Caring for someone with cancer sucks...and I will gladly keep doing it

I'm tired.

As anyone who has taken care of a sick person, an old person, or a special needs person, knows, it's all consuming, and very, very tiring.

Barb has cancer. She had a breast removed four years ago, and that slowed it down, but not until it had formed a tumor on her spine. Inoperable.
Not bedridden yet, her mobility is severely hampered, pain drugs make her balance bad, while still not completely dealing with the constant pain, and very simple tasks give her a very hard time. She spends a lot of time watching TV.

As Barb's need for care increased, I made some realizations. Being me takes a good deal of my time. Most people never really take into account that life takes time. I need time to bathe, dress, feed myself, sleep, and take care of the myriad things we call life. This takes up about 24 hours of my day.
 
Now I have to factor in time to take care of Barb. I set up the seat, and handheld shower, and I sit outside the bathroom while she bathes, in case she calls for help. I help her dress. I get her some coffee, and make her breakfast. We go somewhere every day, a walk in the mall, an artist colony, anywhere, really, to get her out of the house, get some exercise, and not remind her that she is very sick. On arriving back home, she naps. Even a short walk exhausts her. I make dinner, and serve her in front of the TV. I sit with her, watching the tube, and review my day. I took her to the bank, I food shopped while she sat in the car, I pulled down her bra, and up her pants, I stood outside the restaurant washroom, cause I didn't need to pee, in case she can't get her clothes back on. The jillion little things I did to make her more comfortable, and cope with her difficulties. I made some quick calculations, and taking care of her took about 10 hours of my day. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to do the math.

My day is now about 34 hours.

I have decided to delay getting help from the CCAC for as long as I can. They would sent in someone for four hours a day to give me some respite. This would be an emotional blow to Barb. A reminder she's not getting any better. It would make her feel even more burdensome.

To keep myself from going Just Plain Bat-sh*t Crazy, I have relied on my sister. We are best friends, and she sympathizes with my plight. I try to visit her overnight every week, after preparing Barb microwaveable meals, or sandwiches, making sure she's comfortable, her phones charged, and everything she may need for 24 hours is within reach. I can't even lock the door, cause EMS are forbidden from breaking down a door, even if they see someone lying on the floor. I can then get on with my 'weekend'.

I know this isn't going to last. Soon, my visits will become sparse, then not at all. I am resigned to this. Even now, the possibility that she may fall, or be stuck on the toilet is always on my mind.

I'm tired.

Good God! Nobody chose this, the possibility that she would be stricken with a debilitating disease did not make it into our wedding vows. We deal with what we are dealt. Unquestioningly. Unfailingly. Somehow, I do it with a smile.

Cancer is a malevolent thing. It wants to ruin lives, not just of the stricken, but everyone around it. Cancer tries to make my life miserable. Unbearable. I can't let it. I'm a happy person, I have to be. If I let cancer get to me, it has won another victim.

It's ten a.m. I'm going to get cleaned up, dressed, makeup, blah, blah. then I'll get Barb up, get her cleaned up, dressed, and all that, and my day will begin again. Same as yesterday.

All 34 hours of it.

Bat Turds, a new Friday feature - Stuff from around the web

http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/nick-jensen-threatens-to-divorce-in-protest-of-gay-marriage-in-canberra-citynews-article/story-fnet09p2-1227391644573

A Canberra (Australia) couple threaten to divorce out of protest if same sex marriage comes to Oz.
How this made the news is beyond me, so Just Plain Bat-sh*t crazy gets a 50/50 split between this couple, and the Canberra press.
http://www.sbs.com.au/comedy/article/2015/06/11/same-sex-couple-threaten-not-give-shit-if-other-couple-divorces

In what could not be a more fitting rebuttal, this same sex couple threatens not to give a shit if the other couple divorces. Bravo!
http://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/prime-minister-stephen-harper-agrees-to-g7-decarbonization-by-2100-1.3104459

Stephen Harper, and his G7 buds are ready to sign a deal to end fossil fuel use by...wait a minute...2100 A.D. The intent is good, but the public doesn't give a sweet damn what's going to happen in 85 years. It's hard enough to keep their attention until tomorrow. Environmental issues only garner a quick look, and a 'We really outta do something about that', before Canadians get back to their hockey scores. Canadians want to see something tangible, and timely, and then they'll care about fossil fuels. Chances are very good nobody in the G7 will be seeking re-election in 2100, so, for them, this is really a no lose situation.
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/mers-outbreak-dont-drink-potentially-fatal-camel-urine-who-warns-10307041.html

Well...this one because, honestly, how could I not include it? My consumption of camel urine may not be what it once was, but it's still sage advice.

