"Breast cancer is an issue close to the heart."
I saw this today as a motivational message to do something about breast cancer. Are we supposed to be motivated to do more fot those with cancer of the left breast than those of the right?
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Monday, 26 October 2009
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
What's a Mouse's Unlucky Number?
Recently, we've been having a bit of a Mousy problem at our house. It started with my sister spotting a mouse in the kitchen. My Mum is deathly afraid of anything she classes as pests (cockroaches, snakes, lizards, mice, me) and has been petrified ever since.
Dad invested in a small mousetrap which did bugger all until we decided to haul in the big guns, and invest in the bigger, the more expensive trap.
Then we caught Mouse #1. We've naturally been sealing everything in the pantry and we always wash every piece of crockery and cutlery thoroughly before we eat from it, in case micey paws have been scampering across it.
Soon later, though, someone said they saw Mouse #2, and my Dad set a trap, and again we caught the second mouse.
It wasn't till a while later someone thought they saw Mouse #3, and just the other night, we caught him. Fat bastard, too, I think we've been feeding him too well.
Mum has been growing more and more upset, but we assured her that should be the end of it, till we were eating dinner last night and my brother said, "Hey, I saw a mouse!"
No my brother is known for his practical jokes, but I turned to look anyhow and I saw a mouse too, making a dash for the pantry, cheeky thing! And just when we'd caught his mousy mate the day before!
So we're after Mouse #4 now, and my mother got all mad and wanted to buy some new pest control gadget but Dad wouldn't let her. It's called Pestrol but it claims to drive pests out from their hiding places. It doesn't say anything about killing them.
"What happens if we drive them out and they get driven into tyour bedroom, will you like that?" he asked. "At least we know they fall for the mousetrap!" ... even if it is slow!
Unfortuantely, the mousetrap is a slow way of killing them, and we can't figure out how they get inor whether they're breding or they are sitting around in a mousy colony somewhere laughing their heads off. I hope their heads are rolling off, it might work for us.
I asked my Dad what Number Mouse he thought would be the last, what his lucky number was. "Lucky Number 5" he said. I'm glad his lucky number wasn't 7, 198 289 or something.
Anyone got some better ideas of how to get rid of mice. I don't have anything against mice per se - just against mice in the kitchen (or indeed anywhere in the house).
Dad doesn't want to use poison in case it poisons the humans as well - they're in our pantry among food and food equipment.
Any other ideas, folk?
(By the way we are using mousetraps with cheese. It's a boring cliche but it seems mice fall for boring cliches just as much as we humans do.)
Dad invested in a small mousetrap which did bugger all until we decided to haul in the big guns, and invest in the bigger, the more expensive trap.
Then we caught Mouse #1. We've naturally been sealing everything in the pantry and we always wash every piece of crockery and cutlery thoroughly before we eat from it, in case micey paws have been scampering across it.
Soon later, though, someone said they saw Mouse #2, and my Dad set a trap, and again we caught the second mouse.
It wasn't till a while later someone thought they saw Mouse #3, and just the other night, we caught him. Fat bastard, too, I think we've been feeding him too well.
Mum has been growing more and more upset, but we assured her that should be the end of it, till we were eating dinner last night and my brother said, "Hey, I saw a mouse!"
No my brother is known for his practical jokes, but I turned to look anyhow and I saw a mouse too, making a dash for the pantry, cheeky thing! And just when we'd caught his mousy mate the day before!
So we're after Mouse #4 now, and my mother got all mad and wanted to buy some new pest control gadget but Dad wouldn't let her. It's called Pestrol but it claims to drive pests out from their hiding places. It doesn't say anything about killing them.
"What happens if we drive them out and they get driven into tyour bedroom, will you like that?" he asked. "At least we know they fall for the mousetrap!" ... even if it is slow!
Unfortuantely, the mousetrap is a slow way of killing them, and we can't figure out how they get inor whether they're breding or they are sitting around in a mousy colony somewhere laughing their heads off. I hope their heads are rolling off, it might work for us.
I asked my Dad what Number Mouse he thought would be the last, what his lucky number was. "Lucky Number 5" he said. I'm glad his lucky number wasn't 7, 198 289 or something.
Anyone got some better ideas of how to get rid of mice. I don't have anything against mice per se - just against mice in the kitchen (or indeed anywhere in the house).
Dad doesn't want to use poison in case it poisons the humans as well - they're in our pantry among food and food equipment.
Any other ideas, folk?
(By the way we are using mousetraps with cheese. It's a boring cliche but it seems mice fall for boring cliches just as much as we humans do.)
Growl!
My throat feels funny. My voice is strange. It sometimes sounds like Maria but then sometimes it goes growly and deep. I can't quite control it. It's all 'throaty'.
Either I'm getting a bit of a cold or I'm turning into a man.
Either I'm getting a bit of a cold or I'm turning into a man.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Picking and Choosing
Here's a story about a 22 year old man who was an alcoholic, and was refused a liver transplant because the doctors thought he would ruin it.
Now the story highlights some issues, obviously the shortage of organs and therefore, who should get them and then, how do we pick and who to choose to refuse? On what grounds?
I read some people discussing this on a blog, and some saying this was pretty unfair because what about, say, fat people with heart problems, do they get refused heart transplants. In fact, lots of medical problems are self-induced so do we all get refused help if it's self-induced?
One person said that she thought the refusal was disgusting because she hated it when doctors 'played God'.
(Actually, I thought doctors played God all the time by treating patients, or that's one way of seeing it. Leaving them to whatever nature and God intends happen to them instead of giving them medicine, hooking them up to machines and cutting them up and and replacing organs would be more in line with not playing God, once you've taken a person off where they've fallen off a cliff and started to patch up their bones and pump them full of chemicals and fought against Death, that sounds very much like playing God to me. Not that I think there is anything wrong with that. If I fell over and broke my leg I'd want a doctor to play God with my leg and patch it up, pronto!)
Anyhow, it does raise a difficulty of ethics, how to make such a decision, after all the decision has to be made somehow, whether it is a first in first served, or by the highest bidder, or assessed most critically, or whatever. You can't blame doctors for having to refuse someone, what are they meant to be, magicians who can yell a multiplying spell for livers?
Anyhow, I leave the thought with you and perhaps you can munch on a liver sandwich and think about it.
Now the story highlights some issues, obviously the shortage of organs and therefore, who should get them and then, how do we pick and who to choose to refuse? On what grounds?
I read some people discussing this on a blog, and some saying this was pretty unfair because what about, say, fat people with heart problems, do they get refused heart transplants. In fact, lots of medical problems are self-induced so do we all get refused help if it's self-induced?
One person said that she thought the refusal was disgusting because she hated it when doctors 'played God'.
