Even while worsened eyesight and the latest leg crisis combine with other responsibilities to keep me away from my writing, including this blog, the international spammers have kept passing but constant attention to the blog. Real readers wouldn’t notice, because most of my actions have been to delete the link spam posted as comments.
The spam is obvious to me on so many levels. I’m not pounded soft by the empty and insincere compliments to how well written an article is or how I must be an authority on "this topic." I’m not taken in by compliments to the appearance or layout and do not feel the need to give free coaching to people asking what software I use to create the blog. I’m not even going to address the people who post with the advice that the blog needs "more" pictures. This is a blog by and mostly for blind people.
Most of the link spam is posted anonymously. It makes me think back to an online conversation I had with fellow writer Brandon Bell when he was being harassed by someone posting anonymously to his blog. There have been a couple friends or readers who posted legitimately, and I do not want to limit them. I also believe that limited comments in any way can inadvertently lay a foundation for censorship. No one has to agree with me, we just need to disagree respectfully.
Censorship opposition aside, the idea of this blog is to force myself to communicate the experiences of vision loss and diabetes and the other problems that arise. Most of the questions friends and acquaintances have but feel impolite to ask can be answered here. Judging from search engine hits, many other people have gotten useful information among these posts. It’s not a commercial site. If I am not even trying to make money off of it, I see no reason to allow people across the world to post a pasted comments on my blog along with who knows how many other, just so they can end with a link to their commercial sites that hawk things like trick teas, rascally raspberries, gimmicks for overall weight loss or specific weight gain solely to the penis, supplements and non-American approved drugs, cosmetics, prostitution, and the worst among others, boner pills. Do these assholes really think I will allow boner pill links when I have maintained the most frequent label tag as "Cialis = Blindness"?
The spam filters here work very well, and what garbage they do miss, I am quick to delete.
Showing posts with label Feedback. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Feedback. Show all posts
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Feelings of Abandonment
I have not abandoned this blog, despite the lack of a new post since April. (Forthcoming case in point, no sooner did I write that one line on June 4th when I was distracted away and unable to get back.)
Now it’s July 6th and I believe I can finish a hasty missive.
2013 has left me with an overwhelming sense of loss. On top of reduced capabilities and an attrition of friends, over the time since the eye problems began, I started the year with poor feelings for having sold my car. I can accept the inability to drive more than no longer owning a vehicle.
As the year progressed, I had an eye procedure that brought complication and less result than anyone had hoped. My father passed away, I noticed that the Crow boot-bound leg is losing muscle mass and even routine things took more effort. Even further reduced exertion was more than I found I could handle. I’ve had to give up more, especially when "over" exertion inflamed the tendon in my leg, which re-triggered the Charcot Foot inflammation and ended up ulcerating the ankle. The hole was larger than a silver dollar. More than three months later, it’s about the size of a penny or nickel.
I suffered the worsened by moving prized possessions to a venue for their sale. Despite the pride in ownership, this stuff is heavy and bulky and useless to a blind guy. Removal became critical because the fact that my apartment–in a house I own–is no longer livable for me, even before the reduced eyesight and worsened leg. There’s 34 steps between the street and my apartment; 48 between the street and my bedroom. It’s hard enough getting in the house empty handed. Groceries are outright burdensome.
The eyesight, particularly effects of and adjustment to changes in light, is worse. This limits everything, including functional computer time. Work on fiction projects has stagnated as much as the blog while I try to close out responsibilities and roll with the changes.
Things are looking less bleak. My guardian angels may be masochists, but they are on the job!
Now it’s July 6th and I believe I can finish a hasty missive.
2013 has left me with an overwhelming sense of loss. On top of reduced capabilities and an attrition of friends, over the time since the eye problems began, I started the year with poor feelings for having sold my car. I can accept the inability to drive more than no longer owning a vehicle.
As the year progressed, I had an eye procedure that brought complication and less result than anyone had hoped. My father passed away, I noticed that the Crow boot-bound leg is losing muscle mass and even routine things took more effort. Even further reduced exertion was more than I found I could handle. I’ve had to give up more, especially when "over" exertion inflamed the tendon in my leg, which re-triggered the Charcot Foot inflammation and ended up ulcerating the ankle. The hole was larger than a silver dollar. More than three months later, it’s about the size of a penny or nickel.
I suffered the worsened by moving prized possessions to a venue for their sale. Despite the pride in ownership, this stuff is heavy and bulky and useless to a blind guy. Removal became critical because the fact that my apartment–in a house I own–is no longer livable for me, even before the reduced eyesight and worsened leg. There’s 34 steps between the street and my apartment; 48 between the street and my bedroom. It’s hard enough getting in the house empty handed. Groceries are outright burdensome.
The eyesight, particularly effects of and adjustment to changes in light, is worse. This limits everything, including functional computer time. Work on fiction projects has stagnated as much as the blog while I try to close out responsibilities and roll with the changes.
Things are looking less bleak. My guardian angels may be masochists, but they are on the job!
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Insensitive
Long story short on the latest malady:
I over-exerted from the third week of March through the first week of April, with a steady increase in activity. This caused no immediate strain, but inflamed the bad tendon, which inflamed the Charcot Foot, which caused the ulceration of my ankle. The open wound is typically encased in a Crow Boot, which is a tight, foam-lined brace that supports the permanently I have to wear the Crow Boot at all times or risk further ankle collapse whenever I put weight on the right leg. The Crow Boot can be very warm on the leg, and a symptom of Charcot Foot itself is temperature of the foot that can be seven degrees Celsius above the rest of the body.
This forms the ideal conditions for bacterial growth, dark and warm and moist. The problem getting so bad so fast is not a sign that I am a bad diabetic who does not take care of himself. It is a matter that I am a diabetic with nerve damage who could not feel the break in the skin on the foot. I am a blind diabetic who could not see the break in the foot, or blood on a dark sock.
Two things made me aware of the problem. The first was a lingering smell. I wondered what the bad smell was in the kitchen. I noticed it in another room. I thought the cat box in the bathroom had a funky odor. When I went to bed that night, the smell from the removed boot was overpowering. I happened to notice that the sock was wet, but not in a uniformly sweaty way. I touched what is normally a rough, dry area of skin and squished my finger in a wet hole.
I called a tenant who helps me out a lot. He came over and we cleaned things up. He found my emergency pack of antibiotics and I started those.
By specific criteria, he agreed with my decision not to go to an emergency room that night, but to get in contact with my regular foot doctor in the morning. This decision was not for financial reasons, but logistical ones. The truth is, Charcot Foot is not all that common and many doctors will not recognize it. Many, in the course of good and reasonable treatment, will do things that will increase the risk of Charcot Foot leading to amputation. I felt safer going to my doc–Thomas Mancini of North Providence–rather than to someone who I could only hope would not make things worse. I’ve been there and done that.
Dr. Mancini saw me that day. He cut away some dead tissue and was surprised by the amount of bleeding. Nerve damage is not the same thing as circulation problems. He prescribed Augmentin, a powerful antibiotic. I am making a concentrated effort to stay off the leg and keep the boot off when I can so the wound can breathe. I did catch the problem soon enough that the infection had not reached bone or flooded my system. The antibiotics knock me out a bit, but do not bother my stomach. I will be staying on them (and off the leg as much as possible) until the wound is healed up.
This may sound odd from a blind limpy guy, but I am lucky.
I over-exerted from the third week of March through the first week of April, with a steady increase in activity. This caused no immediate strain, but inflamed the bad tendon, which inflamed the Charcot Foot, which caused the ulceration of my ankle. The open wound is typically encased in a Crow Boot, which is a tight, foam-lined brace that supports the permanently I have to wear the Crow Boot at all times or risk further ankle collapse whenever I put weight on the right leg. The Crow Boot can be very warm on the leg, and a symptom of Charcot Foot itself is temperature of the foot that can be seven degrees Celsius above the rest of the body.
This forms the ideal conditions for bacterial growth, dark and warm and moist. The problem getting so bad so fast is not a sign that I am a bad diabetic who does not take care of himself. It is a matter that I am a diabetic with nerve damage who could not feel the break in the skin on the foot. I am a blind diabetic who could not see the break in the foot, or blood on a dark sock.
Two things made me aware of the problem. The first was a lingering smell. I wondered what the bad smell was in the kitchen. I noticed it in another room. I thought the cat box in the bathroom had a funky odor. When I went to bed that night, the smell from the removed boot was overpowering. I happened to notice that the sock was wet, but not in a uniformly sweaty way. I touched what is normally a rough, dry area of skin and squished my finger in a wet hole.
I called a tenant who helps me out a lot. He came over and we cleaned things up. He found my emergency pack of antibiotics and I started those.
By specific criteria, he agreed with my decision not to go to an emergency room that night, but to get in contact with my regular foot doctor in the morning. This decision was not for financial reasons, but logistical ones. The truth is, Charcot Foot is not all that common and many doctors will not recognize it. Many, in the course of good and reasonable treatment, will do things that will increase the risk of Charcot Foot leading to amputation. I felt safer going to my doc–Thomas Mancini of North Providence–rather than to someone who I could only hope would not make things worse. I’ve been there and done that.
Dr. Mancini saw me that day. He cut away some dead tissue and was surprised by the amount of bleeding. Nerve damage is not the same thing as circulation problems. He prescribed Augmentin, a powerful antibiotic. I am making a concentrated effort to stay off the leg and keep the boot off when I can so the wound can breathe. I did catch the problem soon enough that the infection had not reached bone or flooded my system. The antibiotics knock me out a bit, but do not bother my stomach. I will be staying on them (and off the leg as much as possible) until the wound is healed up.
This may sound odd from a blind limpy guy, but I am lucky.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Life and Limb
Yes, the blog’s been neglected this month. So has everything else. The new hole in my ankle is my excuse and my valid reason.
