. I wish I had known. Sometimes acknowledging a person's humanity can be as simple as accepting a piece of candy and saying thank you.
After deciding I could read just a tiny bit in my "Living Through Breast Cancer" book, I was demoralized once again. I have yet to find even one sentence in that book that hasn't upset me. I know that's what happens; it happens every single time I open the damn book. Nonetheless, I don't seem to be able to stop myself. I'll think, "Oh, this part will be okay. This is past all of the torture stuff." Finally, I've figured it out. I can not have the book in my house. My mother volunteered to take it and she even offered to read it. I don't really wish for her to read it because it's too upsetting. Obviously, I don't have any control over whether she reads it, so I've let that go. As she started to leave with the book on Sunday, I had this panic attack and I tried to get it back from her. She's not going to give me the book back. Damn.
I've moved on to a book written by Bernie Siegel, M.D. He's a surgeon who's handled a lot of cancer cases. I had to call a halt to reading that book because his premise is that those of us who get cancer do so because they've given up on life. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Isn't that just blaming the victim? I have most certainly not given up on life. Sometimes I take a brief hiatus, but I always regain my will to engage in life. The fact that I have this blog is ample evidence that I haven't give up anything. I have, in fact, reclaimed something that I'd stopped doing long ago. If I was going to give up on life, I would have done it in 1965, after my suicide attempt. I guess I'm going to finish the book--because I compulsively do that--but I don't agree with his central premise.
America held hostage day 1432
Bushism of the day:
$117 billion."
—Bush, promoting his Health and Fitness Initiative
Source: The White House, "President Bush Highlights Health and Fitness Initiative: Remarks by the President on Fitness," July 18, 2003
Website of the day: Tourette Syndrome Association
http://www.tsa-usa.org/" title="http://www.tsa-usa.org/" target="_blank"http://www.tsa-usa.org/
As is so frequently the case, I was up to absolutely nothing over the Labor Day weekend. I'm still obsessed with this rash that arose the day after I had my last surgery. I don't think they're related. My g.p. thinks it's poison ivy to which, up until this moment, I was not allergic. She prescribed some hydrocortisone cream and prednisone. The cream was working for a while, it seemed, but then new outbreaks are occurring on my hand. I look like a fucking leper. I broke down and started taking the prednisone. I don't like it that my auto-immune system is now compromised for however long I take it. Worst of all, though, is that jittery feeling that comes over me. I'm having enough difficulty in managing my anxiety without feeding it a little more with this drug.
Hubby and I rented a Sundance movie, "Dirty Filthy Love," was the title, I think. It's about a man with ocd and Tourette's Sydrome. He had no idea what was wrong with him, nor did anyone else in his life. He lost his job, his wife, his self esteem. You get the picture. He started going to a support group, although what it was supporting was never made particularly clear. The big moment, at the end of the film, is when he recognizes that he's always been that way. I don't know. Parts of it seemed a little funny, but both of those particular afflictions take a huge toll on people. Laughing at it didn't feel very good.
When I was about 23, I was taking the Grayhound bus from the city where my parents lived back to where I was living. There was no direct airline service between these two cities, but you could fly the last leg of the journey in one of those little crop duster planes. I had my book and was settled into studiously avoiding anyone sitting anywhere near me. I was successful until there was something of a commotion in one of the seats behind me. At first, I wasn't sure what I was hearing, it seemed so unlikely. The woman behind me was barking. I knew nothing about Tourette Syndrome and I would bet money that no one else on that bus knew anything about it, either. In what I suspect was a pre-emptive defensive activity, the woman actually got out of her seat and was offering candy to everyone on the bus. I think it was the kind that comes in little individual wrappers. I don't know if anyone ever took her up on the offer. She looked like a person who probably needed a visit to a psychiatric institution. Her eyes had dark circles underneath and she looked a little dishevelled. Many years later, when I learned about Tourette Syndrome, I remembered her with great sadness. I wish I had known. Sometimes acknowledging a person's humanity can be as simple as accepting a piece of candy and saying thank you.
After deciding I could read just a tiny bit in my "Living Through Breast Cancer" book, I was demoralized once again. I have yet to find even one sentence in that book that hasn't upset me. I know that's what happens; it happens every single time I open the damn book. Nonetheless, I don't seem to be able to stop myself. I'll think, "Oh, this part will be okay. This is past all of the torture stuff." Finally, I've figured it out. I can not have the book in my house. My mother volunteered to take it and she even offered to read it. I don't really wish for her to read it because it's too upsetting. Obviously, I don't have any control over whether she reads it, so I've let that go. As she started to leave with the book on Sunday, I had this panic attack and I tried to get it back from her. She's not going to give me the book back. Damn.
I've moved on to a book written by Bernie Siegel, M.D. He's a surgeon who's handled a lot of cancer cases. I had to call a halt to reading that book because his premise is that those of us who get cancer do so because they've given up on life. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Isn't that just blaming the victim? I have most certainly not given up on life. Sometimes I take a brief hiatus, but I always regain my will to engage in life. The fact that I have this blog is ample evidence that I haven't give up anything. I have, in fact, reclaimed something that I'd stopped doing long ago. If I was going to give up on life, I would have done it in 1965, after my suicide attempt. I guess I'm going to finish the book--because I compulsively do that--but I don't agree with his central premise.
America held hostage day 1432
Bushism of the day:
$117 billion."
—Bush, promoting his Health and Fitness Initiative
Source: The White House, "President Bush Highlights Health and Fitness Initiative: Remarks by the President on Fitness," July 18, 2003
Website of the day: Tourette Syndrome Association
http://www.tsa-usa.org/" title="http://www.tsa-usa.org/" target="_blank"http://www.tsa-usa.org/