(Actually, I thought doctors played God all the time by treating patients, or that's one way of seeing it. Leaving them to whatever nature and God intends happen to them instead of giving them medicine, hooking them up to machines and cutting them up and and replacing organs would be more in line with not playing God, once you've taken a person off where they've fallen off a cliff and started to patch up their bones and pump them full of chemicals and fought against Death, that sounds very much like playing God to me. Not that I think there is anything wrong with that. If I fell over and broke my leg I'd want a doctor to play God with my leg and patch it up, pronto!)
Anyhow, it does raise a difficulty of ethics, how to make such a decision, after all the decision has to be made somehow, whether it is a first in first served, or by the highest bidder, or assessed most critically, or whatever. You can't blame doctors for having to refuse someone, what are they meant to be, magicians who can yell a multiplying spell for livers?
Anyhow, I leave the thought with you and perhaps you can munch on a liver sandwich and think about it.
Sunday, 7 June 2009
Piggy Masks
I was at the pharmacist recently and I see that they are selling "swine flu approved" blue masks. For hygiene reasons, they are non-refundable, non exchangeable.
Mr Coffee has suggested that they make special swine flu masks in the shape of a little piggy snout.
I'd like to see that!
Mr Coffee has suggested that they make special swine flu masks in the shape of a little piggy snout.
I'd like to see that!
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Swine Flu Alert!
My mother has a new hobby horse - each evening she reminds me about how bad the swine flu is and reminds me to wash my hands.
Now, I'm not looking to die of swine flu, but this is my view on it. Take normal precautions, be alert to symptoms and report any, there are obviously situations where people and more likely, larger groups, organisations etc may have to take stricter than normal precautions, but if it gets you and you die, well too bad. Everyone has to die sometime.
There isn't any point running around getting hysterical about it and sitting at your desk thinking that every time someone coughs it's swine flu, that you can't touch anything because swine flu is majorly infectious so what if that something had been in contact with another something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched ....
Life still has to go on. And if you were that hysterical about it you would have no life.
Anyhow, I was looking at what normal precautions were, and mainly people are walking around saying things like "There's this terrible thing called swine flu! Wash your hands! Cover your mouth when you sneeze and cough!"
You mean people have to have the threat of a jazzily named deadly flu before they remember that washing their hands and covering their mouth when they do a big public ATCHOO is the right thing to do?
People who don't remember this stuff are the kinds of people who ought to be wiped out, so I guess it's just another natural selection thing. The survival of the pockets of society of the more hygienic and polite.
Now, I'm not looking to die of swine flu, but this is my view on it. Take normal precautions, be alert to symptoms and report any, there are obviously situations where people and more likely, larger groups, organisations etc may have to take stricter than normal precautions, but if it gets you and you die, well too bad. Everyone has to die sometime.
There isn't any point running around getting hysterical about it and sitting at your desk thinking that every time someone coughs it's swine flu, that you can't touch anything because swine flu is majorly infectious so what if that something had been in contact with another something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched something which had touched ....
Life still has to go on. And if you were that hysterical about it you would have no life.
Anyhow, I was looking at what normal precautions were, and mainly people are walking around saying things like "There's this terrible thing called swine flu! Wash your hands! Cover your mouth when you sneeze and cough!"
You mean people have to have the threat of a jazzily named deadly flu before they remember that washing their hands and covering their mouth when they do a big public ATCHOO is the right thing to do?
People who don't remember this stuff are the kinds of people who ought to be wiped out, so I guess it's just another natural selection thing. The survival of the pockets of society of the more hygienic and polite.
Friday, 22 May 2009
Court Snoozing
OK, I've got a problem, and a bit of an embarrassing secret, which is of course why i'm publishing it on the Net.
I'm working in court, see, and my job partially requires me to sit for periods in court, some longer than others. On a chair. Sometimes I hand up court documents and do things but for a long while sometimes I'm just observing/listening. Depends on the day.
And sometimes I get tiiiiiiiiiired. Not sure why. Not enough sleep, muscles feeling lethargic, diet, boring lawyers, not sure.
But my job requires me to stay awake.
Sometimes I feel myself nodding, I jerk my head up and then I end up hitting the back of my head against the wall. Not only does this make a soundbut it's not good for my head.
I've tried doing a few things like surreptitious neck stretches, I can't start dancing or doing star jumps in court. I feel better when I have to be on my feet running errands, so I know that moving around definitely helps (and boring lawyers and long sessions definitley don't help!).
Anyone got any tips for staying awake or less sleepiness on a court morning that don't involve karaoke or cartwheels?
I'm working in court, see, and my job partially requires me to sit for periods in court, some longer than others. On a chair. Sometimes I hand up court documents and do things but for a long while sometimes I'm just observing/listening. Depends on the day.
And sometimes I get tiiiiiiiiiired. Not sure why. Not enough sleep, muscles feeling lethargic, diet, boring lawyers, not sure.
But my job requires me to stay awake.
Sometimes I feel myself nodding, I jerk my head up and then I end up hitting the back of my head against the wall. Not only does this make a soundbut it's not good for my head.
I've tried doing a few things like surreptitious neck stretches, I can't start dancing or doing star jumps in court. I feel better when I have to be on my feet running errands, so I know that moving around definitely helps (and boring lawyers and long sessions definitley don't help!).
Anyone got any tips for staying awake or less sleepiness on a court morning that don't involve karaoke or cartwheels?
Sunday, 10 May 2009
High heels, my foot!
Here's an article which urges women to wear stilettos instead of sandals and flats because it will boost their health and possibly also their sex-life.
One minute high heels are bad for you, straining your ankles, next minute they're a godsend. It sounds like one of those crock messages dieticians give you that has you running in both directions. Stupido.
I say, wear what you like, eat what you like, it's too hard to keep up with this load.
What I don't quite get is if these podiatrists are really so concerned about health, and that's their main concern, why is the article only urging WOMEN to pull out those stilettos? Why isn't it asking men to go to the ladies' section to find a high heel that suits them?
Is it because men's bodies are so differently constructed that they don't need the benefit of a heel to stop knee pain or arthiritis or help with posture, or more likely, that podiatrists are thinking, "No it's ok to urge all women to pull out high heels (even though the women I'm urging are presumably those who've been opting to wear the opposite kind of shoewear) but I wouldn't try to impose these ideas on men because, well, that's just a bit ridiculous, eh, I mean *snigger* a guy in high heels hehehe women can do it but I wouldn't expect a man to have to!"
It sounds like a weird discrimination both ways - putting people in boxes, expecting certain ladies to wear something that they have avoided because of certain health gains *supposedly*, and also avoiding marketing the same health benefits to men just because of a presumption that they mightn't want to wear same costume.
Unless it's true that men just don't gain the same benefits from wearing heels - and I'd like to see a test study, thanks, then how can you take this seriously?