The Charcot Foot has relapsed with new complications. People who have read the older posts about the Charcot development may remember that I did not get Charcot Foot in a normal way. It is an esoteric diabetic thing, but normally stems from unfelt breaks or fractures in the foot. Mine resulted from tendon damage. During a "second" stage of Phase One, my circulation reduced During that time when nutrients could not find effective delivery to my swollen foot, the central bones of my ankle collapsed and a minor toe problem gangrened inside of three days. Luckily, somehow I did not have any part of the foot or toe amputated, although some meat was shaved off of the big toe. I’ve been in a Crow Boot since to reinforce the structural weakness of my ankle.
I am now a patient of podiatrist Thomas Mancini, who has offices in North Providence and East Greenwich Rhode Island. Doctor Mancini did great by me in every way. Instead of rehashing the bad things involved in last year’s mess, I’ll refer newer readers to the label for "Sturdy Hospital" and an old post titled "Doctor Dumbass."
So what went wrong this time? I over-exerted. I had to be a little more active with some things through the final weeks of March. That bothered the leg tendon in the thigh somewhat. Just having to walk to the adjoining building from my apartment is some 75 stairs each way. Having to make that walk so many times took more out of me than "it should."
April started with a project of moving things out of the house and setting up for sales in a booth at an antique co op. I arranged to hire an old friend ahead of time, a big brawny guy who can handle moving 40 boxes better than a limpy gimpy blind guy can. The fault in that plan was in hiring someone without a job. This friend has not outgrown his lazy streak since we’d had more exposure to each other. He called on the appointed day with supposed willingness but plenty of work-aversion ideas and theories. I went to the back up plans, which required more direct effort of me and did not get the entire project done in one day. It’s still not finished.
The efforts inflamed the tendon from toe to groin. This re-triggered the Charcot Foot. The foot swelled. Being trapped in a fitted brace that was now too tight, the collapsed ankle bone ulcerated the inside of the ankle against the boot. The Crow Boot is tight and warm, an ideal environment for bacterial growth.
My roommate was away that week. I can neither see nor really feel a problem on that lower leg. I realized it was infected by the smell.
Infection on that leg is literal risk to life and limb. Unchecked, an infection can flood my entire body pretty quickly, or it can root into local bones and necessitate removal of those bones and the part of the leg they form.
The Charcot Foot has relapsed with new complications. People who have read the older posts about the Charcot development may remember that I did not get Charcot Foot in a normal way. It is an esoteric diabetic thing, but normally stems from unfelt breaks or fractures in the foot. Mine resulted from tendon damage. During a "second" stage of Phase One, my circulation reduced During that time when nutrients could not find effective delivery to my swollen foot, the central bones of my ankle collapsed and a minor toe problem gangrened inside of three days. Luckily, somehow I did not have any part of the foot or toe amputated, although some meat was shaved off of the big toe. I’ve been in a Crow Boot since to reinforce the structural weakness of my ankle.
I am now a patient of podiatrist Thomas Mancini, who has offices in North Providence and East Greenwich Rhode Island. Doctor Mancini did great by me in every way. Instead of rehashing the bad things involved in last year’s mess, I’ll refer newer readers to the label for "Sturdy Hospital" and an old post titled "Doctor Dumbass."
So what went wrong this time? I over-exerted. I had to be a little more active with some things through the final weeks of March. That bothered the leg tendon in the thigh somewhat. Just having to walk to the adjoining building from my apartment is some 75 stairs each way. Having to make that walk so many times took more out of me than "it should."
April started with a project of moving things out of the house and setting up for sales in a booth at an antique co op. I arranged to hire an old friend ahead of time, a big brawny guy who can handle moving 40 boxes better than a limpy gimpy blind guy can. The fault in that plan was in hiring someone without a job. This friend has not outgrown his lazy streak since we’d had more exposure to each other. He called on the appointed day with supposed willingness but plenty of work-aversion ideas and theories. I went to the back up plans, which required more direct effort of me and did not get the entire project done in one day. It’s still not finished.
The efforts inflamed the tendon from toe to groin. This re-triggered the Charcot Foot. The foot swelled. Being trapped in a fitted brace that was now too tight, the collapsed ankle bone ulcerated the inside of the ankle against the boot. The Crow Boot is tight and warm, an ideal environment for bacterial growth.
My roommate was away that week. I can neither see nor really feel a problem on that lower leg. I realized it was infected by the smell.
Infection on that leg is literal risk to life and limb. Unchecked, an infection can flood my entire body pretty quickly, or it can root into local bones and necessitate removal of those bones and the part of the leg they form.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Adjusting the Dividing Lines
It’s been nearly three and a half years since the vitreous hemorrhage that started the permanent decline in vision and other diabetic related maladies. I’ve dealt with it OK, admirably, according to some people. I find irony that some of my personal strengths that have gotten me through these days and years are the same elements that did (and still do) grate on other people.
I’m not a warm and fuzzy guy. There’s a cold center beneath a warm midrange beneath a somewhat icy shell. Not everyone sees that. Cordial introductions can make people overestimate my social demeanor. Introductions made with a cool distance can lend opposite perceptions. Neither extreme is either wholly true nor untrue.
I’m cold and analytical. I judge no one but appraise everyone. Depending on where and how I know the other person, my appraisals often are twofold, personal and professional. Nobody’s all good or all bad, no one’s better than me and I’m not better than anyone else. I don’t force my way into others’ conversations with a driving need to express my opinion, yet have no fear of calling a spade a spade, or a diamond a diamond. I can come across as a wise ass, a know it all, a cold hard ass, a sympathetic shoulder, a passionate debater or a non-caring stone. They’re all legitimate parts of me, and different people tend to bring out different aspects under different circumstances. Under all circumstances, I stay true to myself. I don’t pander or jump through hoops for anyone, but compromise easily to find common ground with compromising people.
It’s those who don’t compromise from their own ways and desires who have had the greatest problems with me. Making friends by burying all my thoughts and needs for others never struck me as worth it. Those people can be very loyal, but only for as long as they are getting their own way. I’ve recognized since early adulthood that no one can be liked by everybody, and too often, the harder someone tries, the less they succeed.
That subtle and easily overlooked willingness to compromise and let others live as they would on their side of any dividing lines has also served me well, even when also being some of the greatest hardship to my adjustment. I have to learn to compromise on my own turf more, learn to accept help and adjust to things I can no longer do or control for myself.
That process of adjustment is still underway.
I’m not a warm and fuzzy guy. There’s a cold center beneath a warm midrange beneath a somewhat icy shell. Not everyone sees that. Cordial introductions can make people overestimate my social demeanor. Introductions made with a cool distance can lend opposite perceptions. Neither extreme is either wholly true nor untrue.
I’m cold and analytical. I judge no one but appraise everyone. Depending on where and how I know the other person, my appraisals often are twofold, personal and professional. Nobody’s all good or all bad, no one’s better than me and I’m not better than anyone else. I don’t force my way into others’ conversations with a driving need to express my opinion, yet have no fear of calling a spade a spade, or a diamond a diamond. I can come across as a wise ass, a know it all, a cold hard ass, a sympathetic shoulder, a passionate debater or a non-caring stone. They’re all legitimate parts of me, and different people tend to bring out different aspects under different circumstances. Under all circumstances, I stay true to myself. I don’t pander or jump through hoops for anyone, but compromise easily to find common ground with compromising people.
It’s those who don’t compromise from their own ways and desires who have had the greatest problems with me. Making friends by burying all my thoughts and needs for others never struck me as worth it. Those people can be very loyal, but only for as long as they are getting their own way. I’ve recognized since early adulthood that no one can be liked by everybody, and too often, the harder someone tries, the less they succeed.
That subtle and easily overlooked willingness to compromise and let others live as they would on their side of any dividing lines has also served me well, even when also being some of the greatest hardship to my adjustment. I have to learn to compromise on my own turf more, learn to accept help and adjust to things I can no longer do or control for myself.
That process of adjustment is still underway.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Finding Accomplishment
I get compliments on how well I handle my situation, this limpy-gimpy blind guy routine. Some compliments are direct by words. Others, demonstrated through actions, mean even more.
Things are a struggle, daily and continuously. I’m stating that clearly, without whining about it.
In some ways, I could cope better. My roommate demonstrates awe for my struggle. He says he could not handle it as well. I disagree, because he likes being taken care of. I built my life on self sufficiency, and that has been the greatest loss overall. I know my roommate likes having someone do all his shopping, meal prep and driving. He would not feel an inappropriate shade of shame when he needs to be led from the car to any unfamiliar building. I know this for certain as a roommate and a former employee. He can feel accomplishment for having requested or ordered something to be done and come back later to find things squared away. I always found accomplishment in doing for (and often by) myself.
I still cook, not as well as I once did, but with remarkably few mishaps. On bad days, it is an accomplishment to pour my own coffee and bring it to another room without spilling it. I’ve learned to find accomplishment in small things. I could never paint a fresh even coat in a room again, but I can still change locks.
I believe that luck is an exchange of fortunes and misfortunes that all evens out in the end, between individuals if not for one individual. This whole eye thing, that’s bad luck that forever stole so many of the things that had provided me true happiness. I’ve trudged and limped on since then. The exchange of luck came with my writing. At about the same time as the blood hemorrhage, I started being published regularly. This blog gets good readership, especially since I don’t advertise it outside my website, email signature and Facebook links. My short stories have usually been well received (usually.) I never expected to set literary or commercial worlds afire. Story submission can be grueling and brutal, more often than not a constant stream of rejection for personal and heartfelt work.. Thick skin is necessary. I learned to take pride in the small accomplishments.
My ability to submit to editors is hindered. I used to regularly review all unpublished stories that had been returned for re-submission somewhere else. I can usually now submit only one in the same timeframe. Despite my de-acquisition of responsibilities, I still get called away from the writing with frustrating regularity.
The thing most important to the overall view of my life is the first things that must be put aside. "Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans," someone said long before John Lennon popularized a similar phrase.
Things are slower with the writing as with everything, but I am plugging on.
I got real close with the very last story I've written, "Stone Soup." A big "professional" magazine, Abyss and Apex, held onto it for months beyond their normal time. They said they had been considering it closely but ultimately chose other material. A bummer, but maybe because I've been spinning my wheels with the fiction efforts so much lately, I find it very encouraging.