No caption required.

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A Chinese man has launched a lawsuit against actress Zhao Wei (The richest Chinese actress) for causing him 'spiritual damage' by staring at him through his television set.

Aside from this being a good meme, I like this because it shows us Just Plain Bat-sh*t Crazy is not limited to North America.

https://ca.screen.yahoo.com/editor-s-picks/chinese-lister-sued-staring-man-112745017.html

 

 

 

The Duggars have hired a publicist (spin doctor) to clean up their tarnished reputation. In the last few weeks they have publicly said (concerning Josh's molestation admission)-

-They did not know it was wrong.

-They spoke to other church members who said their sons do it.

-They thought it was just a phase.

-Their son being a pedophile has brought them closer to God.

 

When you have buried yourself to the neck, it's time to just admit defeat. Nobody can clean up that act.

Although it's unfair to add insult to injury, watching the Duggars undoing has been sweet, and has given me something to live for waiting for the new season of Orange Is The New Black.

There is a dark side to everything- Wait for the new reality show:

Jim Bob, and Michelle-Repentance

 

 

The 'My generation's music was better than your generation's music' argument is rather pointless. Who can argue the validity of either of these gems?



Blind Faith (not the band)

 (I'll used male pronouns for the sake of simplicity)
Lost and alone, and perhaps leaving an upbringing of substance abuse, sexual abuse, or neglect, he is searching for community. A place of belonging. Most likely under educated, and perhaps having a lower than average I.Q. he is grasping at straws trying to be included.
He meets a  person who tells him of his community, where all are accepted, and welcome. Although this sounds too good to be true, he decides to follow, as the stranger  has an air of legitimacy.
On meeting the community, for the first time he has a feeling of  belonging. They take him in, and begin teaching the doctrines of the community. He is so glad to be included he can dismiss that some of their teachings may seem a bit odd, and out of place. So afraid of being cast out, he blindly follows, until he himself believes. They form a group consciousness, thinking as one, and only believing that which they are told by the leader. Eventually they have no individual thoughts.

Jonestown?
The Manson family?
Branch Davidians?

Unfortunately, I'm talking about the Westboro Baptist Church. By name, and their tax free status only, can the be considered a Christian church. They are a hate group, and a cult. Period.
Every person has the right to believe what they want, and worship as they see proper. It is when it turns to hate, against anybody, that they have truly lost their way.
We should be praying for them.

Part 1-Why I used to envy Americans Part 2- Why I no longer envy Americans

Greetings new and returning readers.
Deciding what to write for my first op-ed post was not as difficult as I thought, although I did mull it over in my mind while I should have been sleeping.

PART 1- Why I used to envy Americans

I arrived at Pearson Airport in 1977, having been expatriated since I was very young. I arrived a stranger in a strange land. While living in Europe, I had made many visits back to this side of the pond, always to the United States. I knew far more about America than about my own country.

CANADA

In the seventies Canada was (note to self- be polite) very...colonial. I think nowadays we would politely call it quaint. I was first met by a sea of nylon hockey jackets (on women!!) and quilted flannel jackets on men. The footwear of choice on both sexes was something called Kodiaks. I looked down at my Italian loafers, and thought 'This is gonna take some getting used to'.
Dining was Ponderosa Steak House, and fine dining was the Greek steak houses that were seemingly on every corner. The only difference was velvet wallpaper. Downtown Toronto offered slightly better fair- four 'good' restaurants (two of them steak houses), one English, and one French. There was an eatery called Old Angelo's that defies description, or categorization. Eating at home did not fair any better. Supermarkets offered pork chops, ground beef, broccoli, and cauliflower. I remember asking a stock-boy where the cheese counter was. Blank stare. I found the cheese, cheddar (still very good) and two identical cheeses called Brick, and Farmers (I still haven't tried these, but they bounce.)
We had to buy wine over the counter, after filling out a form, women were not allowed in bars, and culture in the burbs was movie theatres. Downtown we had the O'Keefe Center, that predominately featured Canadian acts- Robert Goulet, Liona Boyd, Anne Murray, and the occasional American musical. We had a handful of live theatres, one of which had already been playing 'The Mousetrap' for twenty five years. At least all the great rock bands came here.
Canada in the seventies was a harbinger of, forty years in the future, my first visit to WalMart.