As for the sex-life boost, the only possible sex-life boost I can imagine is that when you wear heels you are most likely to trip over, possibly into someone's arms, or perhaps in some weird way, flat on your back into a bed.
One minute high heels are bad for you, straining your ankles, next minute they're a godsend. It sounds like one of those crock messages dieticians give you that has you running in both directions. Stupido.
I say, wear what you like, eat what you like, it's too hard to keep up with this load.
What I don't quite get is if these podiatrists are really so concerned about health, and that's their main concern, why is the article only urging WOMEN to pull out those stilettos? Why isn't it asking men to go to the ladies' section to find a high heel that suits them?
Is it because men's bodies are so differently constructed that they don't need the benefit of a heel to stop knee pain or arthiritis or help with posture, or more likely, that podiatrists are thinking, "No it's ok to urge all women to pull out high heels (even though the women I'm urging are presumably those who've been opting to wear the opposite kind of shoewear) but I wouldn't try to impose these ideas on men because, well, that's just a bit ridiculous, eh, I mean *snigger* a guy in high heels hehehe women can do it but I wouldn't expect a man to have to!"
It sounds like a weird discrimination both ways - putting people in boxes, expecting certain ladies to wear something that they have avoided because of certain health gains *supposedly*, and also avoiding marketing the same health benefits to men just because of a presumption that they mightn't want to wear same costume.
Unless it's true that men just don't gain the same benefits from wearing heels - and I'd like to see a test study, thanks, then how can you take this seriously?
As for the sex-life boost, the only possible sex-life boost I can imagine is that when you wear heels you are most likely to trip over, possibly into someone's arms, or perhaps in some weird way, flat on your back into a bed.
Saturday, 9 May 2009
I don't have a drinking problem ...
It surprised me to read a newspaper article about how Aussies accept we have a binge drinking problem. For I've read so much about how any time someone wants to do something about drinking (alcohol that is) and drinking problems, a huge number of people start screaming about how this is a nanny state, drinking is part of the Australian culture, stop spoiling their fun party pooper and they are perfectly responsible people and why don't police go out and punish real criminals like jaywalkers and illegal billboard posters?
By the way, DRINKING somehow always means 'drinking alcohol'. If you drink too much water, you haven't drunk anything at all, even if you have urinated a whole tankful. It's a tricky thing, the English language. I don't know what it is about Orange Juice, but I ain't drinking it, technically. Apparently. Newspaperly.
Anyhow, I do think we have a drinking problem, we don't drink enough of the good stuff, and also the yummy drinks often cost a packet (It's $9 for a milkshake at Guylian's, what the?)
Also, someone warned me not to drink tap water in Adelaide. Fortunately I'm not from Adelaide and don't plan to go there soon. But what are your options then, someone gets the grand idea to bottle STILL water and sell it back to you at some exorbitant price. Makes you sick.
As for alcohol drinking, I'm no connoisseur, but I do get rather sick of the constant excuses for alcohol-induced behaviour not curbed or controlled, and any ideas put forth to control it all screamed down by some groups, because certain people enjoy drinking and consider it an integral part of their lifestyle.
Sure, everyone likes certain thing, but this shouldn't mean that we turn a blind eye to dangerous behaviour or social problems if they occur and think up solutions, and sometimes this does mean that some individuals have to submit to controls on their lifestyle to make things 'nicer' for everyone else.
For instance, other people enjoy the ownership of guns or a smoke, but they are considered not to be great for everyone else, so these people no matter how responsible they are individually submit to basic controls over their hobbies.
But then when someone suggests perhaps about limiting drinks sold at certain times or the power to remove extremely drunken-acting people off the street at night time, you get complaints of 'nanny state'.
Seems silly - I wouldn't want to run into someone waving a gun at me at night - but i've met drunken yobbos at night and they're quite menacing too. All power to those who can remove them. If people think they are the more responsible, drinking types then they don't have anything to worry about. We're not talking about zapping these people from existence, just getting them out of harm's way so they don't hurt themselves or intimidate or hurt others (or property).
I think a sensible talk about drinking without all the passion connected to it via the 'I've got a right to drink, I'm an Aussie it's what I DO!' parade would be very helpful.
By the way, DRINKING somehow always means 'drinking alcohol'. If you drink too much water, you haven't drunk anything at all, even if you have urinated a whole tankful. It's a tricky thing, the English language. I don't know what it is about Orange Juice, but I ain't drinking it, technically. Apparently. Newspaperly.
Anyhow, I do think we have a drinking problem, we don't drink enough of the good stuff, and also the yummy drinks often cost a packet (It's $9 for a milkshake at Guylian's, what the?)
Also, someone warned me not to drink tap water in Adelaide. Fortunately I'm not from Adelaide and don't plan to go there soon. But what are your options then, someone gets the grand idea to bottle STILL water and sell it back to you at some exorbitant price. Makes you sick.
As for alcohol drinking, I'm no connoisseur, but I do get rather sick of the constant excuses for alcohol-induced behaviour not curbed or controlled, and any ideas put forth to control it all screamed down by some groups, because certain people enjoy drinking and consider it an integral part of their lifestyle.
Sure, everyone likes certain thing, but this shouldn't mean that we turn a blind eye to dangerous behaviour or social problems if they occur and think up solutions, and sometimes this does mean that some individuals have to submit to controls on their lifestyle to make things 'nicer' for everyone else.
For instance, other people enjoy the ownership of guns or a smoke, but they are considered not to be great for everyone else, so these people no matter how responsible they are individually submit to basic controls over their hobbies.
But then when someone suggests perhaps about limiting drinks sold at certain times or the power to remove extremely drunken-acting people off the street at night time, you get complaints of 'nanny state'.
Seems silly - I wouldn't want to run into someone waving a gun at me at night - but i've met drunken yobbos at night and they're quite menacing too. All power to those who can remove them. If people think they are the more responsible, drinking types then they don't have anything to worry about. We're not talking about zapping these people from existence, just getting them out of harm's way so they don't hurt themselves or intimidate or hurt others (or property).
I think a sensible talk about drinking without all the passion connected to it via the 'I've got a right to drink, I'm an Aussie it's what I DO!' parade would be very helpful.
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Totally, Unexpectedly, Made a Friend (Sort of)
It was getting to the end of the year and I decided I wanted to use up the bit of money that my health fund allows me for optometry cover. Heck, I pay them a certain amount each year, I guess I should try to get some of it back, although I s'pose trying to get run over by a bus so I could get myself a few days in the luxury of a private hospital wasn't the best way to do it.
So I opted for the new glasses.
Mr Coffee advised me on a few places in the city which had a wide range of glasses, so I went off to one, all with the full intention of being a canny customer - I would check out each store, take notes, ask intelligent questions and go for the one with the best deal.