"Stone Soup" a Sivil Galaxi tale based on the old folktale but with a couple of my psychotic twists.
It will be available, someday.
Things are a struggle, daily and continuously. I’m stating that clearly, without whining about it.
In some ways, I could cope better. My roommate demonstrates awe for my struggle. He says he could not handle it as well. I disagree, because he likes being taken care of. I built my life on self sufficiency, and that has been the greatest loss overall. I know my roommate likes having someone do all his shopping, meal prep and driving. He would not feel an inappropriate shade of shame when he needs to be led from the car to any unfamiliar building. I know this for certain as a roommate and a former employee. He can feel accomplishment for having requested or ordered something to be done and come back later to find things squared away. I always found accomplishment in doing for (and often by) myself.
I still cook, not as well as I once did, but with remarkably few mishaps. On bad days, it is an accomplishment to pour my own coffee and bring it to another room without spilling it. I’ve learned to find accomplishment in small things. I could never paint a fresh even coat in a room again, but I can still change locks.
I believe that luck is an exchange of fortunes and misfortunes that all evens out in the end, between individuals if not for one individual. This whole eye thing, that’s bad luck that forever stole so many of the things that had provided me true happiness. I’ve trudged and limped on since then. The exchange of luck came with my writing. At about the same time as the blood hemorrhage, I started being published regularly. This blog gets good readership, especially since I don’t advertise it outside my website, email signature and Facebook links. My short stories have usually been well received (usually.) I never expected to set literary or commercial worlds afire. Story submission can be grueling and brutal, more often than not a constant stream of rejection for personal and heartfelt work.. Thick skin is necessary. I learned to take pride in the small accomplishments.
My ability to submit to editors is hindered. I used to regularly review all unpublished stories that had been returned for re-submission somewhere else. I can usually now submit only one in the same timeframe. Despite my de-acquisition of responsibilities, I still get called away from the writing with frustrating regularity.
The thing most important to the overall view of my life is the first things that must be put aside. "Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans," someone said long before John Lennon popularized a similar phrase.
Things are slower with the writing as with everything, but I am plugging on.
I got real close with the very last story I've written, "Stone Soup." A big "professional" magazine, Abyss and Apex, held onto it for months beyond their normal time. They said they had been considering it closely but ultimately chose other material. A bummer, but maybe because I've been spinning my wheels with the fiction efforts so much lately, I find it very encouraging.
"Stone Soup" a Sivil Galaxi tale based on the old folktale but with a couple of my psychotic twists.
It will be available, someday.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Forest for the Trees
"Things are never as bad as they seem
You just gotta learn to see
The forest for the trees...
"Huey Lewis, "Forest from the Trees"
I have the opposite problem from the old, often unclear expression quoted in that song. "Can’t see the forest for the trees" indicates an inability to see the whole for the individual components. In so many ways, physically and psychologically, I can’t see the details for the whole.
I can’t see what is in my vision clearly. My range of vision is also greatly reduced. At home, to walk from the living room and down the length of the house to the bathroom, I can get a sense of the hallway and know the territory, but any cat that walks under my feet gets inadvertently stepped on or kicked. I can’t focus on the end of the hall and the intervening steps. The hallway is clear unless something independently mobile puts itself in my path.
The bowling alley is a similar circumstance. I am familiar with the place. The playing area itself is one of my safest and most stable environments because lighting is consistent and the approach area is clear, all according to the sport’s rules. Navigating through the building from doors to bathrooms and lockers and the lanes I’m playing on is more difficult. I do as well as I do from years worth of familiarity with the place and massive effort. The specific invariable difficulties are inconsistent lighting, especially unshaded fluorescent lights at the front desk and vending machines. Sundays are easier than Thursdays; my locker is directly across from the lanes on which I bowl. Thursdays require navigation of the entire building. If I focus on the final destination, there’s no way to avoid all the people who will step in front of me, thinking I will see them to avoid them. With the differences in lighting, lack of contrasts and bustling people, it’s a slow walk. I need to concentrate on individual details rather than the entire environment.
Psychologically, I need to concentrate on specific trees more than the forest. There’s many things I procrastinated or delayed over the past few years, often with the thought "My vision will be better next week." That was true for a while, but did not hold true over time. I know now that there are things I will never be able to do again. The landscape of my life is littered with ongoing projects big and small that I need to complete, have someone else complete, or I need to give up on with acceptance of the impossibility for me. Becoming handicapped has been a humbling experience that has taught me to re-prioritize. I’m trying to release responsibilities in a responsible manner, make sure batons are passed in workable ways, where other people can pick up right where I left off with minimal disruption to others who are affected by the change.
My more private responsibilities and desires are harder to prioritize. There are things with eventual deadlines that I feel I should have more progress on. My fiction writing gets pushed aside for all the other things that come up. New writing is easy enough, but editing can be difficult, and my loss in acuity for reading web sites is one factor that has pushed submitting work to potential publishers into the nearly impossible category.
Slowly, and with help, I manage most things. Each task done is one less tree in the overgrown forest.
You just gotta learn to see
The forest for the trees...
"Huey Lewis, "Forest from the Trees"
I have the opposite problem from the old, often unclear expression quoted in that song. "Can’t see the forest for the trees" indicates an inability to see the whole for the individual components. In so many ways, physically and psychologically, I can’t see the details for the whole.
I can’t see what is in my vision clearly. My range of vision is also greatly reduced. At home, to walk from the living room and down the length of the house to the bathroom, I can get a sense of the hallway and know the territory, but any cat that walks under my feet gets inadvertently stepped on or kicked. I can’t focus on the end of the hall and the intervening steps. The hallway is clear unless something independently mobile puts itself in my path.
The bowling alley is a similar circumstance. I am familiar with the place. The playing area itself is one of my safest and most stable environments because lighting is consistent and the approach area is clear, all according to the sport’s rules. Navigating through the building from doors to bathrooms and lockers and the lanes I’m playing on is more difficult. I do as well as I do from years worth of familiarity with the place and massive effort. The specific invariable difficulties are inconsistent lighting, especially unshaded fluorescent lights at the front desk and vending machines. Sundays are easier than Thursdays; my locker is directly across from the lanes on which I bowl. Thursdays require navigation of the entire building. If I focus on the final destination, there’s no way to avoid all the people who will step in front of me, thinking I will see them to avoid them. With the differences in lighting, lack of contrasts and bustling people, it’s a slow walk. I need to concentrate on individual details rather than the entire environment.
Psychologically, I need to concentrate on specific trees more than the forest. There’s many things I procrastinated or delayed over the past few years, often with the thought "My vision will be better next week." That was true for a while, but did not hold true over time. I know now that there are things I will never be able to do again. The landscape of my life is littered with ongoing projects big and small that I need to complete, have someone else complete, or I need to give up on with acceptance of the impossibility for me. Becoming handicapped has been a humbling experience that has taught me to re-prioritize. I’m trying to release responsibilities in a responsible manner, make sure batons are passed in workable ways, where other people can pick up right where I left off with minimal disruption to others who are affected by the change.
My more private responsibilities and desires are harder to prioritize. There are things with eventual deadlines that I feel I should have more progress on. My fiction writing gets pushed aside for all the other things that come up. New writing is easy enough, but editing can be difficult, and my loss in acuity for reading web sites is one factor that has pushed submitting work to potential publishers into the nearly impossible category.
Slowly, and with help, I manage most things. Each task done is one less tree in the overgrown forest.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Charcot Revisited
The Charcot "sharko" Foot seems settled and healed. Perhaps I should do another visit with the good foot doctor, Thomas Mancini, before declaring that, bur I say so from observation of my own body.
The biggest "wild card" advantage I had during the Charcot cycle actually came from the retina reattachment. I was dropping prednisone into my eye, which regulated and reduced the swelling.
On the eye doctor’s advice, I ceased the prednisone. I did this with reluctance; when I tried getting off the prednisone in spring of 2012, the Charcot Foot, then erroneously declared "past Phase One according to Doctor Dumbass, flared worse than before.
This time, judging by the lack of a flare up, Phase One was truly over. The leg has not reswelled with discontinuation of the eye drop prednisone.
I had discussed the side effects of the prednisone with my eye doctor on previous occasions. She wrote off the stomach problems as a probable diabetic thing, perhaps bad kidneys. Maybe her opinion changed the morning she treated the post-victrectomy pressure build up. That was a bad morning altogether, even before she stuck a needle in my eye. Perhaps watching me retch acidic bile convinced her that the prednisone was having the stomach acid overproduction. Who knows? Maybe my puking in her trash barrel was the real reason she stuck a needle in my eye.
With the prior massive swelling of the left leg below the knee last fall, my already hindered diabetic circulation was further impaired. This had led to the gangrene infection on the toe, the problem that sent me to Sturdy Hospital in May. That all recovered nicely, without amputation but with a loss of some fleshy tissue from the big toe. More devastating, the swelling reduced circulation to the structure of the foot. I did not particularly stay off the foot, particularly with Dr. Dumbass telling me all was well. During this time, the bones could not get the nutrients they needed. Those nutrients were there; the semi-regular blood tests always show my calcium on the high end of the scale. While swelled, the center bone of the ankle and the inner portion of the hell bone weakened, rolled and collapsed. My right leg shortened about an inch, and it will never be safe for me to put weight directly on that ankle. The crow boot I wear everywhere except to bed and in the shower keeps the weight off and protects the leg with immobilization. I don’t complain about the Crow Boot. Without it, I would rely on crutches, and there’s not as much I could do with my hands otherwise occupied. The immobilization by the Crow Boot has had its own side effect. My calf muscle has diminished, to the point that it is noticeably smaller than the left calf. The Crow Boot is not a temporary cast or brace, but a permanent fixture.
It is what it is. I am accepting about it, even when I freely acknowledge that the combination of bad leg and blind eyes is a particularly difficult combination.
Difficult, but not insurmountable.
The biggest "wild card" advantage I had during the Charcot cycle actually came from the retina reattachment. I was dropping prednisone into my eye, which regulated and reduced the swelling.
