A Debate Recap With Song, Dance and Joseph Gordon-Levitt

From the New York Times, the Harris/Trump debate of September 10, the debate analysis you didn’t know you needed:

A Debate Recap With Song, Dance and Joseph Gordon-Levitt

”They’re eating the dogs!

They’re eating the cats!”

Fish tails

Please note that while based on a True Story, names and gender assignations are for storytelling purposes only.

Mr. Pleco and Ms Cory Catfish live in a flowerpot. There are two entrances on the ground level and also a very large picture window, but for the most part Mr Pleco and Ms Cory live in the windowless upper level. Mr Pleco prefers darkness and it is hard to know what Ms Cory prefers. Also hard to know is the exact nature of their relationship, or what it is that they do in private, in the dark. Perhaps the relationship is romantic, or possibly platonic, or more likely simply a matter of convenience: they both like the privacy of the dark.

Mr Pleco stands in front of his flowerpot house

Their immediate neighbours, the Tetras, are not exactly noisy, but they are quite rambunctious and stick their noses everywhere. They have been admonished on more than one occasion not to enter the flowerpot, Ms Cory chases them away. They occasionally and very cautiously peek through the main entrance but I doubt they see anything of note. They know they are not welcome there. Amongst themselves they play hide and seek games, play fight and chase each other around in a form of fish tag.

The nosy neighbours

Mr Pleco rarely appears in public but when he does he is most formal in appearance and demeanour, dressed all in black standing upright against the wall and moving about most solemnly. When he first moved into the neighbourhood he had the entire place to himself, but did not care to be seen at all. The privacy of the flowerpot appealed to him immensely and immediately. Ms Cory moved in later, about the same time as the nosy neighbours. She was accepted into the flowerpot but the Tetras most definitely were not.

Recently Ms Cory discovered a counterpart just beyond one of the glass walls of the neighbourhood. Oh my, wasn't she excited! The new catfish was just as excited as she was, as they zoomed back and forth trying to make contact. A far cry from the taciturn Mr Pleco, this new companion was a most delightful playmate. If only they could breach the wall! It would be so lovely!

Ms Cory gazes at her new playmate, who is barely visible beyond the glass wall,
while nosy neighbours watch

Mr Pleco stands with his back turned to Ms Cory's antics. As far as he is concerned, Ms Cory's new playmate is but a mirage, not to be taken seriously. She will return to the dark safety of the flowerpot soon enough. He simply stands by the main entrance and waits for her.

Bobby - end of an era

Note: I wrote this on August 7. I was hoping to find a suitable photo for this post but never did, and then forgot about it. Only ran across the draft of this post by accident in October.

Yesterday I heard that a man I kind of grew up with died on Saturday. Kind of. Our parents were good friends at one time, they met when they lived on the same street in Toronto. I was just 4 then, the same age as Bobby. He was very worldly-wise in my four-year-old eyes, he knew how to make phone calls and we talked on the phone. He said we would get married when we grew up, and that actually scared me, I am not sure why. 

Once we ran away from home together, he seemed to know exactly where we were the whole time but I was utterly lost. At one point we ended up on a very busy street with stoplights, I didn't have a clue how stoplights worked and didn't want to test them, but Bobby did. Fortunately I was just too scared to be cajoled into crossing that street. We ended up back home in time for supper.

Shortly after that his family moved to Mississauga and a while after that my family moved to Forest Hill Village, then one of the municipalities that made up Metropolitan Toronto. But our parents remained friends and there was a lot of visiting back and forth over the years, we kids were close enough that Bobby once referred to me as his cousin, in a particular situation where I felt in danger and he was putting himself between me and the mean kids.

Bobby's younger sister and I became quite good friends as kids and teenagers. I ended up introducing her to the man she would marry and have a couple of kids with. More water under the bridge and Bobby moved to the US and I never saw him again, although I did hear stories about what he was up to from his sister and younger brother.

I was chatting with Bobby's sister over Facebook when she heard from Bobby's girlfriend that he had just died at her place. Not sure what happened, might have been a heart attack. I asked her if she had any photos of him, today she posted a few on Facebook.