Well, I stopped by Laubman & Pank in Myer first off, and unfortunately, canny customer went straight out the window. They were so nice and sweet and told so many funny jokes without being annoying that I decided to spend my money with them without checking out the other stores first.
This is where I go from canny, astute customer to TOTAL SUCKER FIRST CLASS. They were good.
Well, I seem to have picked a pair of specs I like, and got a new eye test.
The staff fluttered around me like I was a celebrity. I'm surprised I wasn't asked for my autograph. I was in a tizzy afterwards and came back from the optometrist walking as ifmy shoes had little wings on them.
However, there was one teensy weensy problem - the machine through which I had to swipe my medical benefits card was broken at the moment but they would be getting it fixed soon, certainly in time for me to get my rebate back by the end of the year. They'd call me the minute it was fixed.
The next day I happened to be in the area so athough I hadn't received a call I decided to pop in just to see how everything was going.
No, the machine wasn't fixed, but they were definitely on to it.
What was supposed to be a 3 second pop in ended up in me chatting to the girl there about my current glasses - and ten suddenly her sitting down and giving me a whole cutesy optometry lesson - and then a whole talk about the history of glasses and contact lenses and discusing fashion - and Christmas - and work - and the Christmas sales - and current affairs ...
Oh how did that happen? Suddenly she was my best buddy, even if we were standing there bending over a counter of eyedrop displays!
The spell was broken when she said, "Whoops, a customer!" and I realised I really ought to get back. Maybe it was time for dinner.
Get your eyes checked, and make a friend. It should be the new spectacles slogan.
BTW, I'm still waiting for the machine to be fixed. Who knows what could happen when I go to swipe my card?
So I opted for the new glasses.
Mr Coffee advised me on a few places in the city which had a wide range of glasses, so I went off to one, all with the full intention of being a canny customer - I would check out each store, take notes, ask intelligent questions and go for the one with the best deal.
Well, I stopped by Laubman & Pank in Myer first off, and unfortunately, canny customer went straight out the window. They were so nice and sweet and told so many funny jokes without being annoying that I decided to spend my money with them without checking out the other stores first.
This is where I go from canny, astute customer to TOTAL SUCKER FIRST CLASS. They were good.
Well, I seem to have picked a pair of specs I like, and got a new eye test.
The staff fluttered around me like I was a celebrity. I'm surprised I wasn't asked for my autograph. I was in a tizzy afterwards and came back from the optometrist walking as ifmy shoes had little wings on them.
However, there was one teensy weensy problem - the machine through which I had to swipe my medical benefits card was broken at the moment but they would be getting it fixed soon, certainly in time for me to get my rebate back by the end of the year. They'd call me the minute it was fixed.
The next day I happened to be in the area so athough I hadn't received a call I decided to pop in just to see how everything was going.
No, the machine wasn't fixed, but they were definitely on to it.
What was supposed to be a 3 second pop in ended up in me chatting to the girl there about my current glasses - and ten suddenly her sitting down and giving me a whole cutesy optometry lesson - and then a whole talk about the history of glasses and contact lenses and discusing fashion - and Christmas - and work - and the Christmas sales - and current affairs ...
Oh how did that happen? Suddenly she was my best buddy, even if we were standing there bending over a counter of eyedrop displays!
The spell was broken when she said, "Whoops, a customer!" and I realised I really ought to get back. Maybe it was time for dinner.
Get your eyes checked, and make a friend. It should be the new spectacles slogan.
BTW, I'm still waiting for the machine to be fixed. Who knows what could happen when I go to swipe my card?
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Aaaargh! My Driving Instructor Cursed Me!
It sounds lame, but I haven't been blogging recently because I've been cursed.
I have been so ill recently I haven't been able to look at the computer without feeling a bit nauseous and feeling like I want to puke on the keyboard; not a healthy way to feel when I want to compose a blog article. On top of that I haven't been really in the mindframe to write a coherent few sentences.
It all started when I went for a driving lesson. As usual I was driving pretty badly, but that's the usual for me and I deal with it. My usual habit of not being able to brake or accelerate smoothly.
My instructor got frustrated with me and told me I'd feel sick because of it. "You'll feel it HERE," he said and touched the right side of his neck.
"What a wuss," I thought. I'd driven like this and much worse many other times, and never had such problems before. I'd always felt fine.
The day after the lesson I started to feel a bit groggy. "Must be Fridayitis," I thought, making up a convenient ailment. I felt like flopping down on the keyboard at work and was glad that the boss gave me an early mark at 4pm.
I was feeling all tight on the ... yes ... right side of the neck, so I fortunately got a lovely neck massage from Mr Coffee (many thanks!) which seemed to ease some tightness. However I still felt groggy - and I developed a headache on the right side of my head.
Saturday - head still throbbing. Tried to sleep all day. And it didn't get better by Sunday.
By the time the next week rolled around, things weren't getting better. In fact in the next week I developed MORE ailments, not fewer, including a worsening migraine on the right side, tightening muscles, tummy aches and a fever. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think. My body ended up with cramps and pains.
I took a whole week off work.
I've never had an illness quite like that before so I dub it "The Curse of the Driving Instructor" and hope there is no reason to have to go through it again.
Certainly not if I get my license!
I have been so ill recently I haven't been able to look at the computer without feeling a bit nauseous and feeling like I want to puke on the keyboard; not a healthy way to feel when I want to compose a blog article. On top of that I haven't been really in the mindframe to write a coherent few sentences.
It all started when I went for a driving lesson. As usual I was driving pretty badly, but that's the usual for me and I deal with it. My usual habit of not being able to brake or accelerate smoothly.
My instructor got frustrated with me and told me I'd feel sick because of it. "You'll feel it HERE," he said and touched the right side of his neck.
"What a wuss," I thought. I'd driven like this and much worse many other times, and never had such problems before. I'd always felt fine.
The day after the lesson I started to feel a bit groggy. "Must be Fridayitis," I thought, making up a convenient ailment. I felt like flopping down on the keyboard at work and was glad that the boss gave me an early mark at 4pm.
I was feeling all tight on the ... yes ... right side of the neck, so I fortunately got a lovely neck massage from Mr Coffee (many thanks!) which seemed to ease some tightness. However I still felt groggy - and I developed a headache on the right side of my head.
Saturday - head still throbbing. Tried to sleep all day. And it didn't get better by Sunday.
By the time the next week rolled around, things weren't getting better. In fact in the next week I developed MORE ailments, not fewer, including a worsening migraine on the right side, tightening muscles, tummy aches and a fever. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think. My body ended up with cramps and pains.
I took a whole week off work.
I've never had an illness quite like that before so I dub it "The Curse of the Driving Instructor" and hope there is no reason to have to go through it again.
Certainly not if I get my license!