On the eye doctor’s advice, I ceased the prednisone. I did this with reluctance; when I tried getting off the prednisone in spring of 2012, the Charcot Foot, then erroneously declared "past Phase One according to Doctor Dumbass, flared worse than before.
This time, judging by the lack of a flare up, Phase One was truly over. The leg has not reswelled with discontinuation of the eye drop prednisone.
I had discussed the side effects of the prednisone with my eye doctor on previous occasions. She wrote off the stomach problems as a probable diabetic thing, perhaps bad kidneys. Maybe her opinion changed the morning she treated the post-victrectomy pressure build up. That was a bad morning altogether, even before she stuck a needle in my eye. Perhaps watching me retch acidic bile convinced her that the prednisone was having the stomach acid overproduction. Who knows? Maybe my puking in her trash barrel was the real reason she stuck a needle in my eye.
With the prior massive swelling of the left leg below the knee last fall, my already hindered diabetic circulation was further impaired. This had led to the gangrene infection on the toe, the problem that sent me to Sturdy Hospital in May. That all recovered nicely, without amputation but with a loss of some fleshy tissue from the big toe. More devastating, the swelling reduced circulation to the structure of the foot. I did not particularly stay off the foot, particularly with Dr. Dumbass telling me all was well. During this time, the bones could not get the nutrients they needed. Those nutrients were there; the semi-regular blood tests always show my calcium on the high end of the scale. While swelled, the center bone of the ankle and the inner portion of the hell bone weakened, rolled and collapsed. My right leg shortened about an inch, and it will never be safe for me to put weight directly on that ankle. The crow boot I wear everywhere except to bed and in the shower keeps the weight off and protects the leg with immobilization. I don’t complain about the Crow Boot. Without it, I would rely on crutches, and there’s not as much I could do with my hands otherwise occupied. The immobilization by the Crow Boot has had its own side effect. My calf muscle has diminished, to the point that it is noticeably smaller than the left calf. The Crow Boot is not a temporary cast or brace, but a permanent fixture.
It is what it is. I am accepting about it, even when I freely acknowledge that the combination of bad leg and blind eyes is a particularly difficult combination.
Difficult, but not insurmountable.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Blocking It Out
Two things have me thinking about the mentor who took me under his wing when I was 17 and helped me find and develop and focus personal strength through my adulthood. The first was a comment on an old post here ("Finally, a Good Doctor") that asked about how I found center for my writing and overcame start of day writer’s block.
The second factor was the February 18 death of my father. This family trauma predictably ushered in a lot of family drama. I handled everything OK, maybe too well. My father and I had our rough periods. Extended family seem to fall short of understanding how I always avoided the list of disowned kids and grandkids. My family, including myself, we are not easy people. I can’t answer how I held on through specific rough times, but in general, the emphasis and a level of blind loyalty to family is something the old mentor specifically developed, sometimes even when he was also saying "You don’t go mentioning me around there." No, I am assuring my readers, the relationship with my mentor was not a form of "Greek apprenticeship."
The issues of my writing center and getting by with my family both stem to the guidance I received when I was 17 to 18. In short, the mentor had told me about negative things, "Block it out." That’s easier said than done. It’s not advice I was able to say "Yeah, sure," about and just do. I developed the skill over years. I’m still a work in progress.
I started writing at age 13 as a means of escapism. Fleeing to space now known as the Sivil Galaxi gave me a refuge when life on earth got to grim. I blocked out the grimness with distractions. I wrote longhand in those pre-PC days and carried a loose leaf notebook anywhere and everywhere. My father had times of direct pride in what I was accomplishing, but little specific encouragement or interest came from family. It’s possible that any interest they would have shown may have invaded my private places. I don’t think my father could understand that escapism aspect; when I was reading Lord of the Rings, he told me he thought only people with problems with reality read that type of thing.
I blocked out the bad things with my writing, with work, and sometimes with music. I block things out long enough to make any situation less stressful, then I deal with it head on. I have found myself both respected and despised for my tendency to be direct, my willingness to meet confrontation and call out bad behavior with some of my own, my knack of saying what other people will only think. From those kernels planted by my old mentor in 1986 and 1987, I did learn and internalize that not everyone can be pleased, and that what others say, think and do doesn’t matter if I am not treating them wrongly. There’s important distinction there; I question myself. I do not get from others or give to myself a blank slate to trample others. I hold to my beliefs and opinions without deeming those who don’t agree as automatically wrong.
I hope that earnest humility and willingness to agree to disagree comes across in the blog. I’ve seen many people’s surprise when they realize that I enforce my ethos (and pathos) only to my own life and maintain the feeling that everyone needs to make their own decisions about their own lives and tolerate everything on the other side of that line drawn in the sand.
I owe most of these unobvious good qualities to someone who helped me out so much in so many ways so long ago. His time was not wasted, and I have tried to live up to those ideals ever since.
The second factor was the February 18 death of my father. This family trauma predictably ushered in a lot of family drama. I handled everything OK, maybe too well. My father and I had our rough periods. Extended family seem to fall short of understanding how I always avoided the list of disowned kids and grandkids. My family, including myself, we are not easy people. I can’t answer how I held on through specific rough times, but in general, the emphasis and a level of blind loyalty to family is something the old mentor specifically developed, sometimes even when he was also saying "You don’t go mentioning me around there." No, I am assuring my readers, the relationship with my mentor was not a form of "Greek apprenticeship."
The issues of my writing center and getting by with my family both stem to the guidance I received when I was 17 to 18. In short, the mentor had told me about negative things, "Block it out." That’s easier said than done. It’s not advice I was able to say "Yeah, sure," about and just do. I developed the skill over years. I’m still a work in progress.
I started writing at age 13 as a means of escapism. Fleeing to space now known as the Sivil Galaxi gave me a refuge when life on earth got to grim. I blocked out the grimness with distractions. I wrote longhand in those pre-PC days and carried a loose leaf notebook anywhere and everywhere. My father had times of direct pride in what I was accomplishing, but little specific encouragement or interest came from family. It’s possible that any interest they would have shown may have invaded my private places. I don’t think my father could understand that escapism aspect; when I was reading Lord of the Rings, he told me he thought only people with problems with reality read that type of thing.
I blocked out the bad things with my writing, with work, and sometimes with music. I block things out long enough to make any situation less stressful, then I deal with it head on. I have found myself both respected and despised for my tendency to be direct, my willingness to meet confrontation and call out bad behavior with some of my own, my knack of saying what other people will only think. From those kernels planted by my old mentor in 1986 and 1987, I did learn and internalize that not everyone can be pleased, and that what others say, think and do doesn’t matter if I am not treating them wrongly. There’s important distinction there; I question myself. I do not get from others or give to myself a blank slate to trample others. I hold to my beliefs and opinions without deeming those who don’t agree as automatically wrong.
I hope that earnest humility and willingness to agree to disagree comes across in the blog. I’ve seen many people’s surprise when they realize that I enforce my ethos (and pathos) only to my own life and maintain the feeling that everyone needs to make their own decisions about their own lives and tolerate everything on the other side of that line drawn in the sand.
I owe most of these unobvious good qualities to someone who helped me out so much in so many ways so long ago. His time was not wasted, and I have tried to live up to those ideals ever since.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Undue Influence
For a year stretching between 1986 and 1987, I was fortunate enough to have a mentor. I worked with him at the long-defunct restaurant The Maple Root Inn, and greatly considered him a father figure. Despite working two jobs and being utterly dedicated to his wife and four kids, he had taken this punk kid under his wing. He provided direction and outlook that was desperately needed. I really needed more than he or anyone could give. I am not a child from a "broken" home, but things were pretty badly shattered and had been for years. I’ve regretted the loss of the mentor but never blamed him and did my best to implement the things he taught. I was lucky to have him. His influence includes balancing loyalties to both myself and the troubled family, fighting my own lazy streak and what was then (if not still now) my crazy streak. I still think I never succumbed to drug addiction or alcoholism due to his influence.
Those coping mechanisms laid out for me so long ago have carried me through my life, particularly with the strength needed to get through these past few years as my eyes and leg have failed me. I had an inherent but inconstant strength, but my old mentor taught me how to tap into it and provided direction.
A lot of people, including some who do not particularly like me, have been amazed and complimentary in how well I have dealt with the disabilities. I credit that strength to the old mentor. I credit the strength to have stood tall and strong through so many things over so many years to the influence of someone I have not seen since 1987.
At http://www.kozzi.us/LongWay.html,
I have posted an essay published in 2006 by Dana Literary Society Online Journal. This essay dealt with a lot of things that have come up over the past month, including family irregularities and vulgarities and the fact that I am living in a very difficult property to manage and maintain at the best of times. The essay made it clear that I relished the challenges of daily life and the little difficulties that reminded me I was alive. That outlook also came from my mentor, who’d asked pointedly, "You have to have everything the easy way?"That challenge adjusted my attitude and energized my efforts. I don’t give up on this because they prove difficult.
That outlook has been invaluable.
Those coping mechanisms laid out for me so long ago have carried me through my life, particularly with the strength needed to get through these past few years as my eyes and leg have failed me. I had an inherent but inconstant strength, but my old mentor taught me how to tap into it and provided direction.
A lot of people, including some who do not particularly like me, have been amazed and complimentary in how well I have dealt with the disabilities. I credit that strength to the old mentor. I credit the strength to have stood tall and strong through so many things over so many years to the influence of someone I have not seen since 1987.
At http://www.kozzi.us/LongWay.html,
I have posted an essay published in 2006 by Dana Literary Society Online Journal. This essay dealt with a lot of things that have come up over the past month, including family irregularities and vulgarities and the fact that I am living in a very difficult property to manage and maintain at the best of times. The essay made it clear that I relished the challenges of daily life and the little difficulties that reminded me I was alive. That outlook also came from my mentor, who’d asked pointedly, "You have to have everything the easy way?"That challenge adjusted my attitude and energized my efforts. I don’t give up on this because they prove difficult.
That outlook has been invaluable.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Eating Crow
I mentioned the orthopedic brace that is a permanent fixture, but neglected to ever cover what it was here. It’s called a Crow Boot. Pictures are readily available through any online search. I could post one here, but considering the blind angle, I decided early on that this would be a text site with no pictures.
