Women's health

Seventy years ago, my great-grandmother experienced a strange menopausal reaction. She was living on a farm at the time, and the doctor had to come from the local village. He didn't want to come. He decided that she was "hysterical" and it was just a normal "woman's issue". 

He didn't come.

She hemorrhaged, and bled to death. She was 46.

My grandfather was devastated, and never again trusted another doctor.

He's not my presidential candidate, but anyone who uses air quotes to talk about women's health issues does not deserve to lead a country. He doesn't deserve to do much, in my opinion. The only thing I'd say he's good for is to retire, because he is clearly too old to be thinking straight.

Because that kind of attitude only leads to unnecessary deaths of women. I know.

Thanksgiving

Today we are heading to my sister's for the traditional -- so it has become, now that we are adults. Regular readers will know that going to my sister's is not my favourite activities, but I go nevertheless in the interests of family harmony. This year, though, there is a teeny tiny glimmer of hope, the briefest whisper of conversation that was had with said sister a few days back that suggested that she actually realizes that there is this great overwhelming canyon of a divide between us, and even moreso that she might think that attempting to bridge the divide is a good thing.

So in celebration of what is probably yet another misunderstanding but I am thinking positive and of course this is the beginning of a new relationship for the two of us, here's my list of things I am most thankful for this year.

My child, who tries and delights me every single day. I am so very blessed by his presence.

My partner in life, who is in a very real but very subtle way saving my life right now.

My parents, who don't understand me, but who love me without limit nevertheless.

My friends, who also delight me. I wish I had more time for you -- virtually and really -- than I do.

My home, which is cluttered and often dirty, but which feels cozy and safe and keeps us all out of the elements.

My inlaws, who are wonderful people who I am glad to have part of my life.

My books, which give me endless entertainment.

My job which, while dull as dirt right now, gives me the means to have the rest of the life I enjoy and the safety nets that I like to know are there.

My imagination, which I have never really appreciated but which follows me, for good or evil, all the days of my life.

My sister, and the fact that we will always be sisters, and while we may hurt one another, nothing will change that one bond.

Days like today which are sunny and cool with crisp leaves and a nip in the air.

My backyard, with its myriad chalk pictures that we ran about like crazy people in this morning.

The love that I have.

The love I receive.

My hope for the future.

Plus ... tea, good cheese, soft bread, ripe fruit, pumpkin pie, and turkey with stuffing.

I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving. Even if you don't celebrate it like we are doing tonight.

Never say never

So I'm tired. Let's get that out of the way first. But I don't really want to dwell on it, despite the fact that I stayed home from work today to get some sleep and haven't managed to do so yet. GO ME.

Sorry about the empty post yesterday; somehow or other The Man was closing windows on my computer and managed to save an empty window. No idea how. You'd think that if the window were empty, somehow or other blogger might think ... huh ... this doesn't seem worth posting, are you sure you want to do this? But no. 

In other news, it appears that my significant other has finally warped my mind completely. You see, as a child I hated mushrooms. Hated. Them. It was family lore, how much I hated mushrooms. I refused to eat them, the taste, the texture, the smell ... shudder. I had eaten them, at other people's houses, to be polite, but they just make me want to vomit.

Anyway. So over the past five years, The Man has pined for mushrooms. He likes them. And every once in a while, when I can stomach him cooking them at home, he's forced me to try bites of them. Most of the time their squeaky rubberyness has set my teeth on edge, but I've choked them down. 

But you know? There are SO many good recipes out there that have mushrooms. If you try and eat vegetarian, which I often try to do, it can be hard to avoid them. I've begun wishing I liked them, just to eat those dishes I see on restaurant menus or in cookbooks that otherwise seem so tempting.

A few months back, I was at my favourite pasta store. They have three main kinds of filled pasta -- cheese, beef, and chicken / mushroom. I'm tired of cheese. I don't want red meat. So I get the chicken / mushroom. I take it home. I cook it. I feed it to my son. I eat it.

I don't hate it.

Now, true enough, too much mushroom flavour every once in a while gave me the skeeves, but this is the same woman who, five years previously, rejected pizza because it had tiny pieces of diced mushrooms in the sauce. Not hating it is victory!

The other day The Man and I went out for lunch sans child, and he looked at me in a pleading way and said -- would you mind very much if I got the mushroom soup? I acquiesced, and he was served the soup and offered me a bite. And ... And ... I actually kind of liked it.