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
Red Again
Ardent readers of this blog, of which I think there may be about one (me), and those who have the ability to work a link, of which I hope there's more, may note that in 2006 and most of 2007, I was the unhappy victim of lobsterisation. I was red and itching, especially face and shoulders.
It taught me the sunscreen lesson.
But if I'd made a New Year's Resolution not to let me go lobster again, I'd have broken it by now, and I'm only 2 months into the year.
Yes, last weekend I was red - not my face - but arms, legs, tummy, and back.
This time I suspect allergy, probably some squid or octopus I ate (I didn't eat any lobster, but if I had I would have suspected lobster vengeance).
It was the most annoying thing - wriggling about, itching like crazy, scratching like crazy, knowing I was making it worse - but absolutely unable to NOT scratch - AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!
I don't know what it is, is there some rule I must go red each year? Next year I'll probably fall into a vat of red paint.
It taught me the sunscreen lesson.
But if I'd made a New Year's Resolution not to let me go lobster again, I'd have broken it by now, and I'm only 2 months into the year.
Yes, last weekend I was red - not my face - but arms, legs, tummy, and back.
This time I suspect allergy, probably some squid or octopus I ate (I didn't eat any lobster, but if I had I would have suspected lobster vengeance).
It was the most annoying thing - wriggling about, itching like crazy, scratching like crazy, knowing I was making it worse - but absolutely unable to NOT scratch - AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!
I don't know what it is, is there some rule I must go red each year? Next year I'll probably fall into a vat of red paint.
Monday, 18 February 2008
I'm a Floss Fraud, and who are you?
I've got a dental appointment on Wednesday, and I know what he's going to say before I even get there.
"Have you been flossing?"
And it's a dumb question, because he knows I haven't been, not the way he means, and he knows my answer as well as I do:
"Ummm, recently ..."
When recently means I picked up a bit of dental floss either an hour before I turned up, or the night before, and did a bit of a floss out of guilt.
I hate flossing. And I'm not too fond of dental appointments either, because dentists mean the flossing question, plus sitting back in a chair with your mouth opened wide and someone blowing air on your teeth - and a lot worse if you have a filling - and forking out a couple of hundred dollars for the pleasure, often even if you have nothing wrong with you.
Dentists aren't covered by Medicare, an d they're not much fun. Which is why I don't go every six months like they tell me I should.
And you lose out no matter what.
You sit there hoping like mad you don't have a filling. But if you don't, they tell you you're fine, charge you an outrageous fee, and you walk out saying "I paid that amount for ... nothing!"
Then there's the floss. My dentist always tells me about plaque and how I ought to floss. Of course I ought to floss. But I'm a bad flosser. I was born without the floss skills. If there was a flossing Olympics, I wouldn't finish the race. If there were a Flossing Idol, I'd be one of those disgraced "Unforgettables". Nobody flosses worse than I do. I'm sure of it.
Of course, I always draw blood, though my dentist assures me that I shouldn't have to. But I always do. This puts me off flossing for some time til I feel guilty, maybe several months later, and I tentatively try flossing again, and draw blood again, and then get put off again. And so it goes on. I usually floss right before the dentist so I can say, "Ummmm, recently!" And give him a big goofy smile which fools nobody at all.
Then I get the floss lecture and I hand over a wad of cash, get guilt-tripped into flossing the next time I brush - and draw blood again.
Yuk!
I'm sure all this is meant to be a great metaphor or something, I can't figure out what yet.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Give Blood, Drive Longer
A letter writer to the Daily Tele, John Cody of East Epping, came up with this novel idea to solve the blood shortage at the Red Cross:
An incentive where each time you gave blood, your driver's license could be recredited a demerit point for a donation.
His reasoning was that you didn't have to be a complete ratbag to lose demerit points, with all the signs there were around on the streets etc, so it was a win-win set up, with driver's getting back there demerit points and the Red Cross getting their blood.
Now, I'm just thinking, that sounds good - to begin with.
Of course, the first thing - or probably the first thing - that pops into your mind - is "Why do I want some idiot hoon who can't drive being able to stay longer on the road simply because someone stuck a needle into his vein?" But of course you are reassured that it's not because the driver is an idiot hoon, it's because of all those signs and school zones and stuff. I'll bet you John Cody's lost a few demerit points in his time.
But then there's some other points to consider - pardon the pun.
If you HADN'T lost any demerit points that year, and you gave blood, would you get any credit? Could you get credit points on your license? And if this campaign - the demerit-points/blood-giving thing was heavily marketed, and no credit points could be had ...
Then would it mean people would stop giving until they had lost a demerit point and then just give in order to win them back. You could end up losing donors instead of winning them.
What's more, people who don't drive cars at all, or do so infrequently, might think that they have nothing much to gain from the whole process, and that the Red Cross doesn't value them as donors as they are pitching the whole campaign in favour of drivers instead of treating each donor as a valuable person and treating their gift equally. They may lose those donors too.
We might even get people being that little bit more careless on the roads because they think they can afford to - they 're going to be donating blood soon.
In general, I don't mind campaigns or causes which give favours to people if I feel those people deserve or are in need of extra help - people which give student concessions, assistance to the elderly or disabled, single mother help or daycare - that's cool. It's singling people out for special treatment because they've broken road rules that I feel somewhat repulsive. Surely there must be some way to get more people energetic about donating blood - though I can't think what.
There seem to be so many things governing whether you can or cannot donate blood.
I know some people who pass all the rules for donating blood but are still basically told not to - one is borderline on the weight category, and another, even though she is around about the right weight, still faints each time she gives blood (for some reason) so has stopped donating for her own health and safety reasons.
An incentive where each time you gave blood, your driver's license could be recredited a demerit point for a donation.
His reasoning was that you didn't have to be a complete ratbag to lose demerit points, with all the signs there were around on the streets etc, so it was a win-win set up, with driver's getting back there demerit points and the Red Cross getting their blood.
Now, I'm just thinking, that sounds good - to begin with.
Of course, the first thing - or probably the first thing - that pops into your mind - is "Why do I want some idiot hoon who can't drive being able to stay longer on the road simply because someone stuck a needle into his vein?" But of course you are reassured that it's not because the driver is an idiot hoon, it's because of all those signs and school zones and stuff. I'll bet you John Cody's lost a few demerit points in his time.
But then there's some other points to consider - pardon the pun.
If you HADN'T lost any demerit points that year, and you gave blood, would you get any credit? Could you get credit points on your license? And if this campaign - the demerit-points/blood-giving thing was heavily marketed, and no credit points could be had ...
Then would it mean people would stop giving until they had lost a demerit point and then just give in order to win them back. You could end up losing donors instead of winning them.
What's more, people who don't drive cars at all, or do so infrequently, might think that they have nothing much to gain from the whole process, and that the Red Cross doesn't value them as donors as they are pitching the whole campaign in favour of drivers instead of treating each donor as a valuable person and treating their gift equally. They may lose those donors too.