The Crow Boot has two halves, upper and lower. It’s made of lightweight but highly durable black plastic and is lined with lightweight foam. When fitted for it originally, they took a cast mold of my leg. They have had to add foam as the Charcot swelling on the leg decreased. My foot goes into the lower half. The upper half then interlocks and is held in place with velcro.
The Crow Boot is needed because of the Charcot Foot. As it turned out, prednisone being dropped in my eye post retina reattachment went to work on the swelling of the Charcot Foot. When I had temporarily discontinued the prednisone, the foot swelled back up worse than before. My underlying injury seems to have been tendon damage rather than a broken bone, and the foot thickly swelled up to and even slightly beyond the knee. This swelling reduced circulation already naturally impeded by more than 35 years of diabetes. Oddly enough, as long as I kept exerting and moving I was fine. When I truly stayed off the foot–after last May’s development of a toes infection also triggered by the lack of circulation–the ankle collapsed. The central bone in the ankle, the one on which the tibia’s cupped end sits, and the inner part of the heel bone soften, collapsed and twisted. My right leg is now about a half inch shorter than the left.
The Crow Boot does nothing directly for any aspect of Charcot Foot. It compensates for the structural collapse and weakness that is a permanent disability.
The Crow boot immobilizes the ankle to make sure I cannot do further damage to myself. It also diverts weight from the ankle to the ball of the foot or the upper calf. It has a lifter to compensate for the different leg lengths.
I wear the Crow Boot when not in bed or in the shower. Even to get up in the middle of the night for a leak or a snack, I need to put the Crow Boot on. I’m still living in a place with way too many stairs for a blind guy with a bad leg.
Without the boot, I would need crutches. Times when I do "cheat" and use neither the boot nor the crutches leave me feeling the error for a few days.
I do not complain about the boot. I’d be able to marginally get around on crutches, but all these stairs would be a lot more difficult, and I would not be able to bowl. The Crow Boot is bulky, and on my right foot, so I probably would not be able to drive with it due to pedal spacing, but driving was lost a half year before due to the eyesight. The boot is inflexible at the ankle and sole, so even slight bumps or lumps in a smooth surface can make me feel like I am about to fall over.
When I say I am limping along, I mean that literally. Blind eyes and a bad leg is an especially bad combination.
The Crow Boot has two halves, upper and lower. It’s made of lightweight but highly durable black plastic and is lined with lightweight foam. When fitted for it originally, they took a cast mold of my leg. They have had to add foam as the Charcot swelling on the leg decreased. My foot goes into the lower half. The upper half then interlocks and is held in place with velcro.
The Crow Boot is needed because of the Charcot Foot. As it turned out, prednisone being dropped in my eye post retina reattachment went to work on the swelling of the Charcot Foot. When I had temporarily discontinued the prednisone, the foot swelled back up worse than before. My underlying injury seems to have been tendon damage rather than a broken bone, and the foot thickly swelled up to and even slightly beyond the knee. This swelling reduced circulation already naturally impeded by more than 35 years of diabetes. Oddly enough, as long as I kept exerting and moving I was fine. When I truly stayed off the foot–after last May’s development of a toes infection also triggered by the lack of circulation–the ankle collapsed. The central bone in the ankle, the one on which the tibia’s cupped end sits, and the inner part of the heel bone soften, collapsed and twisted. My right leg is now about a half inch shorter than the left.
The Crow Boot does nothing directly for any aspect of Charcot Foot. It compensates for the structural collapse and weakness that is a permanent disability.
The Crow boot immobilizes the ankle to make sure I cannot do further damage to myself. It also diverts weight from the ankle to the ball of the foot or the upper calf. It has a lifter to compensate for the different leg lengths.
I wear the Crow Boot when not in bed or in the shower. Even to get up in the middle of the night for a leak or a snack, I need to put the Crow Boot on. I’m still living in a place with way too many stairs for a blind guy with a bad leg.
Without the boot, I would need crutches. Times when I do "cheat" and use neither the boot nor the crutches leave me feeling the error for a few days.
I do not complain about the boot. I’d be able to marginally get around on crutches, but all these stairs would be a lot more difficult, and I would not be able to bowl. The Crow Boot is bulky, and on my right foot, so I probably would not be able to drive with it due to pedal spacing, but driving was lost a half year before due to the eyesight. The boot is inflexible at the ankle and sole, so even slight bumps or lumps in a smooth surface can make me feel like I am about to fall over.
When I say I am limping along, I mean that literally. Blind eyes and a bad leg is an especially bad combination.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Rosy Lenses
The online magazine Breath and Shadow is carrying my story "Through Rose Colored Lenses" in their current Winter 2013 issue.
My friend who is most involved in my writing was surprised. He thought this story was non-fiction, so was a bit surprised by the content.
I wrote the story in 2010, targeting for an anthology about life in the near future. I was disappointed that the editor did not take the story. He was working for a small time publisher I had worked with. I didn’t take the rejection personally, but some factors added to the feeling of rejection. I had read a bit of work by that editor and thought the edge was right, and that the story worked on at least two interpretive themes of the anthology’s proposed title.
A rarity for me, I followed the project. I discovered another minor published story by the editor and read that. It eased me into an appraisal that the editor was what I deem a Harlan Ellison Wannabe; failing that in writing he was turning to editing. When the contents were announced, I felt a little bad for the publisher for having financed a project that was almost exclusively composed of stories by friends of the editors. Only one of the writers in the anthology had been written by someone now personally known by the editor on some level. I wasn’t angry by the circumstances, but they left a sour taste in my mouth. I shelved the story for two years. The publisher has printed at least one other story by me since then.
Things worked out well enough. Breath and Shadow pays more than the anthology, and they were only the second submission of the story.
Those who know me well enough will recognize by many aspects that the narrator of "Through Rose Colored Lenses" is not me. The story was inspired by the things that set my disabling circumstances in motion, but is not really about them. It’s a satire on the pharmaceutical monopoly and its machinations.
The story’s narrator pretty much gave up while I’ve been stubbornly fighting on.
The story can be read at http://www.abilitymaine.org/breath/win13f.html
It’s open online, a free read courtesy of Breath and Shadow.
My friend who is most involved in my writing was surprised. He thought this story was non-fiction, so was a bit surprised by the content.
I wrote the story in 2010, targeting for an anthology about life in the near future. I was disappointed that the editor did not take the story. He was working for a small time publisher I had worked with. I didn’t take the rejection personally, but some factors added to the feeling of rejection. I had read a bit of work by that editor and thought the edge was right, and that the story worked on at least two interpretive themes of the anthology’s proposed title.
A rarity for me, I followed the project. I discovered another minor published story by the editor and read that. It eased me into an appraisal that the editor was what I deem a Harlan Ellison Wannabe; failing that in writing he was turning to editing. When the contents were announced, I felt a little bad for the publisher for having financed a project that was almost exclusively composed of stories by friends of the editors. Only one of the writers in the anthology had been written by someone now personally known by the editor on some level. I wasn’t angry by the circumstances, but they left a sour taste in my mouth. I shelved the story for two years. The publisher has printed at least one other story by me since then.
Things worked out well enough. Breath and Shadow pays more than the anthology, and they were only the second submission of the story.
Those who know me well enough will recognize by many aspects that the narrator of "Through Rose Colored Lenses" is not me. The story was inspired by the things that set my disabling circumstances in motion, but is not really about them. It’s a satire on the pharmaceutical monopoly and its machinations.
The story’s narrator pretty much gave up while I’ve been stubbornly fighting on.
The story can be read at http://www.abilitymaine.org/breath/win13f.html
It’s open online, a free read courtesy of Breath and Shadow.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Bye Bye Miss American...
There’s been some minor doubt or scoffing about my reports of the effects of kids’ cereals from adult cereals. I’m just reporting the effects of my body from different foods. Basically, kids’ cereal will push my sugar up sooner and the influx of raw sugar will be affected More quickly by insulin and activity. Adult cereals also contain raw sugar, but in more of a balance with carbohydrate sugars and often fruit sugars. Even a basic healthy cereals such as ice Chex will spike my sugar about the same as a pre-sweetened cereal, but the high effect will hit later from consumption.
I’ve never doubted this or thought more deeply about it because it is consistent with the reasoning of my second group of "forbidden" food, the stuff I can’t eat under any circumstances.
This group is fruit pies. I learned of this incompatibility to my system during my teen years. To counterbalance a low sugar episode, I ate a Hostess apple pie. It did lift my sugar. And it kept lifting my sugar. On the inside of an hour, was feeling excessively high sugar and needed to shoot up. Those roller coaster rides of highs and lows in short times are some of the most difficult days to deal with.
I am no fragile diabetic, and my readers should keep that in mind when applying my reports to their own conditions. My body handles raw sugar fairly well.
Most fruit pies contain real sugar. Often, they contain brown sugar as well. My body’s problem with these food, including nut pies, is beyond the basic sugar. On top of any sucrose forms, these are naturally high in fructose from the filling, be it apple or cherry or blueberry. Nut pies such as pecan will add other forms of complicated sugar, and are also inedible to me. And on top of raw sugars n the fillings and the fructose or nut sugars, the crust will often contain raw sugar on top of the carbohydrate sugars. Pies essentially become a source of multiple forms of sugar all consumed at once. This mix overloads the system, and when eaten as a dessert, is adding to any raw and complex sugars eaten with the main meal. I can handle moderate amounts of fruit jelly on toast or a bagel, but fruit pies are dangerous for me, often with effects not just excessive, but unpredictable.
The effect of that Hostess pie is still with me nearly thirty years later. As un-American as it sounds, I detest apple pie. Even the smell can be nauseating to me. I still like raw apples, but even non-pie bakes of stewed and sugar apples carries a taste with a severe negative association. I can enjoy gourd pies and custard pies, but all fruit and nut varieties hold zero temptation for me. I know they will get me sick by overload. Few fruit based deserts hold temptation for me.