"End of an era!" She texted me. I guess it is. In her family she is now the elder: both parents and her older brother gone now.

It is not so much that I miss Bobby or am sad about his death (I am), as that it brings back so many memories of us as kids. There were eight of us and we did a lot of things together, like family, or at least close cousins. Bobby was definitely something else; his sister said he became eccentric later in life, but I think he was born eccentric.

In the last few years of his life he reconnected with an old girlfriend. He moved back to Canada to live with her. I am glad he found love at the end. His sister said it changed him, for the better.

Politics, heartbeats and stories

The last couple of weeks have been too much. Too much going on, too much I have to do, too much I can't deal with. But I think things might settle down soon.

My pheasant neighbour keeps an eye on things

I lose control emotionally when I have too much to deal with. There have been some not great moments.

 

Song sparrow by the pond

I ran into a couple of writers from my old writing group who urged me to come back, I said I haven't been able to write anything but they said that people would just like to see me. They are still meeting over Zoom, so I said Okay and someone sent me the link to the group meeting.

It was nice, and definitely validating to have my writer friends welcome me back so enthusiastically. I mostly listened, and made a few comments on what I liked. Then there was a discussion about trying to meet in person, various locations and possibilities. I originally stopped going partly because I had nothing to contribute but also because I didn't like Zoom. I still have written nothing but I have changed my mind about Zoom.

While they were discussing different locations I said that I was okay with staying on Zoom, but whether I attended an in-person meeting would depend on how close by it was. Apparently that clinched the deal, they said that if staying on Zoom was the price of having me return, then everybody was okay with continuing on Zoom. I felt honoured. I may not be able to write, but I can critique constructively.

The clinic wanted to teach me a breathing technique that would improve my Heart Rate Variability (HRV) which in turn would improve my health. I had to go to the clinic to learn the technique, using biofeedback. I was a total failure at it. The doctor thought the equipment might be at fault, but it wasn't. He demonstrated what should happen by hooking himself up to the equipment, and it was nothing like what I was getting. Within a couple of breaths he had his HRV under control, whereas mine was way out of control, disappearing off the screen both top and bottom. No control whatsoever. Then he took my pulse and said he thought I had a sinus arrythmia that was preventing me from succeeding.

It was a long trip there and back and I felt like it was a complete waste of time, I was a failure in self control. Well, that's how it feels.

I've also come to realize how political the Accessibility Committee is, and I don't like it. I was particularly upset that my comments at a previous meeting had been completely ignored and something meaningless had been written in. I spent a couple of days getting more and more upset about it and finally sent an email saying I could not accept the draft minutes as currently written. So at the next meeting I was told that they didn't have time to discuss my comments and so they would be deferring the vote on accepting the minutes to another meeting, as yet unscheduled.

I said that I could write a couple of sentences that would be acceptable to me and the committee could read and think about them before the next meeting. I was told that is not allowed. I said I looked it up in Roberts Rules of Order and that was acceptable. So then I was told that we don't follow Roberts Rules of Order, we follow something-municipal-something. I didn't even catch the whole name and had no idea what that was. And here I am severla meetings in and am only just now being told the parameters within which I am supposed to operate? That kind of made up my mind that I did not belong here.

One of the men at the meeting offered to chat with me over coffee about what was going on. I told him that getting stressed out like this was bad for my health so I was seriouly reconsidering. He said he understood how difficult it was but the fact that I refused to accept the minutes as written was a huge statement. And I should be patient. So that's where it stands. Plus there's another reason to stay, I might write about it later. But when I volunteered for this committee I thought it would be the least political of all the committees. It is, but that's how bad it is. The man I chatted with laughed at my comments, he agreed. I met him several years ago, he was just starting his new job in charge of Parks and Recreation. Apparently he wears several different hats within the administration now.