We might even get people being that little bit more careless on the roads because they think they can afford to - they 're going to be donating blood soon.
In general, I don't mind campaigns or causes which give favours to people if I feel those people deserve or are in need of extra help - people which give student concessions, assistance to the elderly or disabled, single mother help or daycare - that's cool. It's singling people out for special treatment because they've broken road rules that I feel somewhat repulsive. Surely there must be some way to get more people energetic about donating blood - though I can't think what.
There seem to be so many things governing whether you can or cannot donate blood.
I know some people who pass all the rules for donating blood but are still basically told not to - one is borderline on the weight category, and another, even though she is around about the right weight, still faints each time she gives blood (for some reason) so has stopped donating for her own health and safety reasons.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
I'll just have the platelets, hold the blood ...
Has anyone ever been inspired by one of these posters (found outside the Red Cross, in Sydney's Clarence Street), to burst into the donation centre, and say,
"Hi, I'd like to donate a large number of platelets, you can take a moderate amount of plasma, but no blood. Cool with you?"?
"Hi, I'd like to donate a large number of platelets, you can take a moderate amount of plasma, but no blood. Cool with you?"?
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Sonata To A Gappy Man; Or, When You're Gappy And You Know It
Recently my Dad had a tooth removed. This has given him a whole new perspective on life, or, has given others a whole new perspective into his mouth. He's kept tight-lipped, literally, on the topic, but it's a life-changing time for him. Mum's softening him and his meals up, but apart from chew really savagely on a large bone with the right front side of his mouth, there isn't a lot he can't do. When you've lost a tooth, you can still do many things - wiggle your hips, say hurrah, stomp your feet, save the environment and I'm sure you could run for PM too. And there's no reason why you shouldn't put passion into it, and broadcast your new life's purpose - or recycled old life's purpose - with music.
Despite Lexicon Harlot's endearing comment, "Music is not Maria's pianoforte", I hope you'll bear with my joyous little ditty writen in celebration of my Dad's missing tooth. You never know, it may become the anthem for the Paralympics one day, and you'll be able to say you sang it here first. Sing along!
Generic Gappy Happy Opening Verse
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it and you really want to show it,
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
Next verse for the Environmentally Aware Gappies, who can do anything
When you're gappy and you know it plant a tree!
When you're gappy and you want to grow it, plant another three,
When you go to the loo, don't flush unless you've done a poo,
When you're gappy and you want to slow it (really slow it) take public transport too!
Next verse for the shopaholic gappies
When you're gappy and you know it, max out your credit card!
When you've got someone else's do it double, c'mon it's not that hard!
Dentures these days cost so much, it's not as if going into debt is difficult as such,
When you're gappy your credit card is your crutch!
Put your gap to use, gappies!
When you're gappy and you know it you can whistle a darn good tune,
When you're gappy and you use it that gap's a boon,
When you make it work to a tee, you'll be whistling do-re-mi delicately,
When you're gappy and disciplined that day'll be soon.
For the sadists out there
When you're gappy and you know it you can make people cry,
When you're gappy and you're sadistic you can curl your lip and look them in the eye,
People get distraught and their faces they all contort,
When you're gappy and you practised you could make them die.
Gappies - the world is your oyster! Be prepared for many more verses ...
Despite Lexicon Harlot's endearing comment, "Music is not Maria's pianoforte", I hope you'll bear with my joyous little ditty writen in celebration of my Dad's missing tooth. You never know, it may become the anthem for the Paralympics one day, and you'll be able to say you sang it here first. Sing along!
Generic Gappy Happy Opening Verse
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
When you're gappy and you know it and you really want to show it,
When you're gappy and you know it, stomp your feet!
Next verse for the Environmentally Aware Gappies, who can do anything
When you're gappy and you know it plant a tree!
When you're gappy and you want to grow it, plant another three,
When you go to the loo, don't flush unless you've done a poo,
When you're gappy and you want to slow it (really slow it) take public transport too!
Next verse for the shopaholic gappies
When you're gappy and you know it, max out your credit card!
When you've got someone else's do it double, c'mon it's not that hard!
Dentures these days cost so much, it's not as if going into debt is difficult as such,
When you're gappy your credit card is your crutch!
Put your gap to use, gappies!
When you're gappy and you know it you can whistle a darn good tune,
When you're gappy and you use it that gap's a boon,
When you make it work to a tee, you'll be whistling do-re-mi delicately,
When you're gappy and disciplined that day'll be soon.
For the sadists out there
When you're gappy and you know it you can make people cry,
When you're gappy and you're sadistic you can curl your lip and look them in the eye,
People get distraught and their faces they all contort,
When you're gappy and you practised you could make them die.
Gappies - the world is your oyster! Be prepared for many more verses ...
Friday, 16 February 2007
Sunburn Update: A+, please applaud
I braved the beach on Wednesday. Duly armed with sunglasses, floppy hat, a long-sleeved shirt and masses of sunscreen.
Yes, reapplied liberally. Even on the soles of my feet.
The view was beautiful over the beach (except of course for the ignoramuses without their sunscreen and large hats. What were they thinking?)
Hmmm.
Outcome: I didn't roast like a lobster.
Come now, rounds of applause, adulation
please. I'm giving myself an A+.
Yes, reapplied liberally. Even on the soles of my feet.
The view was beautiful over the beach (except of course for the ignoramuses without their sunscreen and large hats. What were they thinking?)
Hmmm.
Outcome: I didn't roast like a lobster.
Come now, rounds of applause, adulation
please. I'm giving myself an A+.
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
I'll die for the floppy hat cause ...
What to do if your hat looks somewhat - actually a lot - like the above?
Acting upon the advice of valuable posters and fear of sunburn I purchased a hat, one that i'm not about to give up now as it cost me an ourageous sum of $10 at Paddy's Markets so I've got to wear it enough times to get my money's worth. I've been diligently wearing it, scrunching it, lending it to puppies and cooking soup in it to do so.
Report card: I haven't got sunburn yet.
However, I look really stupid.
Also, this hat (apart from being black, so it absorbs heat - a bad scientific choice on my part) - is floppy.
This means it flops down round the sides of my head and acts a bit like blinkers on a horse.
Times I have been almost knocked down by cars in the past twelve days as a result of a floppy hat blocking my side vision: 53
Death by sunburn or by floppy hat blinkering: Who decides?
I've stuck resolutely to the hat simply because I won't let Paddy's Markets rip me off. Over my dead body.
Acting upon the advice of valuable posters and fear of sunburn I purchased a hat, one that i'm not about to give up now as it cost me an ourageous sum of $10 at Paddy's Markets so I've got to wear it enough times to get my money's worth. I've been diligently wearing it, scrunching it, lending it to puppies and cooking soup in it to do so.