I’ve never gotten overloaded on adult cereals. But compared to the "empty" sugar of kids cereals, the sugar content in the healthier cereal varieties can have complicated processing by the body
Fruit pies are best avoided by dieters and diabetics alike.
I’ve never doubted this or thought more deeply about it because it is consistent with the reasoning of my second group of "forbidden" food, the stuff I can’t eat under any circumstances.
This group is fruit pies. I learned of this incompatibility to my system during my teen years. To counterbalance a low sugar episode, I ate a Hostess apple pie. It did lift my sugar. And it kept lifting my sugar. On the inside of an hour, was feeling excessively high sugar and needed to shoot up. Those roller coaster rides of highs and lows in short times are some of the most difficult days to deal with.
I am no fragile diabetic, and my readers should keep that in mind when applying my reports to their own conditions. My body handles raw sugar fairly well.
Most fruit pies contain real sugar. Often, they contain brown sugar as well. My body’s problem with these food, including nut pies, is beyond the basic sugar. On top of any sucrose forms, these are naturally high in fructose from the filling, be it apple or cherry or blueberry. Nut pies such as pecan will add other forms of complicated sugar, and are also inedible to me. And on top of raw sugars n the fillings and the fructose or nut sugars, the crust will often contain raw sugar on top of the carbohydrate sugars. Pies essentially become a source of multiple forms of sugar all consumed at once. This mix overloads the system, and when eaten as a dessert, is adding to any raw and complex sugars eaten with the main meal. I can handle moderate amounts of fruit jelly on toast or a bagel, but fruit pies are dangerous for me, often with effects not just excessive, but unpredictable.
The effect of that Hostess pie is still with me nearly thirty years later. As un-American as it sounds, I detest apple pie. Even the smell can be nauseating to me. I still like raw apples, but even non-pie bakes of stewed and sugar apples carries a taste with a severe negative association. I can enjoy gourd pies and custard pies, but all fruit and nut varieties hold zero temptation for me. I know they will get me sick by overload. Few fruit based deserts hold temptation for me.
I’ve never gotten overloaded on adult cereals. But compared to the "empty" sugar of kids cereals, the sugar content in the healthier cereal varieties can have complicated processing by the body
Fruit pies are best avoided by dieters and diabetics alike.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Cereal
It’s not just for breakfast and has been the staple of my diet for my entire adult life. There’s a great variety available, almost all of which are well fortified with vitamins and minerals. The per serving cost is reasonable, and it takes less time to prepare than to eat.
The habit for me was probably introduced during the sixth grade hospitalization, when cereal was not just for breakfast but also a recommended evening snack.
Part of my problem with cereal is that I do tend to eat too much at a time. I don’t add the recommended serving to a recommended amount of milk, but mix in the bowl according to how much the cereal will float and overflow. When I eat the cereal totally out of the milk, I will add more cereal to the remaining milk, again and again until gone.
I time when I eat adult or kids’ cereals. I try tp keep sweeter cereals to earlier in insulin cycles or when the sugar is actively low. This will counterbalance the sugar surge of Fruity Pebbles. That said, I have noticed that less sugary cereals will also give a sugar surge, but they do so later, more from the combination of carbs and sugars than from sheer sugar. Rice Krispies, Corn Chex or Rice Chex will surge my sugar about the same as Trix or Frosted Flakes, but will do so later than the sweeter cereals, s such, I will often hit a second sugar low when the sugars of the sweeter cereals passes, but more "age appropriate" cereals will give a surge so much later that eating something else hours later creates a bit of an overload.
Raw sugar with little else hits faster but burns out faster. In many ways it’s easier to keep track of rawer, simpler sugars than a mix of sugars and more complex carbohydrates. Do not discount the sugar content of even diabetic-friendly cereals. Rice Krispies ingredients reveal rice then three different forms of sugar–regular sugar, corn syrup and malt flavoring–as almost the sole ingredients, and if they used sugar rather than corn syrup, sugar would probably be the primary ingredient.
So while much of my diet derives from these products, I often need to remind myself about the importance of moderation with any dietary source, and I need to pay attention to the effects of new varieties.
The habit for me was probably introduced during the sixth grade hospitalization, when cereal was not just for breakfast but also a recommended evening snack.
Part of my problem with cereal is that I do tend to eat too much at a time. I don’t add the recommended serving to a recommended amount of milk, but mix in the bowl according to how much the cereal will float and overflow. When I eat the cereal totally out of the milk, I will add more cereal to the remaining milk, again and again until gone.
I time when I eat adult or kids’ cereals. I try tp keep sweeter cereals to earlier in insulin cycles or when the sugar is actively low. This will counterbalance the sugar surge of Fruity Pebbles. That said, I have noticed that less sugary cereals will also give a sugar surge, but they do so later, more from the combination of carbs and sugars than from sheer sugar. Rice Krispies, Corn Chex or Rice Chex will surge my sugar about the same as Trix or Frosted Flakes, but will do so later than the sweeter cereals, s such, I will often hit a second sugar low when the sugars of the sweeter cereals passes, but more "age appropriate" cereals will give a surge so much later that eating something else hours later creates a bit of an overload.
Raw sugar with little else hits faster but burns out faster. In many ways it’s easier to keep track of rawer, simpler sugars than a mix of sugars and more complex carbohydrates. Do not discount the sugar content of even diabetic-friendly cereals. Rice Krispies ingredients reveal rice then three different forms of sugar–regular sugar, corn syrup and malt flavoring–as almost the sole ingredients, and if they used sugar rather than corn syrup, sugar would probably be the primary ingredient.
So while much of my diet derives from these products, I often need to remind myself about the importance of moderation with any dietary source, and I need to pay attention to the effects of new varieties.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Old Advice
Decades ago, the Providence Journal ran a syndicated column by a Dr. Donague. I may be spelling that wrong; his column may still be one of the Journal’s features, but I wouldn’t be able to see that for myself; I don’t remember the doctor’s first name, but he was not the television host of the late 1970’s on.
I remember a column from some twenty to twenty-five years ago in which he addressed a letter writer who wrote in to complain about a diabetic’s self management. The problem was that the diabetic was using sugar in hir coffee and the non-diabetic friend with limited knowledge of diabetes management, thought the diabetic’s practice was unacceptable.
Dr. Donague’s response defended the "bad diabetic." I remember this because it matched or shaped some of my self management, which always held me in good stead until I started actively seeing a doctor.
Managing the insulin is a series of checks and balances. Once the daily dose of insulin is taken, it is in the system and can cause difficulties for the diabetic if not balanced out with food.
The preferred practice for diabetics is to eat multiple small balanced meals each day to equalize absorption of the time release insulin. This is not always practical or possible for the diabetic to do.
Dr. Donague did not recommend "shortcuts" such as taking sugar in coffee to absorb insulin, any more than he would have recommended Skittles candy or glucose tablets. He merely explained to his readers some of the balancing act diabetics face and that all sugars are not to be avoided at all times. Sometimes they are needed to regulate the sugar.
The problem with a sheer sugar boost, according to Dr. Donague and me, is that the diabetic gains no nutritional value for the intake of raw sugars.
While I have had phases of quick and convenient intake to resolve an insulin spike, I have made efforts to maximize nutritional sources with this. My at home remedy is typically kids’ cereals. Froot Loops and Cap’n Crunch are high in sugar that will resolve and insulin surge quickly, but in addition to the sugar boost, cereals are fortified with necessary vitamins and minerals. On-the-tun solutions include Pop-Tarts for the same reason. When driving, I often had a box of cereal in the car to snack on.
There are actually few foods I would not eat, and all of those were for effects on my sugar that I felt outweighed any potential enjoyment from the consumption. As a "medicine," those sweet foods caused more side effects than they resolved.
I had several specific points of bringing up the old article by Dr. Donague. The first is that no matter how well intentioned the input or correction of family and friends on adult diabetics, unwanted advice can be annoying. This is especially true when the advice stems from the broadest general Knowledge but a lack of specific education of the intricacies of diabetes. Diabetics can consume almost anything, but in moderation only and with attention to the blood sugar effects.
The more personal point: I may actually know what I am talking about, even when my words or actions run contrary to the most black and white aspects of the disease management.
Future posts will explore my personally "forbidden foods."
I remember a column from some twenty to twenty-five years ago in which he addressed a letter writer who wrote in to complain about a diabetic’s self management. The problem was that the diabetic was using sugar in hir coffee and the non-diabetic friend with limited knowledge of diabetes management, thought the diabetic’s practice was unacceptable.
Dr. Donague’s response defended the "bad diabetic." I remember this because it matched or shaped some of my self management, which always held me in good stead until I started actively seeing a doctor.
Managing the insulin is a series of checks and balances. Once the daily dose of insulin is taken, it is in the system and can cause difficulties for the diabetic if not balanced out with food.
The preferred practice for diabetics is to eat multiple small balanced meals each day to equalize absorption of the time release insulin. This is not always practical or possible for the diabetic to do.
Dr. Donague did not recommend "shortcuts" such as taking sugar in coffee to absorb insulin, any more than he would have recommended Skittles candy or glucose tablets. He merely explained to his readers some of the balancing act diabetics face and that all sugars are not to be avoided at all times. Sometimes they are needed to regulate the sugar.
The problem with a sheer sugar boost, according to Dr. Donague and me, is that the diabetic gains no nutritional value for the intake of raw sugars.
While I have had phases of quick and convenient intake to resolve an insulin spike, I have made efforts to maximize nutritional sources with this. My at home remedy is typically kids’ cereals. Froot Loops and Cap’n Crunch are high in sugar that will resolve and insulin surge quickly, but in addition to the sugar boost, cereals are fortified with necessary vitamins and minerals. On-the-tun solutions include Pop-Tarts for the same reason. When driving, I often had a box of cereal in the car to snack on.
There are actually few foods I would not eat, and all of those were for effects on my sugar that I felt outweighed any potential enjoyment from the consumption. As a "medicine," those sweet foods caused more side effects than they resolved.
