raybear: (Default)
I had this minor meltdown last week, and it just happened because sometimes those things happen, and I keep waivering between writing about it and not wanting to write about it, mostly the latter, except when I'd come here, I didn't know what to say instead. But now I have some stories to tell. And some other minor bits at the end.

So. My rash. Not scarlet fever. Its still here. It started to maybe heal (drying up, peeling) but then it got worse. And so I decided to try vinegar because I thought it might be fungal (and years back I had this mystery scaly patch on the top of my foot that didn't heal with over-the-counter antifungals or prescription steroids but did go away after a few days of swabbing it with kitchen vinegar). It seemed to be helping, some. But hard to tell. It also made me feel pretty disgusting, the thought of being covered in a fungal infection. Why is that so much worse than bacteria or viral? It just is. Finally, today I caved and called the dermatologist that [livejournal.com profile] dommeyourass uses. I called at 8:30 am, they said, how about 10:00? Ok.

I show up at just past 10, its an empty office. DYA warned me this guy is perpetually one week away from retirement and so is his assistant, I would guess. I fill out a form, which is this 1/2 page sheet of new patient info that was possibly copied on a mimeograph machine. But whatever, I overhear him talking isht about McCain and his tax plan, so I'm fine with it.

He points me to exam room one, which has all these leather seats, like, the metal bucket seat style with leather upholstering. He tells me to put my stuff in one, but sit in a specific one across from him. There's no actual exam table. There is a stack of his self-published book on Dickens references. He asks me about the rash. He tells me to take off my shirt and stand up. Then he tells me to pull down my pants. I start to kick off my shoes, and he says "you don't need to take off your shoes, just pull down your pants." Um, ok. I do. "Pull down your shorts." I.e. my boxer shorts. "Um....uh......" He waves me off, "just do it! I need to see!"

Well, okay then. I pull down my boxers. He pauses, looks, says "where's your....." trails off then says, "ok, turn that way." He inspects some more, then says I can put all my clothes back on.

To the man's credit, he just kept going in the face of my unexpected junk being directly eyelevel. To my credit, I didn't freak out or burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I didn't even bother with an explanation. I mean, what more can you say after fcking showing your business like that?

Then he gave me his diagnosis: "I don't know WHAT it is." Then he proceeded to type out the prescription on this Apple IIE computer and print it out on a dot matrix printer, the kind with the strips along the side, and he busted out his straight edge to tear the sheet in half -- one copy for me, one for the file.

"What is this your prescribing?" A steroid cream. I'm supposed to pick one area of the body and apply it twice a day for a week. He suggests my arms. The rash is ALL OVER. It is spotting all over my back, belly, legs. It is concentrated in certain areas, like my arms and lower back and part of my belly, but still. So, I'm supposed to use this for a week, and hopefully it will work and when I come back he'll look and prescribe more if it does. If not, he will scrape one of the red dots off and send away to have it biopsied.

Hell, no. I mean, whatever, he could have fcking scraped off one today and sent it off if he wanted, I wouldn't have minded. But don't tell me you don't know what it is (he thinks its something something psoriasis, even though I've never had that before and it just happened to appear while on these antibiotics?), but then you prescribe medication for me on a lark? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate his honesty. But when I pulled up to the store with the pharmacy, I decided to leave the piece of paper in the car and not even fill it. Instead I remember, oh yeah, I have a friend who's a health practitioner now and she made an appointment for me tomorrow and called me today and I told her the story of my rash unfolding/spreading and she had ideas of what it is and how to treat it. I felt so relieved and taken care of and happy that I have good people to call up, if I can just remember to do it. So tomorrow, I'm also getting acupuncture for the first time. I've had no aversion to it, just never had an opportunity before to partake.

I bought myself Trader Joe's ice cream chipwiches as my treat after the dermatologist. I ate them on the couch with DYA while watching episodes of 30 Rock.

Then on the way to work today, I got a flat tire. Which sucks and is inconvenient, but I wasn't too worked up about it. I've been lucky to make it through the whole summer without one, which is somewhat miraculous given the ridiculous unavoidable potholes and massive strips of asphalt missing on Milwaukee Avenue (which is what finally burst this one). I was also not too far from a train station, so I parked my bike and made it to work relatively on-time. I had this idea of patching it up after work and riding home, but that is probably somewhat insane of a scheme, given its dark outside. I'll probably just bring the bike on the train and do it in the morning in the yard.

There's another piece of today, which includes reconnecting with an old and dear friend/mentor of mine via Facebook that even thinking about gets me all misty and choked up but that story will have to wait, I have to finish some work projects. But there was one line she wrote in her message to me that has just been sustaining me all afternoon and evening. And that is a pretty amazing thing, I am still almost working to really hear it and let it sink in. I've been thinking so much about the devastation of people and loss, I needed a reminder of the other side of the coin.

Also, after [livejournal.com profile] drood and my work crush suggested the new itunes for the "Genius" feature, I'm hooked. Its like Pandora with your own music collection!
raybear: (red)
I need to come out about something. I really, really dislike the use of the word "tranny/trannie". I'm not even talking about that Project Runway dude. I'm talking about my friends and neighbors.

I'm more okay if its used to describe some sort of event/space/concept that is about being intentionally provocative, like "Trannyshack" in SF. I'm not okay with it being used a general noun or descriptor of a category of people, e.g. "you could come, its full of trannies!!" or even things like "tranny yoga class" or "tranny dance night." Even if this is supposedly being used as a positive selling point. If a trans person uses it self-referentially, I don't notice as much, since I respect any homos right to call themselves a fag, a dyke, a lesbian, a queer, etc. But non-trans people saying it really gives me the willies the most. Its like all the gross fetish buttons get lit up on my emotional switchboard.

So, I'm curious to know what others think.

[Poll #1226144]

Please don't be shy about checking any box, as all of them are things I've thought myself while pondering this question.
raybear: (Default)
I just realized that I'm drinking my favorite citrus power beverage (fresh juice of 1 grapefruit, 2 oranges, 1 lime, 1 lemon and 1 tablespoon of agave nectar), eating a piece of organic multigrain locally-produced wheatbread toast with avocado smeared on top, and listening to Shuggie Otis. All of these things happened individually and unconsciously, which sort of makes it more scary. I have been infected by California for real.

I watched The World According to Garp and that movie was weird. It was like a biopic of a fictional person. I know that sounds strange and could potentially describe the majority of movies, but I'm thinking specifically of the biopic formula which is the movie opening when the protagonist is born and then ends when they die as an adult. I found Robin Williams wildly inconsistent as an actor, sometimes really being great and other times being Robin Williams. And John Lithgow as Roberta wasn't horrible. I mean, she embodied some of the stereotypical ideas of transwomen (and feminine women), but on the other hand, she is shown playing football and there were no jokes about breaking nails, she interacts great with the kids and is treated as an aunt, no one in the movie ever called her by the wrong name or pronoun, and she didn't end up arrested, violated or dead. I'll take it.

May 2010

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