Still here

It is very hard for me to get things done. I thought I should start some kind of 'to do' list on my phone, since that is usually close at hand, but the couple of apps I downloaded for that purpose were not what I had in mind. I wanted something like my Mealime app which keeps my grocery list. Finally I decided to just use Mealime, prefacing each 'to do' item with the words "to do". Mealime files them under "Other", works for me.

I vaguely had the idea that I would post to this blog after I got a new computer, since the old one seemed to be failing. Well, I got the new computer but the process for setting it up is proving to be complicated. It is still on the To Do list, but falling further down as other items become more urgent. So I am posting this from the old computer just to say "I'm still here."

Worst winter ever. My illness is worse and as I am 3 years in now, I have no prospect of improving. I know this to be Long Covid but cannot get diagnosed because there is no bio-marker nor is there any agreed-upon criteria for diagnosing it. In fact, most doctors around here do not admit to its existence. Until there is a diagnostic bio-marker most doctors will tell you that it is all in your pretty little head (meaning psychological not neurological) and take an antidepressant for it.

My GP referred me to a psychiatrist who asked me two questions: How do you know Dr. P (at the beginning of the hour) and Have you any questions for me (at the end of the hour).

He told me:
1) post-viral syndromes don't exist and he knows this because he grew up in Ireland and Brucellosis (I thought that was a disease of cattle?).
2) Brain Fog doesn't exist.
3) I should quit chasing specialists for a diagnosis.
4) When I told him that my experience with antidepressant side effects was pretty awful, he said, Well even Tylenol has side effects. 

Since he never asked me any questions about why I was there or my state of mind, I assume he got all of his knowledge of me from my medical record. Great.

Now that many countries are funding research into Long Covid, a lot of potential causes and bio-markers are being suggested. Maybe sometime soon (i.e., within the next couple of years) they will narrow down on one cause and one bio-marker. Here in Nova Scotia it will probably entail investing in new technology to detect that bio-marker, so say another couple of years. That means Long Covid will go from being a syndrome (a collection of symptom criteria) to an actual disease, as MS did when the MRI came into play.

But that's not a cure or even a symptomatic treatment. So another decade or so. I am 75. In 5 years I may get my illness recognized, and in another decade and a half there may be a treatment. Right.

One day on FB (I rejoined in order to access some support groups) FB recommended I join a group dealing with The Afterlife. That made me laugh. With the tinnitus, brain fog and dizziness I don't feel like I am part of the real world, I am observing from inside a bubble constant noise, inability to think properly and unsteadiness, The BesideLife.

There is no outward sign of illness. I ace tests of my memory and executive function, but cannot follow a recipe or even remember the order of steps to make my breakfast. Words escape me. My longterm memory feels like old lace rotting away. I spend most of my time on my daybed, with breaks to take Princess for short walks and the occasional shopping trip.

I got an Accessibility tag for my truck and I bought a wheel chair. It was okay, but I need something with more features so I am sending it back to get a more powerful and more flexible chair. I am looking at my e-bike and kayak wondering if I should sell them. I've started VON Frozen Favourites delivered to my door at a very reasonable price. I now have a twice-monthly house cleaner.

I am gradually eliminating things from my life. The garden is probably going to go. I stopped making my bed. I don't socialize. My opinions and views on this disease are a bit too strong for most of the LC support groups I joined so I am slowly eliminating them as well. They say that when you live in isolation your brain gradually rewires to accommodate that, making re-entry into the world of people more difficult. It just feels like too much work, too much bother. I have one friend that I try to visit regularly, and according to my Garmin watch 'Body Battery' time spent with her is as restful as a sound nap; I guess the effort to maintain some kind of social persona is work, and I don't have to do that with her.

Yesterday I was in my driveway and my next door neighbour came over to ask how I was, in a concerned tone indicating that she really wanted to know. It was a bright sunny warm day and I am now quite sensitive to light and I was leaning against my truck in order to talk to her. You know how you feel when you have the flu with a high fever? It was like that, a real struggle to gather my thoughts and figure out what to say and what not to say, all the while clinging to the truck to stay upright and closing my eyes against the sunlight.

