trying to get a leg up on the situation

It has been a while since I have had the mental space to write. It always feels like I am cheating myself out of documentation. When it is stressful or busy is when I really would like to remember what I am going through. The past week I have been helping the children I used to take care of study for their common entrance exams. One of the boys had a bacteria infection in his leg that called for 2 operations and 4 nights in the hospital. The way the bacteria spread there was question of amputation for a brief (but scary) moment.

I am back home now. I feel like I have been gone for years. Sitting on the couch with still another week before my man gets home, the house feels oddly quiet and in need of a good clean. I know how I am going to be filling my time and I am hoping that a good rota of housecleaning will put me back into a place of calm normalcy. There really isn’t anything as abnormal as a twelve year old on morphine.

My fat Self

A new article came out at Canada.com about the bias against fat people. It reiterated a point I have thought about a lot over the last year. If the fat population (overweight, obese, morbidly obese) is at half or almost half the population in the US, why is it that they allow themselves to be treated like such shit but the medical system, clothing manufacturers and so on? Granted I know the answer is along the analogy that most of my Jr. High was bullied by one girl, I still don’t understand the lack of revolt.

One of the things this article mentioned that I hadn’t thought of until I moved back to Canada for a half year a few years ago, was the discrimination of fat people in the medical community. My experience with doctors has always been a seemingly unbiased approach to my health. There are things that have happened to me that were a result of my weight (shin splints when running 2km a day in Thailand). These things, when mentioned by my doctor, I took as fact because my entire physical wellbeing wasn’t determined by the fact I was fat. Each situation felt like it was being evaluated for what it was. My running gate was altered because my thighs are big and the front of my leg didn't compensate appropriately. Then I had a doctor in Canada who was cruel. Plain and simple. The experience I had in her office has forever changed my view of the medical establishment as being something above society’s stigmas.

“More than half of 620 doctors surveyed view obese patients as ``awkward,'' ``unattractive,'' ``ugly'' and ``non-compliant.''”

“In surveys, medical students report ``with nearly total agreement,'' that severely obese patients are the most common target of derogatory humour by doctors, residents and students, most often in surgery or obstetrics-gynecology settings. Overweight and obese children are also targets of humour, they said.”

So when I come home from an appointment with my doctor, who says I am having a perfect pregnancy, that there is nothing that could be better and I should be very proud, and then go to see the midwife who says that I MUST labour attached to cords and on my back (the one way I can not lay due to a back injury) because I am so big and a “massively high risk”, I can’t help but have a “fuck you” attitude.

It is very hard to separate my ego from the situation and really get in touch with what is the most important part of my birth plan. My ego says: “You think you can tell me that I can’t do it because I am fat? You should see the amount I have done in my life while being fat. I am going to stand, pop this kid out, and walk out the door in 15 minutes”. The alter ego says: “You think I can’t do this? You are probably right. This is going to be insanely painful and you should just knock me out, make fun of me when I am under, because lately I have been happy when I am able to push out a crap.” My SELF says: “Just do your best. Fight to have the most natural, cordless/ tubeless, birth possible and make adjustments when needed”.

I love it when my Self makes so much sense.

love

There is something really special about having friends around. I have one that is visiting from Canada at the moment. She will spend one more week here before returning home and it has been the greatest gift. We are not cramming her holiday full of exciting things but rather going somewhere cool every few days. That has worked out with my energy levels and with our budget. It has also allowed for us to be flexible in what we get to visit as well as getting normal things done as well. D and my friend both leave the same day. Then I am here for a week by myself to ponder it all before starting again with my aunt. I love being loved.

Body Worlds Review

It was easy to see how controversy has followed this exhibition. The first room you walked into was a step by step viewing of the beginnings of life. Embryos at varying degrees of growth. From as little as a few weeks old, it was fascinating to see how little they could be and still have fingers and toes. It gradually moved into the fetus section and then to a woman with a child still inside her (photo in last post). While marveling at the beauty of life, there was a point where I remembered that these were all dead little babies and that was a strange thing to go through your head while really celebrating life. Other parts of the exhibition were donated by the people themselves prior to death, but the baby section, obviously, was not.

For the most part it was easy to forget that the figures were once alive. They had a very surreal aspect to them that made it easy to just look at them as anatomical models. Then all of a sudden you would see eyelashes, or fingernails, or pubic hair and realize that they were in fact corpses. I highly recommend it for people who are in school for something anatomical. Being able to see the different systems and see that they work together was an amazing learning experience for D and my friend. For me, it was just nice to look inside a dead person without having to deal with the smell of a cadaver.

All three of us got a lot out of the exhibition. There was very little on the fat front. A cross section of a 250+ man was shown but the actual procedures needed can not be done on someone with fat still on their bodies because it relies on the removal of fat for preservation. In the description of the fat cross section there was a sentence that stated that highly obese women lose 8 years off their life. The next room over said that people who have a good sex life can gain 8 years on their life expectancy. So according to the researchers for the Body Worlds exhibition… I am golden.

Take a look on the inside

Tomorrow D, a dear friend, and I are going into London to check out the latest Body Worlds exhibit. This controversial show is a real look at the insides of our bodies. People have donated their dead bodies to the project. They go through a process called plastination.