Report card: I haven't got sunburn yet.
However, I look really stupid.
Also, this hat (apart from being black, so it absorbs heat - a bad scientific choice on my part) - is floppy.
This means it flops down round the sides of my head and acts a bit like blinkers on a horse.
Times I have been almost knocked down by cars in the past twelve days as a result of a floppy hat blocking my side vision: 53
Death by sunburn or by floppy hat blinkering: Who decides?
I've stuck resolutely to the hat simply because I won't let Paddy's Markets rip me off. Over my dead body.
Thursday, 11 January 2007
The Itchy And Scratchy Show
Out of all the Seven Stages Of Sunburn I neglected to mention the most difficult stage of all - the itch.
I'm going through it now. While the skin peels off, it itches. If it's not one shoulder it's another. Why don't these attention-seekers find something else to do?
This is something like "Pain" only far far worse. Pain is when someone hits you, gauges out your eye, hacks off your head. Itch is when your body teases you malevolently with comparable sensations and makes you want to do it yourself. But when you give in to temptations - the satisfaction lasts for only about three seconds before you start itching all over again.
Ouch!
The other thing about itch on peeling skin is the rule that "if it's itchy, it means delicate skin underneath". For some reason, Nature has given us a body where we have a natural urge to scrape hard nails across the most tender parts of our bodies and expose bleeding flesh, which will heal again in a day or two, leave a scar or scab, and become itchy as hell too. Yes, and there are still people who push the intelligent design theory wagon; personally I think this is proof enough no creator of humans could have been intelligent and certainly not merciful.
In fact the reason I'm typing now is in a vain attempt to give my fingers something to do, otherwise they'd be at my poor, already mutilated skin.
Oww!
I'm going through it now. While the skin peels off, it itches. If it's not one shoulder it's another. Why don't these attention-seekers find something else to do?
This is something like "Pain" only far far worse. Pain is when someone hits you, gauges out your eye, hacks off your head. Itch is when your body teases you malevolently with comparable sensations and makes you want to do it yourself. But when you give in to temptations - the satisfaction lasts for only about three seconds before you start itching all over again.
Ouch!
The other thing about itch on peeling skin is the rule that "if it's itchy, it means delicate skin underneath". For some reason, Nature has given us a body where we have a natural urge to scrape hard nails across the most tender parts of our bodies and expose bleeding flesh, which will heal again in a day or two, leave a scar or scab, and become itchy as hell too. Yes, and there are still people who push the intelligent design theory wagon; personally I think this is proof enough no creator of humans could have been intelligent and certainly not merciful.
In fact the reason I'm typing now is in a vain attempt to give my fingers something to do, otherwise they'd be at my poor, already mutilated skin.
Oww!
Monday, 8 January 2007
The Seven Stages Of Sunburn
So an unfortunate picnic, a bit of sunny frolic, the temptation of a warm day and the blossoming gardens has made me pay through the pores with sunburn. Deliver me from evil.
There are several stages of sunburn. Here, I shall canvass, the Seven Stages Of Sunburn (open to challenge)
Ignorance
I was but a naive lass. The dancing rays looked so beautiful there, and beckoned me. "Leetle girl .... it's only a bit of sun ... shine .... want a bit of sun ... shine ... leetle girl ....???"
Foolishly, I forgot Rule Number 1 from my Stranger Danger 101 class - if anything or anyone calls out to you in a bad imitation of a German accent, don't be tempted. I threw caution to the wind, forgot sunscreen and hat in my bliss, and baked in the sun for a good many hours. It's a subversive creature, this sun-thing, like the evil stranger with the lollies, the lollies and the sun are actually quite good and there isn't any warning that there might be anything wrong. If the Government was doing its job, there would be a label on the sun "Be Alert But Not Alarmed". But with Little Johnny not caring (it's OK for him - he has an Akubra and a Wallabies jumpsuit for full protection, but what about the rest of us who don't have a sun-protector uniform?), we need self-monitoring. Something I, errh, forgot.
Denial
When the evening cooled, some kind person asked me "Why are you red?"
I'd been baked in an oven called a park picnic for several hours, and my immediate thought was, "Oh no - I haven't become allergic to the MSG or the peanuts in my meal, have I? Am I having a chemical reaction?"
I could not, would not, believe I had sunburn.
I studies my reddened hands and hoped I was just blushing a bit. Perhaps I had my fly undone and I was embarrassed. Hopefully that was it. In fact, I began walking lop-sided and making quacking sounds in the hope that if I really was foolish enough, it would become embarrassment redness, not the dreaded sunburn redness.
I could not, would not, be sunburnt.
Oh no, sirree. Oh no. Not me.
Lobster
There's a funny sensation when you take off your clothes at night and it seems like they're still on, because you can see the exact outline of where they've been. Because every bit of you is bright, deep red, except the pale white of your skin underneath.
Ah-huh. "It will soon go down," I muttered, unconvincingly.
Bits of me blistered pulpously, daringly.
Red. Red. Red. I ought to be swimming around in a tank in a Chinese restaurant; instead - I'm supposed to be ... going out tomorrow?
Oh no.
Humiliation
Being a lobster doesn't accord you special respect in this society, not the way being a senior, or a returned soldier does. I braved the Christmas crowds.
"You're bring really paranoid, Maria," I told myself. "No one looks at you at all, they're doing post Christmas shopping." I watched as shopper after shopper looked at me, gasped, cried, shrieked and picked up sunscreen and hats.
At least I inspired them for good.
Toddlers stopped and pointed, "What's that Mummy?"
Children all over Sydney that day added the word "FREAK" to their vocabulary (as "idiot who doesn't know to take out a hat and splash on the 30 plus when they go out into the sun" was a bit unwieldy for the occasion).
Others mocked me, and asked if I was in great need of medical attention. None came straight out and suggested an injection of brain cells, but I'm sure it was on their minds.
Pain
OK, I get it. I was stupid. I didn't take out sunscreen. I am being punished enough emotionally and aesthetically, oh powers that be. I look like a freak. People treat me like a pariah. So why, oh why, must you deliver physical pain as a punishment as well? Oh, was my crime so great? It was only a few hours in the sun! Ohhhhh ... I'll be good .... Oh .... I'll be good ... pleeease!
People who take drugs, torture cats, steal, oh, are they tortured in these ways - their looks ruined, their emotions cruelly torn to pieces, and put through physical pain as well?
The skin on my muscles has tightened. It's difficult to move.
Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
OK, powers that be! I get the ... ouch! ... point!
Peeling
I empathised with the lobster, now 'tis time to empathise with the snake. Shed the skin.