The snow is gone and temperatures have warmed up. I see young able people running and cycling and walking briskly, even swimming (the ponds are still way too cold for us older folk but for young people it is great for scampering in and out screaming about how nice it is while clutching their chests in what looks to me like extreme coldness). Princess has discovered her inner lab and goes crazy in the water chasing sticks and wanting to be part of the crowd of young people having fun. She caught their frisbee in mid-air and ran off with it, obviously hoping for someone to chase her and throw the frisbee again.

Given that this is my new life, I would like to re-invent myself within the confines of disability, but I don't really know where to start.

My Little Princess

I never thought I'd end up with a little yappy dog with entitlement issues, but here we are. She comes from Elderdog (a dog rescue agency that tries to match older owners and dogs), from a rather unpleasant background. A 13 year old Pekinese/Lab Retriever mix with a few minor health issues (for now). Princess is pretty much the antithesis of Hapi.

I always thought that while Hapi made people around her very happy, she wasn't really a happy dog herself. Not unhappy, just more reserved and independent. And Princess confirms that, she is definitely a happy dog despite her background. She makes me laugh, she likes to cuddle, and she sleeps in (on my bed). She will never replace Hapi, but she is the right dog for me now. 

With Hapi I could look up Malamute behaviour and she fit it to a T, but Princess being a mix I can't really do that. Sometimes I can say, "oh that's the Pekinese in her" or "that's the Lab in her", but I've only had her now for three weeks so I'm still getting to know her. She has definitely made herself right at home here; she's landed on her feet and she knows it.

Princess is a bit of an energy draw though, she loves going for walks and she can move much faster and further than I can, even with her limp and tiny legs. The limp gives her a kind of rolling gait which is cute. She would dearly like to play with the bigger dogs at the Reservoir, but her tiny legs can't keep up with them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Big snow storm on Friday with about 5 or 6 cm on the ground on Saturday. My guy came to shovel in the afternoon, he was very slow but he got the job done, with some direction from me. Finally I can lay off the snow shovelling!

I had to do a stress test last Monday, I was half hoping that I would get at least one test that showed an abnormality, but this wasn't it. Tiring but not significant. But between hauling a load or two of firewood in and walking the dog every day, I am always fatigued and dizzy and brain fogged. Started LDN for the second time, no side effects this time but no positive effects either. However they say it can take up to a year or more to start seeing benefits, if any. I'm just happy the worst side effects last time—nausea and depression—are not there now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In November?December? I watched a Netflix fantasy series called The Bastard Son and the Devil Himself. I thought it was really good but Netflix decided not to renew it. Then they changed the title, now it's called Half Bad, which is the book series it is based on. The library has the book series so I am reading that. 

YA fantasy literature is often not that well written but this one is, the author Sally Greene is older and I guess a better writer than many YA authors. She says she likes the Hemingway style of writing and tries to emulate it. I finished Half Bad and am on to the second book, Half Wild. I can see that while the Netflix series was more or less true to the main characters and the overall plot, it definitely made a lot of changes in timing and specific plotlines, also dropping a few to make it less complicated.

Greene revised her novels based on some of the things she learned from the screen version. Nothing serious, but she saw the racist implications in what she originally wrote that the Netflix version changed to something more neutral, so she did too. I got the first book as an online book with her revisions, but the print versions the library has are older and still contain the problematic language.

It is the rare author who writes a novel that can be directly translated into a screenplay. A novel is a different storytelling medium from theatre or big/small screen video; novels don't always work so well in strict translation, or vice versa. Very much depends on the talent of the writers and directors involved. 

TW3: That Was The Week That Was

Flat on my back again. But good weather for it, wet and grey.

This week has been kind of interesting, but not sure if it is in a good way or a bad way. I had two phone appointments with my occupational therapist (OT) and my care coordinator, one zoom call with the Dizziness clinic physiotherapist (PT), and one in-person appointment with my doctor. Each had something diffferent to say.