This Sunday, we went to the nearby farmer's market. And The Man seized the moment and bought a large bag of end of the season chantrelle mushrooms, which he assures me are the kind of mushrooms, second only to truffles, and which we are lucky enough to have grow 'round these parts. Yesterday he cooked them up with cream and parmesan cheese for sauce for pasta. I cannot resist cream and cheese. It's like he wants me to like them or something. 

He gave me a taste. My mind still rebelled a little at the texture, but the taste ... was actually good. 

And I woke up in the night once and remembered what was for dinner tonight and was excited by the prospect of this. 

And you know? I'll never live this down. Never. I'm the one who hates mushrooms! My identity will never be the same!

Oh, and I should post this too

I ate all the Nanaimo Bars. It took five days, but I ate them all. 

It's probably not a coincidence that I've been feeling tired, sluggish and generally horrible all week, what with the blood sugar soaring and crashing all week, especially since I eat them before bed and wake up feeling AWFUL.

Hereby, I command my husband to FORBID ME FROM MAKING SUCH GARBAGE AGAIN. 

Of Bee Stings and Cars

Monday afternoon while I was sitting in my office, the phone rang. I jumped. I almost always do. For pete's sake, I write all day, no one ever CALLS me. 

I have call display, which I love, because it allows me to actually act like a writer too and ignore phone calls if I don't recognize the caller. This one only comes up with a number, and I frown and think .... where have I seen that before? And just before it goes to voicemail, I remember. Oh Yeah. That's the DAYCARE.

Yeah, awesome on the not-answering-phone thing. 

The daycare only calls when the kiddo is sick or something, so of course I lunge for the phone. The first thing they say is "It's not an emergency", which is nice, but then the second thing they say is "But we think he's been stung by a wasp."

You think??

Apparently about twenty minutes earlier my son, who had been happily playing in the daycare garden, came over to one of the grown ups and said "A bee landed on me, and I didn't like it!" He was holding out his hand, and there were tears in his eyes, as though he was quite upset, but he was neither crying tears nor wailing, nor were there any marks on his hand, so they comforted him and he went on his way.

Twenty minutes later they noticed his hand was swelling up. And so they called, because they thought they'd better see if we had any allergy problems with wasps.

We don't, thankfully. But I am of course pretty confused. How can he ALMOST be stung by a wasp?? Because you know, the only two times I've been stung by such an insect it hurts like a motherf*cker. And I'm an adult.

Anyway I head off to the daycare, glad of an excuse to leave work early, if only by half an hour. I arrive there and it is clear that his hand is swelling, and impressively so -- he has no knuckles on the offending finger, and the swelling is slowing going down his hand. He isn't too troubled by it, but he's being kept close to the daycare ladies, and when he sees me he whimpers a little bit. It's clear he's not happy, but he's far from screaming blue murder, too.

So we head home -- what else to do? And he's tired and droopy and a little freaked out by the events of the day. He's clingy and sad, and talks a lot about how the "bee" landed on him and how much he didn't like it. How he got a sting, or a bug bite, or something. I half-heartedly look for some children's Benadryl, but I don't see much point in it unless the swelling gets worse, and it isn't.

So as a consolation for having a tough day, though, I sit down with him on the couch and put on his favourite movie. Not just a short show, a WHOLE MOVIE. Cars, because he adores it and we think it's appropriate for children and of course more importantly, not annoying enough to push parents OVER THE EDGE. And he's entranced. I even -- perhaps not my best judgement as a parent -- allow him to sit on the couch and eat his dinner while watching. And he watches the whole show, even though it goes past his bedtime. The swelling, I should add, is, two hours later, almost non-existent. The next morning there is no evidence whatsoever of any stinging at all. 

Wednesday afternoon I pick him up at the daycare, and he's been having a great time. He laughs and giggles and wants to be picked up. As we walk to the car, he pretends that his finger is a bee, and buzzes me. 

"Bzzzzz" as the bee goes over my head and across my cheek and into my ear. "Bzzzzzz!" We make a game of it, me reacting in mock horror and him buzzing madly. "Sting!" he says finally. I pretend to be sad. "Oh no! A bee stung me!" This happens over and over until he then says.

"And now we get to go home, and watch Cars! Because that's how it works."