I had several specific points of bringing up the old article by Dr. Donague. The first is that no matter how well intentioned the input or correction of family and friends on adult diabetics, unwanted advice can be annoying. This is especially true when the advice stems from the broadest general Knowledge but a lack of specific education of the intricacies of diabetes. Diabetics can consume almost anything, but in moderation only and with attention to the blood sugar effects.
The more personal point: I may actually know what I am talking about, even when my words or actions run contrary to the most black and white aspects of the disease management.
Future posts will explore my personally "forbidden foods."
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Waiting
I can’t hide the fact that I am blind anymore.
The Charcot foot has stabilized, but the vision has gotten worse. Not enough light is always too dark, too much light is a hazy bright blur, and just the "right" amount of light leave everything backlit and in indiscernible shadows.
The range of vision is one to two feet, depending on lighting, and usually without the ability to discern fingers unless there is a sharp background. I can’t see well enough to recognize people by sight at any distance. I’ve always been good with voices and other cues, and try to stretch those abilities as best as I can.
I adjust as I stare at the computer, but looking away makes everything worse, and stepping away will often leave me unable to refocus on the bright screen. Most often, light hurts. As I physically tire or exert, my vision also diminishes.
Things have gotten worse month by month. So take out the violin...
And crash it into my skull.I say this to be informative to the people who watch me walk like a crippled great-great grandpa and turn to a caller with that blank blind look in my eyes. I’m still doing everything I can, with the acknowledgment that what I can do is lessening almost daily. I can do less and do everything more slowly. I’ve been trying to accept the new, ever increasing limitations and to stop pushing myself.
For lack of choice in my life, I am learning to relax.
I’ve made progress on completing things that have been on hold in the three-plus years since the Cialis-induced blood hemorrhage. I’m looking to complete final things so I can turn over my responsibilities in an orderly and accessible manner. The more I complete, the better relax. The time for waiting in hope that tomorrow or next week or next month may be better is over.
There’s another procedure in January, and there is some hope of improvement after that. Things may be clearer if the worsening situation is the result of the vitreous being dirty.
Until then, I am waiting and deferring many other decisions.
People have noticed by this blog and in person that I am not talking as hopefully as I had been. This isn’t a matter of giving up, but a matter of perspective. I’m all for optimism, but I am more for realism. I’m finding the balance between the two and holding on to each.
The Charcot foot has stabilized, but the vision has gotten worse. Not enough light is always too dark, too much light is a hazy bright blur, and just the "right" amount of light leave everything backlit and in indiscernible shadows.
The range of vision is one to two feet, depending on lighting, and usually without the ability to discern fingers unless there is a sharp background. I can’t see well enough to recognize people by sight at any distance. I’ve always been good with voices and other cues, and try to stretch those abilities as best as I can.
I adjust as I stare at the computer, but looking away makes everything worse, and stepping away will often leave me unable to refocus on the bright screen. Most often, light hurts. As I physically tire or exert, my vision also diminishes.
Things have gotten worse month by month. So take out the violin...
And crash it into my skull.I say this to be informative to the people who watch me walk like a crippled great-great grandpa and turn to a caller with that blank blind look in my eyes. I’m still doing everything I can, with the acknowledgment that what I can do is lessening almost daily. I can do less and do everything more slowly. I’ve been trying to accept the new, ever increasing limitations and to stop pushing myself.
For lack of choice in my life, I am learning to relax.
I’ve made progress on completing things that have been on hold in the three-plus years since the Cialis-induced blood hemorrhage. I’m looking to complete final things so I can turn over my responsibilities in an orderly and accessible manner. The more I complete, the better relax. The time for waiting in hope that tomorrow or next week or next month may be better is over.
There’s another procedure in January, and there is some hope of improvement after that. Things may be clearer if the worsening situation is the result of the vitreous being dirty.
Until then, I am waiting and deferring many other decisions.
People have noticed by this blog and in person that I am not talking as hopefully as I had been. This isn’t a matter of giving up, but a matter of perspective. I’m all for optimism, but I am more for realism. I’m finding the balance between the two and holding on to each.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Excuses...
The blog has been neglected lately for a few reasons that accumulate enough to come across as excuses.
First, and always best, is that my eyesight continues to deteriorate. Everything’s harder for me, including the computer, and I can spend less time on here before my eyes just burn out.
That burning out limitations works a few other ways too. I am, eleven months after the reattachment surgery, still on four different eye drops, and some recent events temporarily necessitated a fifth. The drops greatly reduce my vision for a few hours afterwards.
Despite the fact that I am really and truly disabled, I have not yet divested myself of all old responsibilities and some of those became quite taxing over the last couple weeks. Things seem to be under control again. I impressed even myself with some of the things I can do blind and am grateful for the lesson that I could still do some things. But the other side of that coin is that I know I don’t want to be doing most of those things. The effort just takes too much out of me.
The last excuse is my favorite. I submitted a shelved novel to a publisher and got a nibble. There’s promise and potential but far from any type of guarantee, but such a chance needed to be pursued. Again, my functional computer time is physically limited and the holdover responsibilities interfered even with the full writing goal, but I got "a more traditional synopsis" out tonight, so can eke out some time to resume posts.
I will be turning back to general diabetic issues of diet.
First, and always best, is that my eyesight continues to deteriorate. Everything’s harder for me, including the computer, and I can spend less time on here before my eyes just burn out.
That burning out limitations works a few other ways too. I am, eleven months after the reattachment surgery, still on four different eye drops, and some recent events temporarily necessitated a fifth. The drops greatly reduce my vision for a few hours afterwards.
Despite the fact that I am really and truly disabled, I have not yet divested myself of all old responsibilities and some of those became quite taxing over the last couple weeks. Things seem to be under control again. I impressed even myself with some of the things I can do blind and am grateful for the lesson that I could still do some things. But the other side of that coin is that I know I don’t want to be doing most of those things. The effort just takes too much out of me.
The last excuse is my favorite. I submitted a shelved novel to a publisher and got a nibble. There’s promise and potential but far from any type of guarantee, but such a chance needed to be pursued. Again, my functional computer time is physically limited and the holdover responsibilities interfered even with the full writing goal, but I got "a more traditional synopsis" out tonight, so can eke out some time to resume posts.
I will be turning back to general diabetic issues of diet.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Out of the Dark
The current setbacks are not random. My experience and attention to the problem reinforces my "crazy" theory that the standard treatment of diabetic eyes is contributing to the problem. Instead of going dark, I am having increasing problems processing light. The degradation is not random, but it is constant.
In standard check ups on diabetic eyes, the eyes are dilated with drops so the doctor can look through the widened pupil and see the retina. In this process, they strobe the eye with intense light.
I do not remember this ever being done as a child. The first such exam I remember was when I was twenty-one. I remember it specifically not just because I was blinded by the unyielding brightness into the next day. That exam marked the definite beginning of "diabetic eye condition" of light sensitivity. Things were never the same, never as comfortable, afterwards.
My recent "setbacks" in vision have all occurred after similar exams by the eye doctor who performed the retina reattachment. I say that as statement of fact and am not blaming her for the recent degradation or the lack of success for the reattachment procedure. She is examining the eye according to generally accepted practice.
She told me after the first exam she performed when I became her patient that I had the most complicated set of eye problems she had encountered. While I think the "hazing in" form of increased blindness I have been noticing is directly rooted from the retina issue, I don’t deny that other factors could be at work.
My vision is fading to bright cloud after each follow up visit. Each setback has the computer brighter, with details such as type on the screen more faded or "grayed out." Adjustment between sources of light and dark is more difficult after each visit. Any color send when looking at the bright box of the TV is further washed out for the brightness of the screen.
This became a hot issue for me this week because I tried mowing the lawn. Between shadows in the yard cast by houses and trees and even worse, changing light conditions as clouds kept blocking then releasing the sun’s direct brilliance, I was unable to do it. Never mind that the bum leg was bothering; I just simply did not have the visual acuity to see what was cut and wasn’t. My field of vision is narrowed and my range of vision really couldn’t discern much beyond the front of the mower. I just could not do it and that is gnawing at me.
I‘ll be talking to the doctor about this after the next visit, for sure. I’ll be holding onto the hope that the next procedure–draining the silicone oil out of the eye and replacing it with saline solution–will clear out any tiny matter that may be acting as "morning ground fog" in my vision. If that’s true, I will learn to content myself with prior levels of blindness as I had earlier this year. If not...well, hopefully I will continue to prove my resilience and be able to cope with that too.
It’s been a hell of a year.
In standard check ups on diabetic eyes, the eyes are dilated with drops so the doctor can look through the widened pupil and see the retina. In this process, they strobe the eye with intense light.
I do not remember this ever being done as a child. The first such exam I remember was when I was twenty-one. I remember it specifically not just because I was blinded by the unyielding brightness into the next day. That exam marked the definite beginning of "diabetic eye condition" of light sensitivity. Things were never the same, never as comfortable, afterwards.
My recent "setbacks" in vision have all occurred after similar exams by the eye doctor who performed the retina reattachment. I say that as statement of fact and am not blaming her for the recent degradation or the lack of success for the reattachment procedure. She is examining the eye according to generally accepted practice.
She told me after the first exam she performed when I became her patient that I had the most complicated set of eye problems she had encountered. While I think the "hazing in" form of increased blindness I have been noticing is directly rooted from the retina issue, I don’t deny that other factors could be at work.
My vision is fading to bright cloud after each follow up visit. Each setback has the computer brighter, with details such as type on the screen more faded or "grayed out." Adjustment between sources of light and dark is more difficult after each visit. Any color send when looking at the bright box of the TV is further washed out for the brightness of the screen.
This became a hot issue for me this week because I tried mowing the lawn. Between shadows in the yard cast by houses and trees and even worse, changing light conditions as clouds kept blocking then releasing the sun’s direct brilliance, I was unable to do it. Never mind that the bum leg was bothering; I just simply did not have the visual acuity to see what was cut and wasn’t. My field of vision is narrowed and my range of vision really couldn’t discern much beyond the front of the mower. I just could not do it and that is gnawing at me.