"The process of plastination involves removing all bodily fluids and soluble fat from the specimen to stop decomposition.

The fluids are then replaced through vacuum-forced impregnation with reactive resins and elastomers, such as silicon rubber and epoxy."

I have been part of some amazing dissections in my life and have managed to attend a cadaver workshop while in massage therapy school, but this is something I have only dreamed of. The ability to see tissue in action.


The name of this particular exhibition is "The Mirror of Time". They apparently have a whole section designated to the "obesity crisis". My hope is that it allows the people to show and tell without a dialog.


A reaction will be posted after the event!

May Day Morris Dancing

How can you resist men with bells on their knees? The Morris tradition is one that I have come to love living here in England. Sticks banging together to form percussion while old time music chimes in the back ground. Simple tunes, with rather simple folk dances to accompany them. Somehow, at this time before 6am, the mood was perfect to watch these men prance around with handkerchiefs in the middle of our village, on the road, with London commuters passing by. Smiles abound. Tradition prevalent.

16 really bad people banned from UK

There is something deeply gratifying in the thought that if you are bad enough you won’t be allowed to come into the UK. The moral implications of this decision making process may not seem like anything new. Even if you are caught with pot you can’t cross many boarders. Ask half of Canada’s musicians. When you put these people up against minimal crimes like pot possession, it is no wonder. I guess it is just seeing them isolated out. Fingers pointing. They are mean mean people. They don’t deserve to come into the UK.

One of the people, Michael Savage, happens to strike a particular cord with me. I only learned about him recently when a comment he made went ballistic on my fat acceptance forums. He suggests that fat people should not only be refused health care in North America, but put into concentration camps. I am sure it isn’t this particular comment that put him on the list of bad boys, but I am not arguing. I don’t want him here either.

Here is a good article written by Paul Campos bringing to light the other side of the whole "fat people are costing healthcare to skyrocket" debate. Here is the crap spewed by Savage.



The list, in general though, is comprised of extremists that propagate hate and potential violence. What is great is that they aren’t all Muslim, something that I think western culture has been really using as a scapegoat for a long time now. Is this a sign that we are looking beyond the middle east as the source of all our societal problems? I sure hope so.

Beltane

It is traditionally thought of as a celebration of fertility and virility. The holy day gets its name from the Gaelic Goddess “Bel” meaning the bright one, and the Gaelic word “teine” meaning fire. The Beltane fire is at the centre of the ritual for this special day. The Everyday Witch sums it up nicely: “Kindling the Bel Fire is an invocation to the Sun God to bring blessing and protection for the coming year. This fire also holds many healing and purifying properties, so think carefully about what intentions you wish to bring to it or what applications you wish to make of it. Traditionally, people lept over or through the fire to be cleansed and renewed in vitality. Pregnant women leapt through the flames to ensure an easy birth and safe delivery. Cattle were driven through the dying embers to banish disease. Couples could jump the fire together, to protect their union and renew their vows.”

Another important symbol that is incorporated into the celebration, and more frequently thought of by pagans, and non pagans alike, is the may pole. The union between the masculine (pole) and the feminine (ribbons) with an interweaving dance.

This year we didn’t have that much of a celebration in our household. We lit a fire in the fireplace and cuddled in front of it. We woke at dawn, after a night of turbulent sleep, to go to the village centre and watch the Morris dancers bring in the day. Although both were rewarding , I regret that I have not put much energy into this special day. This holyday, more than perhaps any other in the wheel of the year, resonates with me because of its history of sexual celebration. It is what I stand for, the removal of taboo. It would have been great to celebrate this with D this year. Our little baby inside me jiggling and kicking to a good hardy drumming. It would have been good to look at photos from our wedding last May Day and celebrate the year we have had. I was just too ill.

Almost fifteen years ago, when I was part of a casual coven of women in the States, I remember the most exhilarating May Day of my youth. We had all brought roses and a jar for the celebration. As we danced around the fire we placed a single rose into our jar and filled it with water. These sat next to the fire for the remainder of the ceremony. We sang, we purged, we ran through the flames, we talked of sexuality and sensuality. We celebrated those of us in the group who were maidens, the young ones, and said “goodbye” to the crones, who in mythological terms, turned to stone on Beltane Eve. There was another young woman who was visiting from west coast America. She looked like a pixie and her feet and hands were dirty from the earth she walked freely on. A fellow wanderer. She handed me her rose and kissed me on the lips. Far from being comfortable in my own sexual expression, this is one of the few times in my life I remember blushing.
The innocence of it all.

The glee.

It was exactly what it should be.

Sickness and beauty

I am up again. This time it is 4am instead of 5. Blasted colds. They always catch me in my lungs. Ever since I can remember but especially those years in Thailand where I seemed to develop a mould allergy, my lungs have always been week. I am glad D is filming in the Middle East at the moment because I don’t have to worry about him worrying while I sit up sipping tea and contemplating the meaning of it all at this time of day.

A few days ago, like I mentioned, was our one year anniversary for our public wedding. We woke up early, after a restless nights sleep, to go into town and watch the May Day celebration. Morris dancers, with bells on their knees, danced into the morning while the mist burned off the Weald. On our way the calves were nursing and snuggling their mothers in the pasture next to our house.

I managed to capture the hue of my life at the moment.