I've been having the strangest dreams lately. At least I think it's lately. It could have been from a while ago and I just keep thinking about it. Either way, it's strange. Really strange.
I've been dreaming that my father came back (he died in 1991 when I was 25) and he hadn't really been dead. He somehow faked it and had actually had a major head injury or accident, the kind that changed your personality, and he stayed away until he recovered enough then came back. He is so different, so not the father I know, that I challenge him constantly on his actual identity. Quiz him, even.
You would think I would be thrilled that he's back, even if not completely "himself". I would finally have my father back, be able to sit down and have real, adult conversations. Ask him questions that I have always wanted to know...about himself, his family, our family/heritage. Questions that only he knows and I was never able to find out. Even sit down over a few drinks and have the "do you remember when I did..." conversations.
I truly regret not being mature enough at 25 to have at least some of those conversations with him. I was too busy being angry, changing, growing, learning about myself. There was so much we didn't share. I have a few major regrets in my life. This is right up there.
Sad, yes. This definitely makes me sad to think about the "what ifs", but the emotion I mostly feel during all this dreaming/thinking is anger. The "why the fuck did you leave?!", "you destroyed my life" anger. Re-mourning? Never actually worked it through and it's popping up again? Facing life changes myself and sad he wasn't there/here?
either way, it's still strange.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A profound loss
From the NCLR Website:
OBITUARY Dorothy L. (Del) Martin (May 5, 1921 – August 27, 2008)Died on Wednesday, August 27, 2008 at UCSF Hospice, San Francisco, California. Survived by spouse Phyllis Lyon, daughter Kendra Mon, son-in-law Eugene Lane, granddaughter Lorraine Mon, grandson Kevin Mon, sister-in-law Patricia Lyon and a vast, loving and grateful lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender family.
An eloquent organizer for civil rights, civil liberties, and human dignity, Del Martin created and helped shape the modern lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) and feminist movements. She was a woman of extraordinary courage, persistence, intelligence, humor, and fundamental decency, who refused to be silenced by fear and never stopped fighting for equality. Her last public political act, on June 16, 2008, was to marry Phyllis Lyon, her partner of 55 years. They were the first couple to wed in San Francisco after the California Supreme Court recognized that marriage for same-sex couples is a fundamental right in a case brought by plaintiffs including Martin and Lyon.
Born in San Francisco on May 5, 1921, Dorothy L. Taliaferro, or Del as she would come to be known, was salutatorian of the first graduating class of George Washington High School and went on to study journalism at the University of California at Berkeley. At 19, after transferring to San Francisco State College (now San Francisco State University), she married James Martin and two years later gave birth to their daughter Kendra. The marriage ended in divorce.Del Martin met the love of her life, Phyllis Lyon, in Seattle in 1950 when they worked for the same publication company. They became lovers in 1952 and formalized their partnership on Valentine’s Day in 1953 when they moved in together in San Francisco. In 1955, they bought the small home that has been theirs ever since.
In what would prove to be an act that would change history, Martin, Lyon, and six other lesbians co-founded the Daughters of Bilitis (DOB) in San Francisco in 1955. DOB, which was named after an obscure book of lesbian love poetry, initially was organized to provide secret mutual support and social activities. It became the first public and political lesbian rights organization in the United States, laying a foundation for the women’s and lesbian and gay liberation movements that flowered in the early 1970s and continue today.Del Martin used her writing and speaking talents to challenge misconceptions about gender and sexuality. “We were fighting the church, the couch, and the courts,” she often remembered years later, naming the array of social and cultural forces early activists confronted when homosexuals were treated as immoral, mentally ill, and illegal. As the first President of DOB, she penned stirring calls to arms. “Nothing was ever accomplished by hiding in a dark corner. Why not discard the hermitage for the heritage that awaits any red-blooded American woman who dares to claim it?” She was the second editor (after Phyllis Lyon) of DOB’s groundbreaking monthly magazine, The Ladder, from 1960 to 1962 and ushered in a new decade of political engagement and media visibility for the nascent gay rights movement. The Ladder grew from a mimeographed newsletter in 1956 to an internationally recognized magazine with thousands of subscribers by 1970, and thousands more readers who copied its contents or circulated it among friends and coworkers. Martin’s many contributions to The Ladder ranged from short stories to editorials to missives: one of the most famous is “If That’s All There Is,” a searing condemnation of sexism in the gay rights movement written in 1970. Due to Martin’s influence, The Ladder provided one of the few media outlets confronting misogyny in the decade before the rebirth of women’s liberation.In 1964, Del Martin was part of a group that founded the Council on Religion and the Homosexual in order to lobby city lawmakers more effectively to reduce police harassment and modify the sex laws that criminalized homosexual behavior. In later years, Martin was also a founding member of the Lesbian Mother's Union, the San Francisco Women's Centers, and the Bay Area Women's Coalition, among other organizations.
As an early member of the National Organization for Women (NOW), Del Martin worked to counter homophobia within the women’s movement – fear of the so-called “lavender menace.” She and Lyon were the first lesbians to insist on joining with a “couples’ membership rate” and Martin was the first out lesbian on NOW’s Board of Directors. Their efforts helped to insure the inclusion of lesbian rights on NOW’s agenda in the early 1970’s.