AMERICA

I arrived in Canada knowing nobody except my brother Eric. He too was only recently repatriated, and had few friends. His social group was from college, in the States, and his friends became my friends by default. Every opportunity I had I headed south. Connecticut, New York City, and the east coast of Florida became my social hubs.
To my young mind, America had EVERYTHING. Fashion, culture, food, entertainment, and shopping were all bigger, more, bountiful!! Americans smiled more, were smarter, actually knew where Europe was, and dressed better. Supermarkets overflowed with shiny green, yellow, and orange. Even the sun shone brighter. Products were cheaper, selection was greater, and people rarely said 'Eh'. This was truly Shangri-La, the land of plenty, and understandably, the place where the huddled masses had a chance.
In America I could eat Spanish food, see a play not written by Agatha Christie, buy beer in the same store that sold magazines (granted, Canadian beer was far superior, and we had cable T.V. long before our southern nieghbours.) and do a half a million things, all at a quarter to three (thanks Huey)
Given a choice, I could not see why anybody would stay in Canada.
On the political front, America was getting over Vietnam, Nixon, Watergate and looking at good times. Americans did not talk about politics unless provoked. By and large, they seemed contented with the status quo. The dark, cold undercurrent of American society was not visible to the naked eye.

PART 2- Why I no longer envy Americans

I grew up, and more importantly, so did Canada. Dragged kicking, and screaming into the twentieth century, Canada started resembling America. Greek restaurants started selling Greek food, Camembert, Yorkville discovered fashion, and that reluctantly spread. Tight-assed Canada loosened it's collective sphincter, and stopped behaving like Little House on the Prairie.

With the wisdom that comes with age, and as I became more comfortable in my own land, I started examining my own fascination with American culture, and society. That nation of shiny, happy people had a dirty little secret. Actually, one big-assed secret.

The country is scared, terrified, paranoid, and needs to be that way to survive. Americans cannot function without something to be afraid of, and in the absence of same, will invent a bogeyman. The only way United States can stand united is to have a common fear. Without fear, they would scatter like dandelion seeds.

Just staying within my own lifetime, a few examples- Vietnam. Americans were told they were somehow fighting for their freedom. From what, there was no threat there? Not their circus, not their monkeys, but enough to strike terror to their hearts. The cold war. Perhaps some real threat, but much more a perceived threat. It started, and ended, a stalemate. Terror factor-Extreme. The gas crisis. Completely made up. The fear factor was low in the U.S.A. so they created a crisis. Ditto drug 'pushers' in schools. Drug dealers have never been stupid enough to give away product. Anita Bryant made gays the enemy, The Ayatollah began the slippery slope of considering Muslims...ALL of them, a threat. Then THE BIG ONE. On 9/11 America actually came under attack, but only for a second. This sent the paranoid factor thru the roof, and it has stayed that way. America is quaking in its boots, and they love it that way.

The American response to any threat is of course...ARM YOURSELF. Bigger, more deadly military, militarized police, Homeland Security, Armed guards in schools. The enemy...everybody. Your neighbours, criminals, pedophiles, terrorists, and anybody non-white, non-Christian. Arm every American. When the enemy comes over the hill, brandishing swords, every man, woman, and child can pull out their Glock and have at 'em. The odds that those coming over said hill being Girl Scouts bearing cookies are high. Collateral damage. To quell the Middle Eastern threat the NRA recommends carrying an assault rifle to the supermarket.

 

N.B. I am not pro gun control. I have been around guns all my life. They ARE part of Canadian culture. Canadians ARE allowed to own guns, we just choose not to.  Guns instill a false sense of security, and anyone carrying one is secretly wishing they will get a chance to use it.

 

When America tires of the Mid-East wars, and realizes that the Mid -east doesn't even have weapons capable of getting there, they will find their new enemy. I'm praying it's not Canada. 

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to Just Plain Bat-sh*t Crazy. I'm Paula, the blog-mistress, and this is my first kick at the can at this, and hopefully, as I learn the ins and outs of blogging, I can both fascinate, and amaze you.