I‘ll be talking to the doctor about this after the next visit, for sure. I’ll be holding onto the hope that the next procedure–draining the silicone oil out of the eye and replacing it with saline solution–will clear out any tiny matter that may be acting as "morning ground fog" in my vision. If that’s true, I will learn to content myself with prior levels of blindness as I had earlier this year. If not...well, hopefully I will continue to prove my resilience and be able to cope with that too.
It’s been a hell of a year.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Into the Light
This is something of a feedback/update post. The direct feedback answer is, unfortunately, "Yes, the eyesight is getting worse."
The retina reattachment procedure performed last January was not as successful as either I or the doctor had hoped. By the doc’s choice, the silicon oil remains in the vitreous as a pressure regulator to keep the vulnerable retina in place. I’d just as soon have it removed and see how things go on their own and know, ultimately, what I will–or won’t– have to work with going forward.
I do not blame my current retina specialist for the failure. I do blame Michael O’Brien at Koch Eye Associates for using the Cialis-induced vitreous hemorrhage to scare me into having the PRP surgery. O’Brien ignored that I told him, that other doctors had found it acceptable and successful to monitor the left eye retina closely but not go forward with PRP because the retina was entirely stable. O’Brien had tantalized the possibility that the vitreous hemorrhage was not from the Cialis. Time proved me right but there’s no consolation in that. If I had not done the PRP, the hemorrhage would have healed and I wouldn’t still be legally blind and losing more regularly.
Before the reattachment, things were going darker for me. The changes would be random setbacks as floaters dislodged. The aspect of the reattachment that required the vitreous to be drained solved that.
The current setbacks are not random. My experience and attention to the problem reinforces my "crazy" theory that the standard treatment of diabetic eyes is contributing to the problem. Instead of going dark, I am having increasing problems processing light. Twilight for me is more akin to what nighttime used to be. My eyes cannot seem to spread light particles to cover areas. I see light sources as glaring beacons that add no atmospheric light.
I am blinded in daylight for the opposite effect. Too much light is just too much, too bright, blinding. Concentration on the keyboard allow me to see the marks on the keys, but looking to the TV I use as a huge monitor washes out all else and looking back to the keys is all but impossible. (I type in a half-ass mix of "proper" typing and hunt and peck that gives me a respectable but far from professional word rate. I had started fiction writing–and typing–before high school and had never been able to "unlearn" my personal progress to make better long-term progress in Mrs. Sprague’s freshman year typing class.)
Instead of seeing everything going dark, everything is washing out. Direction, intensity and sources of light have a huge impact on what and when I can see, more than ever.
The degradation is not random, nor constant, but does not improve after a while.
The retina reattachment procedure performed last January was not as successful as either I or the doctor had hoped. By the doc’s choice, the silicon oil remains in the vitreous as a pressure regulator to keep the vulnerable retina in place. I’d just as soon have it removed and see how things go on their own and know, ultimately, what I will–or won’t– have to work with going forward.
I do not blame my current retina specialist for the failure. I do blame Michael O’Brien at Koch Eye Associates for using the Cialis-induced vitreous hemorrhage to scare me into having the PRP surgery. O’Brien ignored that I told him, that other doctors had found it acceptable and successful to monitor the left eye retina closely but not go forward with PRP because the retina was entirely stable. O’Brien had tantalized the possibility that the vitreous hemorrhage was not from the Cialis. Time proved me right but there’s no consolation in that. If I had not done the PRP, the hemorrhage would have healed and I wouldn’t still be legally blind and losing more regularly.
Before the reattachment, things were going darker for me. The changes would be random setbacks as floaters dislodged. The aspect of the reattachment that required the vitreous to be drained solved that.
The current setbacks are not random. My experience and attention to the problem reinforces my "crazy" theory that the standard treatment of diabetic eyes is contributing to the problem. Instead of going dark, I am having increasing problems processing light. Twilight for me is more akin to what nighttime used to be. My eyes cannot seem to spread light particles to cover areas. I see light sources as glaring beacons that add no atmospheric light.
I am blinded in daylight for the opposite effect. Too much light is just too much, too bright, blinding. Concentration on the keyboard allow me to see the marks on the keys, but looking to the TV I use as a huge monitor washes out all else and looking back to the keys is all but impossible. (I type in a half-ass mix of "proper" typing and hunt and peck that gives me a respectable but far from professional word rate. I had started fiction writing–and typing–before high school and had never been able to "unlearn" my personal progress to make better long-term progress in Mrs. Sprague’s freshman year typing class.)
Instead of seeing everything going dark, everything is washing out. Direction, intensity and sources of light have a huge impact on what and when I can see, more than ever.
The degradation is not random, nor constant, but does not improve after a while.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Cynical Optimism
I’m not surprised the "Outright Ranting" post trigger some questions and feedback, which can be summed up almost universally as "why?!"
I’ll explain that willingly, in part because I knew after writing it, and when posting it a couple days later, that it was not my strongest post. Yes, it "meandered all over the place" and lacked focus. It demonstrated some of the simmering anger, and not quite in humorous ways. It was the product of a bad morning of a bad week in a month that proved stressful. There were problems that just happen in August, and while never happy about such things, I can cope with them OK. The true stress entered into things–and almost everything–from other people, not from the generalized circumstances. Whether flesh and blood events or sudden increased difficulty with electronic things posed by developers I’ll never meet, most people involved in most situations seemed to stand up and contribute to the problem instead of the solution. These precise stresses added to more generalized stresses including another decrease in vision and anxieties trigger by the general turmoil in society that political seasons always seem to highlight.
Basically, there’s been ton of crap coming from every direction and a heightened feeling of loss for things I used to be able to do and enjoy. All this contributes to writing such a diatribe. I’ve written things like that before, but seldom post or attempt to publish them. So why did I publish this one, without editing out digressions and diversions?
The first is the minor answer, and, I admit with some shame, pseudo-commercial. The post that strayed far from diabetes, blindness and Charcot foot has a lot of terms that will lead potential new readers here via search engines. This is not so impossible. Recent Google searches that have led people to this electronic space include "+doctor +dumb +ass" and "getting old doesn’t mean you have to get crotchety."
In part because I get so many compliments about how I’ve been handling the losses and disabilities of the past few years that I sometimes feel like a fraud. I truly am handling things well, but some people have this thought that the handling is effortless. The truth is anything but.
I basically am the most optimistic cynic that most people could ever meet. I concentrate on the positive and on what I can do rather than all the things I cannot do well or at all. This takes more effort than most people see. My roommate sees most of the truth, because trying to hide those things even when home would be more than I can shoulder. It can be hard for him to deal with; I can be hard for him to deal with. That cynical optimism tells me I don’t deserve such a loyal friend.
Here this post could reach the place I want no post, or even writing that would remain completely private, to ever go: into the realm o self pitying drivel. I mentioned in a recent post the forthcoming publication of a blindness story "Through Rose-Colored Lenses." I’ve read most of the stories they have published since the time they accepted "Smokestacks" in 2010. I have found most of the stories they publish to be in the self pitying drivel mold. "Lenses" is a comedy. I need to laugh, and can do so at myself. I need to laugh t myself. My sense of humor, admittedly something often mean and offensive in political incorrectness, carries me through. The principle is the same as that crazy theory I postulated in the "offensive" post that suppressing the darkness of our social anger will only boil the anger to rage. I am neither sexist nor racist, although I’ve been accused by many of both and more, based on my sense of humor. As I have gotten older and more worldly, society has increased the list of sacred cows. I try to make the list into a menu.
I’ll explain that willingly, in part because I knew after writing it, and when posting it a couple days later, that it was not my strongest post. Yes, it "meandered all over the place" and lacked focus. It demonstrated some of the simmering anger, and not quite in humorous ways. It was the product of a bad morning of a bad week in a month that proved stressful. There were problems that just happen in August, and while never happy about such things, I can cope with them OK. The true stress entered into things–and almost everything–from other people, not from the generalized circumstances. Whether flesh and blood events or sudden increased difficulty with electronic things posed by developers I’ll never meet, most people involved in most situations seemed to stand up and contribute to the problem instead of the solution. These precise stresses added to more generalized stresses including another decrease in vision and anxieties trigger by the general turmoil in society that political seasons always seem to highlight.
Basically, there’s been ton of crap coming from every direction and a heightened feeling of loss for things I used to be able to do and enjoy. All this contributes to writing such a diatribe. I’ve written things like that before, but seldom post or attempt to publish them. So why did I publish this one, without editing out digressions and diversions?
The first is the minor answer, and, I admit with some shame, pseudo-commercial. The post that strayed far from diabetes, blindness and Charcot foot has a lot of terms that will lead potential new readers here via search engines. This is not so impossible. Recent Google searches that have led people to this electronic space include "+doctor +dumb +ass" and "getting old doesn’t mean you have to get crotchety."
In part because I get so many compliments about how I’ve been handling the losses and disabilities of the past few years that I sometimes feel like a fraud. I truly am handling things well, but some people have this thought that the handling is effortless. The truth is anything but.
I basically am the most optimistic cynic that most people could ever meet. I concentrate on the positive and on what I can do rather than all the things I cannot do well or at all. This takes more effort than most people see. My roommate sees most of the truth, because trying to hide those things even when home would be more than I can shoulder. It can be hard for him to deal with; I can be hard for him to deal with. That cynical optimism tells me I don’t deserve such a loyal friend.
Here this post could reach the place I want no post, or even writing that would remain completely private, to ever go: into the realm o self pitying drivel. I mentioned in a recent post the forthcoming publication of a blindness story "Through Rose-Colored Lenses." I’ve read most of the stories they have published since the time they accepted "Smokestacks" in 2010. I have found most of the stories they publish to be in the self pitying drivel mold. "Lenses" is a comedy. I need to laugh, and can do so at myself. I need to laugh t myself. My sense of humor, admittedly something often mean and offensive in political incorrectness, carries me through. The principle is the same as that crazy theory I postulated in the "offensive" post that suppressing the darkness of our social anger will only boil the anger to rage. I am neither sexist nor racist, although I’ve been accused by many of both and more, based on my sense of humor. As I have gotten older and more worldly, society has increased the list of sacred cows. I try to make the list into a menu.
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