If only, like the snake, I could shed the skin in one easy piece. Slide out of it like a perfect body suit. Instead, peeling means little bits of flakes that rub off your nose and tend to fall into your breakfast cereal (did I ask for sugar on my cornflakes or bits of skin?) and trail all over your carpet which means heaps of hoovering. Find a sunburnt person by following the trail of skin.
The other bit is skin that doesn't quite fall off, but peels off, and is old, ready to fall off skin, but is dangling off your arm or leg or back, looking rather disgusting. What is the etiquette? Does one wait for it to fall off at an inopportune moment, or let it dangle and sometimes wave around a bit in the breeze - looking not very well groomed - or does one attempt to help these bits of loose skin on their way? And if so, since these loose bits some loose continuously, is it polite to push them off one's arm in public. Be off, damned dangly skin bit!
Oh to heck with being polite - just get rid of it! I'm itchy.
Redemption
Otherwise known as "Free At Last!"
(Note: I have not reached this stage yet, however, I have experienced sunburn for, and know that the Castle In The Air is awaiting me. I'm waiting. I'm climbing.)
Your body has finally forgiven you. For some people, your skin will have gone back to its usual colour, for others it may have deepened into a tan. But the pain, the glowing redness, has stopped. The peeling has disappeared. You have passed the tests. You have survived.
You have been forgiven, and hopefully, The Powers That Be are saying, you have learnt your lesson. Diligently you splash on 30+ sunscreen, wear a T-shirt at the beach, choose shady spots to picnic under, wear large hats.
This diligence will last all of about 3 weeks, if you are fortunate, until you lobsterise yet again.
There are several stages of sunburn. Here, I shall canvass, the Seven Stages Of Sunburn (open to challenge)
Ignorance
I was but a naive lass. The dancing rays looked so beautiful there, and beckoned me. "Leetle girl .... it's only a bit of sun ... shine .... want a bit of sun ... shine ... leetle girl ....???"
Foolishly, I forgot Rule Number 1 from my Stranger Danger 101 class - if anything or anyone calls out to you in a bad imitation of a German accent, don't be tempted. I threw caution to the wind, forgot sunscreen and hat in my bliss, and baked in the sun for a good many hours. It's a subversive creature, this sun-thing, like the evil stranger with the lollies, the lollies and the sun are actually quite good and there isn't any warning that there might be anything wrong. If the Government was doing its job, there would be a label on the sun "Be Alert But Not Alarmed". But with Little Johnny not caring (it's OK for him - he has an Akubra and a Wallabies jumpsuit for full protection, but what about the rest of us who don't have a sun-protector uniform?), we need self-monitoring. Something I, errh, forgot.
Denial
When the evening cooled, some kind person asked me "Why are you red?"
I'd been baked in an oven called a park picnic for several hours, and my immediate thought was, "Oh no - I haven't become allergic to the MSG or the peanuts in my meal, have I? Am I having a chemical reaction?"
I could not, would not, believe I had sunburn.
I studies my reddened hands and hoped I was just blushing a bit. Perhaps I had my fly undone and I was embarrassed. Hopefully that was it. In fact, I began walking lop-sided and making quacking sounds in the hope that if I really was foolish enough, it would become embarrassment redness, not the dreaded sunburn redness.
I could not, would not, be sunburnt.
Oh no, sirree. Oh no. Not me.
Lobster
There's a funny sensation when you take off your clothes at night and it seems like they're still on, because you can see the exact outline of where they've been. Because every bit of you is bright, deep red, except the pale white of your skin underneath.
Ah-huh. "It will soon go down," I muttered, unconvincingly.
Bits of me blistered pulpously, daringly.
Red. Red. Red. I ought to be swimming around in a tank in a Chinese restaurant; instead - I'm supposed to be ... going out tomorrow?
Oh no.
Humiliation
Being a lobster doesn't accord you special respect in this society, not the way being a senior, or a returned soldier does. I braved the Christmas crowds.
"You're bring really paranoid, Maria," I told myself. "No one looks at you at all, they're doing post Christmas shopping." I watched as shopper after shopper looked at me, gasped, cried, shrieked and picked up sunscreen and hats.
At least I inspired them for good.
Toddlers stopped and pointed, "What's that Mummy?"
Children all over Sydney that day added the word "FREAK" to their vocabulary (as "idiot who doesn't know to take out a hat and splash on the 30 plus when they go out into the sun" was a bit unwieldy for the occasion).
Others mocked me, and asked if I was in great need of medical attention. None came straight out and suggested an injection of brain cells, but I'm sure it was on their minds.
Pain
OK, I get it. I was stupid. I didn't take out sunscreen. I am being punished enough emotionally and aesthetically, oh powers that be. I look like a freak. People treat me like a pariah. So why, oh why, must you deliver physical pain as a punishment as well? Oh, was my crime so great? It was only a few hours in the sun! Ohhhhh ... I'll be good .... Oh .... I'll be good ... pleeease!
People who take drugs, torture cats, steal, oh, are they tortured in these ways - their looks ruined, their emotions cruelly torn to pieces, and put through physical pain as well?
The skin on my muscles has tightened. It's difficult to move.
Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
OK, powers that be! I get the ... ouch! ... point!
Peeling
I empathised with the lobster, now 'tis time to empathise with the snake. Shed the skin.
If only, like the snake, I could shed the skin in one easy piece. Slide out of it like a perfect body suit. Instead, peeling means little bits of flakes that rub off your nose and tend to fall into your breakfast cereal (did I ask for sugar on my cornflakes or bits of skin?) and trail all over your carpet which means heaps of hoovering. Find a sunburnt person by following the trail of skin.
The other bit is skin that doesn't quite fall off, but peels off, and is old, ready to fall off skin, but is dangling off your arm or leg or back, looking rather disgusting. What is the etiquette? Does one wait for it to fall off at an inopportune moment, or let it dangle and sometimes wave around a bit in the breeze - looking not very well groomed - or does one attempt to help these bits of loose skin on their way? And if so, since these loose bits some loose continuously, is it polite to push them off one's arm in public. Be off, damned dangly skin bit!
Oh to heck with being polite - just get rid of it! I'm itchy.
Redemption
Otherwise known as "Free At Last!"
(Note: I have not reached this stage yet, however, I have experienced sunburn for, and know that the Castle In The Air is awaiting me. I'm waiting. I'm climbing.)
Your body has finally forgiven you. For some people, your skin will have gone back to its usual colour, for others it may have deepened into a tan. But the pain, the glowing redness, has stopped. The peeling has disappeared. You have passed the tests. You have survived.
You have been forgiven, and hopefully, The Powers That Be are saying, you have learnt your lesson. Diligently you splash on 30+ sunscreen, wear a T-shirt at the beach, choose shady spots to picnic under, wear large hats.
This diligence will last all of about 3 weeks, if you are fortunate, until you lobsterise yet again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
