Thursday, June 25, 2015

Where's the anger coming from

Some interesting discoveries about myself during my last acupuncturing... Not my Usual Guy, he's off doing Something, so I met a new care provider--who even treated me with a house call! Now, MS or not, when was the last time you had one of those?

But as I was telling her about my "MS experience" and how things were going now, she asked me about how well acupuncture was doing for me.

And that's when Anger came out. No, rage. I was under control enough to not actually roar and/or bellow, but I prefaced this by saying "There's no way I can express this loudly enough."

And then I looked her right in the eye, and said...

"Nothing helps. Nothing."

And yeah, I'm definitely pissed off. Definitely. I'm angrier than Lewis Black.
Nothing helps. Nothing.

The real question isn't "Why don't things help," but "What am I really mad at?" I'm not "mad at MS" or even "mad about MS" or "mad about having MS," it's that nothing works and all sorts of things that I have tried for all sorts of other reasons have been helped in very short order. I'm also hardly mad about "waiting for the cure" or "why isn't there a cure" or any of that sort of thing.

It's that I have been helped so often, so magically, so wonderfully, with so many other things. And now, here I am, and nothing helps.

Nothing. Helps. At all. And if anything does help with anything, it doesn't last. Ever.

(And to respond to the people who always told me "don't say can't," look... It's not about claiming ownership or difficulties or demanding that I stay disabled because I don't choose to look at it and express myself differently, but... You try driving this body around and tell me that I can when, in fact, I can't. Hello, bad wiring? Nerves that don't fire? Which will when I change the way I describe my experience of them? As I've often wanted to say, is it the "you" that you don't understand, or the "fuck" part?" How can I help you? Because you certainly ain't helping me, see above for the  "primary complaint," that nothing helps.)Yeah, my hands are cold even with gloves on, I'm not enjoying just sitting here and typing, I honestly don't know if I can deal with music stuff right now, and boy do I have plenty of it.

But as Jacob asked in Rick and Morty, "Where's the anger coming from?"
Well, that indeed is the question, isn't it?

Where's the anger coming from?


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Had--no, enjoyed--an acupuncture house call yesterday.

I can never say how much I esteem, care for and about, yes love, my MD/acupunctrist. But... treated [scream] IN MY HOUSE without requiring an hour's drive plus an hour and a half drive back, and getting into and out of the car, and fighting with the bathroom at the doctor's office--every door in the place is wide enough for my wheelchair, but the bathroom is extremely hard to deal with, even for the able-bodied caregiver that was at my house yesterday. Gotta work on how people help me on and off the table, but it was a wonderful experience.

One of the main reasons she came to my house was that she lives under 10 minutes away from me, but her office is on a second or third floor with [scream] ZERO accommodation for the "differently abled," e.g. wheelchair-bound, and being dead-lifted up the stairs ain't gonna happen. My wife was absolutely brilliant at finding a place to set up the table, although after the weather cools down comin' on Autumn, we can do treatments in the back yard, surrounded by birds and flowers.

Which is, to quote Martha Stewart, a Good Thing.

I told her about the heart-warming things I watch on Steven Universe, about how the characters care for and about each other, who ardently love each other... and she told me she felt that warmth in her heart just hearing me talk about it.

MS or not, if you can't connect your caregiver with your heart, and they to yours... get another. You're wasting your time.

Us MSers, we don't really like "sensitivity," because it's pretty much unavoidable, in all its forms, but it is quite an amazing gift. In my last year as a teacher, many life-changing moments were catalyzed by sensitivity; my sensitivity to the student, and their sensitivity to their true, inner selves. But it really is a constant gift, a gift that will enrich my life as long as I'm in this human shell.

A perpetual, constantly renewing, gift. For something occasioned by a neurological disorder... definitely:

Not a bad gift.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Makes you think of South Park

Took care of many useful and important things, yesterday. Fortunately, not among them were dealing with Obama's visit; his motorcade drove by the street that runs straight up to the Eagle Rock, not something I can see from my house but I could have seen the motorcade with about 30 seconds of pushing me along in a wheelchair, and with about 5 minutes work (thank you, wheelchair pusher) I could have been on the sidewalk along the route. I'm not hung up about seeing Obama, even just sitting in a car, but it would have been cool. Even more cool is that I did not go to my doctor's place yesterday, because the few truly nasty traffic snarl-ups were directly in the places that I have to go through to get to my doctor's office. "Of all the words of song or pen, the saddest are: It might have been" was not for my own set of yesterday's "it might have beens."

Spent some time chatting with a friend who's at a particularly challenging workplace, the classic "manager who mis-manages horribly" tragedy. People apparently leave her office with their head in their hands, all but in tears.

I found myself quoting Steven Universe to him: Sometimes, you gotta know when to bail.
I asked him, "What does she need?" Not "a two by four in the face," although as Marcus Cole said on Babylon 5, "You get more with a kind word and a two-by-four than just a kind word," but this poor person's problem may drill down to fear... and if so, perhaps all you can offer is compassion, the charm of the two-by-four notwithstanding.

But more importantly, to use the words of the Science of Mind church: I bless you and release you to your good. And more immediately, to work without ceasing to get a different job, which will put said poor person once and forever into the soft and fuzzy box labeled "Someone Else's Problem."

Other experiments: My buddy drove me around to some place where I could get my medical marijuana OK signed and sealed, and we took some time to sneak off to the local burger place. We would have gone to the local hot dog place, which does amazing work, but may not have much "inside" room for people like me in a wheelchair, and although it does have quite a beautiful little patio with tables and umbrellas and everything, and I've enjoyed lunch there before, but "charming outdoor seating" doesn't go far with heat-sensitive MSers and temps that on the day and time in question were in the high 90s, thank you Southern California.

But I was pulling at my "vape" device, charged with quality indica. It made the "being driven" around significantly easier to deal with, and when we pulled into the hamburger place itself, I was knocking on the door of "hungry," aided by a few extra puffs. Which never happens, especially after having been driven around all over the place, with a lot of time spent on rough and bumpy roads.

It really is quite amazing stuff. Pretty cool for something that just grows in the ground. There's a reason they call it "weed," because it is a ... weed, after all.

How long has humanity been treating itself with plants it just finds, growing happily and quietly?

And where are the piles of bodies found on every highway in the states that have decriminalized, even legalized it?

Perhaps we haven't found them because they are hidden by the piles of bodies created by gay marriage. Under the piles of hetero couples who have plunged to their deaths from high buildings, driven to take their own lives because their marriages were ruined, ruined, by all those gay people.

Makes you think of South Park.