First off, on Sunday I started moving some firewood from outdoors into the woodshed since there was now room for it. I figured that if I split the job up over three days I'd be within my energy envelope. I also went to a neighbourhood Christmas party that evening, which I really enjoyed. However my first day of moving firewood I racked up 92 minutes of "fat-burning exercise" (according to my fitbit), which was definitely not within my energy envelope. But I felt okay enough to go to the party and get silly drunk.

Monday I still felt okay so I did the second third of the firewood, but there was so little left and I felt pretty good so I decided to finish the job. 46 minutes of fat-burning, still not good but I thought, oh well I can rest all day Tuesday. Then I went to move the sheet of plywood that had been covering the wood pile back to where it had been. Too heavy to lift so I was sliding it across the ground. The front end snagged on something, I pushed again and my feet slipped and I fell flat on my face onto the plywood.

Boy did that hurt! Amazingly, my glasses didn't break although the frame bent a bit. My face was a mess though. I went inside and laid down for some time and then went out to finish moving the plywood. Spent the rest of the day resting, I was pretty shook up.

Tuesday I talked to the OT, told her what happened, we discussed staying within my energy envelope and lessons learned from making mistakes. She was very gentle about it.

Wednesday I went to the doctor's and also the optometrist to get my glasses bent back to shape. I am thoroughly grateful for masks, I did not have to show off my really banged up face. Discussed some medication options with my doctor and she gave me a prescription for something new to try. I asked about a couple of other drugs but she felt they were way too new for her to feel comfortable prescribing them. They're not actually new, they are just starting to be used off-label for what I have. I was happy about the prescription that she did give me though.

Stopped at a farm on my way home to pick up some kindling and braided trivets. Went home and utterly crashed, I could barely make it in the door and to the daybed. Managed to get up long enough to get something to eat, but that was it, I was toast.

Thursday was no better, I did not bother getting out of my pyjamas because I felt so sick. It is post exertional malaise (PEM), the hallmark of myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). It can be delayed by as much as 72 hours after one has overdone it. So I overdid things Sunday-Monday, continued along thinking I was sort of okay (I knew I was going to pay for it but whatever) and then Wednesday afternoon it hit. It feels like a bad flu, minus the fever, respiratory and/or gut symptoms, one just feels awful.

My physio zoom call was Thursday afternoon and the PT just threw the book at me.

"What did I tell you? 

And what did you do? 

You fell because you didn't listen and you didn't do as you were told! 

You think you can just live like you did before but you can't!"

And on like that. I've gotten used to her style so I kinda knew this was coming. Among other things she mentioned that her mother has ME/CFS and she has lectured her mother about pacing and her mother continues to mess up. I get her frustration, but, a little bit of transference maybe?

The OT is very gentle with me and the PT is the opposite, but maybe getting lectured like that will make it sink in. I CANNOT exceed my energy envelope. Not only does it result in PEM, but as long as I am continually putting myself in that state I will NEVER improve.

Friday I am still sick. I have an phone appointment with my care coordinator. I tell her the story of my week and she asks me if I know what my anaerobic threshold is. I don't even know what that is, let alone what mine is, so she says she'll email me the formula for calculating it. She is happy to hear about the prescription my doctor gave me but warns me that if it makes me feel more energetic I have to resist using that energy, it is a kind of false dawn.

I get her email and the formula looks familiar. It is: 

(220 - your age) x .6 or .5 (depending on how severe one's illness is). 

This is meant to be the heart rate (HR) that I must not exceed, the limit of my energy envelope. I do the calculation and realize that it more or less coincides with what my fitbit tells me is fat-burning exercise. In other words, I must not get any fat-burning exercise at all (never mind cardio!). That's a steep challenge! I optimistically used .6 as the multiplier; if I used .5 I would pretty much have to confine myself to bed.

Today, Saturday, I am still sick but I needed to bring in a load of firewood from the woodshed to the smaller stack beside the woodstove. It was 7 minutes over my threshold to get it to the back door, another minute to get it stacked. 

This being winter, I will probably average a load a day. That is 8 minutes outside my energy envelope every day, at minimum. And if I do anything else (shopping, a short walk, a visit with friends, etc) I am so toasted.

This sucks.