Disclaimer: I am a transgender woman. If this offends you, go elsewhere. This blog may contain LBGT issues, but that is not the primary focus of it.

A BIT ABOUT MYSELF

 

Born in Toronto, Canada, by all appearances male, 57 years ago. My father, in mergers and acquisitions, moved us around, first to New York, then Germany, Belgium, a long sojourn in Spain, and finally back to Toronto.

I went to high school at King's College Madrid, then moved  to Toronto, where I never did find my niche, so I studied cooking at La Varenne, Paris.

I spent twenty years in the Restaurant industry, and did OK, slowly moving up the ladder, to Chef de Cuisine at a few places. I hated every moment of it. Working with hostile people, in a hostile environment, in an industry so corrupt that I sometimes forgot that all labor laws went out the window as I walked in the door.

The only long term love of my life has been music. My dreams of being a rock star may not have come to fruition, but a lifetime of trying did yield some success, and a lot of fun. Relying on the income of being bass player in a bar band is foolish, so I had other jobs, mostly within the music industry.

 

TRANSITION

 

With all the media attention surrounding Caitlyn Jenner, most of you have at least a working knowledge about transition...Transition? The movement, metamorphosis, or mutation from one state to another. In my case, male to female.

I knew something was wrong around the onset of puberty. Late for a transgender person, who are usually aware by age six, or so. I attribute this to having a mother who surrounded me in femininity, through being a fashionista, socialite, avid couturier, plus, I was the youngest child, and therefore alone with her a lot. I don't blame her, nor do I subscribe to the nurture theory.

By puberty it was clear. I felt feminine. I had never heard of transition, or things transgender, so I formed the only opinion of myself that I could. I must be gay. Plenty of exploration of all things gay (yes, I'm talking about sex) made me realize that there was something more missing.

Enter my good friend denial. Probably the one thing I've excelled at...denying there was a problem. I dated, and then serial married women. Built the American ideal of a home with a white picket fence, and tried to live happily ever after.

Knowing full well that the woman who will be Paula lived within, I tried everything I could to find balance, as a man, with a woman living inside him. Crossdressing, sometimes very publicly, and slowly changing my day to day 'look'. I began wearing women's jeans, and tee-shirt, carrying a purse, etc. really pushing the limits of what could be considered masculine. I knew I could find the point that the woman within was satisfied, and I could leave it at that. By the time this progressed to essentially presenting female full time, I had a gender epiphany, and decided there was not room in my head for two of us. Paula had to be the only, and true persona. The 'hows' of transition are well covered on the net, and details, as required, will creep into my writing.

 

Another disclaimer: The two taboo subjects of transgender women- Genital surgery, and sexual orientation, may come up in this blog as the subject requires, but is once again, not the focus of this blog. What's between my legs, and who I sleep with are my business, and I may, or may not, divulge this in my writings.

 

JUST PLAIN BAT-SH*T CRAZY

 

The point of this blog. My mission statement so to speak. It began by surfing the LBGT news, which led to the anti-LBGT news, to news in general, I realized the world is going crazy. Granted there are tiny pockets of sanity, but the more I sought out the absurd, the outlandish, the paranoid, and the just plain wacko, I realized there was too much of it for my daily Facebook post, that always ended JUST PLAIN BAT-SH*T CRAZY. There may be days that I write about things I like, or I find interesting, but don't fall in the JPBSC category. It's my blog.

 

Yet another disclaimer: My blog will cover subjects such as the religious right wing, republicans, gun control, drugs, one of my faves the Westboro Baptist church, Americans, music, the death penalty, fashion, the Duggars, pets, LBGT issues, trans issues, and abortion, to only name a few.

There may be some satire, and some venom. It's calling them as I see them. I DO NOT HATE ANYBODY, AND HAVE NO TIME FOR THOSE WHO DO.

 

A blog is, by definition, a diary. It's my thoughts, as they come to me. Some opinion, some fact, and maybe a cute picture of a kitty sometimes. Like most, my thoughts jump around. It you are looking for continuity, you can watch a soap opera.

 

Your thoughts, and opinions on my writings are always welcome. Rebut, cross examine, or disagree, but do not hate. I will delete any hate comments immediately.

 

Just writing this intro is part of a work in progress. There is a learning curve to blogging I will discover as I go. Therefore, pictures, artwork, links etc. will be included...sometime, when I figure out the features available to me. Be patient.