Lesbian/Woman, the book they co-authored in 1972, is one of Martin and Lyon’s landmark accomplishments. The book described lesbian lives in a positive, knowledgeable way almost unknown at the time. In 1992, Publishers Weekly chose it as one of the 20 most influential women's books of the last 20 years.For many years, Del Martin was a leader in the campaign to persuade the American Psychiatric Association to declare that homosexuality was not a mental illness. This goal was finally achieved in 1973.
Del Martin’s publication of Battered Wives in 1976 was a major catalyst for the movement against domestic violence. Martin became a nationally known advocate for battered women, and was a co-founder of the Coalition for Justice for Battered Women (1975), La Casa de las Madres (a shelter for battered women) founded in 1976, and the California Coalition against Domestic Violence (1977). She lectured at colleges and universities around the country. Martin received her doctorate from the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality in 1987.Martin’s keen political instincts and interests extended her influence into the mainstream Democratic Party. She and Lyon were co-founders, in 1972, of the Alice B. Toklas Democratic Club, the first gay political club in the United States. Martin was appointed Chair of the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women in 1976 and served on the committee until 1979. She worked as a member of many other councils and boards including the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women. Throughout the years, many politicians recognized their stature as community leaders and sought advice and endorsement from Martin and Lyon.
It is difficult to separate Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon and write about only one of them. Their lives and their work have intertwined and their enduring dedication to social justice has been recognized many times. In 1979, local health care providers established a clinic to give lesbians in the San Francisco Bay area access to nonjudgmental, affordable health care and named it Lyon-Martin Health Services in their honor. In 1990, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Northern California awarded the couple with its highest honor, the Earl Warren Civil Liberties Award. In 1995, Senator Dianne Feinstein named Martin, and Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi named Lyon, as delegates to the White House Conference on Aging, where they made headlines by using their moment at the podium to remind the 125,000 attendees that lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people grow old, too, and must be included explicitly in aging policies. The Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality gave Martin and Lyon their Outstanding Public Service Award in 1996. They are among the most beloved figures in the LGBT community and have served as Grand Marshals at Pride marches across the nation and been honored by every major LGBT organization in the country.
Del Martin identified her own legacy in 1984 when she said that her most important contribution was "being able to help make changes in the way lesbians and gay men view themselves and how the larger society views lesbians and gay men." She had the courage to be true to herself when the world offered only condemnation for lesbians. Martin showed all of us how to have what she called “self-acceptance and a good sense of my own self-worth.” Del Martin never backed down from her insistence on full equality for all people and, even at 87 years old, she kept moving all of us closer to her ideal.
Gifts in lieu of flowers can be made to honor Del’s life and commitment and to defeat the California marriage ban through NCLR’s No On 8 PAC at _www.nclrights.org/NoOn8_ (http://www.nclrights.org/NoOn8).
A public memorial and tribute celebrating the life of Del Martin will be planned in the next several weeks.
OBITUARY Dorothy L. (Del) Martin (May 5, 1921 – August 27, 2008)Died on Wednesday, August 27, 2008 at UCSF Hospice, San Francisco, California. Survived by spouse Phyllis Lyon, daughter Kendra Mon, son-in-law Eugene Lane, granddaughter Lorraine Mon, grandson Kevin Mon, sister-in-law Patricia Lyon and a vast, loving and grateful lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender family.
An eloquent organizer for civil rights, civil liberties, and human dignity, Del Martin created and helped shape the modern lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) and feminist movements. She was a woman of extraordinary courage, persistence, intelligence, humor, and fundamental decency, who refused to be silenced by fear and never stopped fighting for equality. Her last public political act, on June 16, 2008, was to marry Phyllis Lyon, her partner of 55 years. They were the first couple to wed in San Francisco after the California Supreme Court recognized that marriage for same-sex couples is a fundamental right in a case brought by plaintiffs including Martin and Lyon.
Born in San Francisco on May 5, 1921, Dorothy L. Taliaferro, or Del as she would come to be known, was salutatorian of the first graduating class of George Washington High School and went on to study journalism at the University of California at Berkeley. At 19, after transferring to San Francisco State College (now San Francisco State University), she married James Martin and two years later gave birth to their daughter Kendra. The marriage ended in divorce.Del Martin met the love of her life, Phyllis Lyon, in Seattle in 1950 when they worked for the same publication company. They became lovers in 1952 and formalized their partnership on Valentine’s Day in 1953 when they moved in together in San Francisco. In 1955, they bought the small home that has been theirs ever since.
In what would prove to be an act that would change history, Martin, Lyon, and six other lesbians co-founded the Daughters of Bilitis (DOB) in San Francisco in 1955. DOB, which was named after an obscure book of lesbian love poetry, initially was organized to provide secret mutual support and social activities. It became the first public and political lesbian rights organization in the United States, laying a foundation for the women’s and lesbian and gay liberation movements that flowered in the early 1970s and continue today.Del Martin used her writing and speaking talents to challenge misconceptions about gender and sexuality. “We were fighting the church, the couch, and the courts,” she often remembered years later, naming the array of social and cultural forces early activists confronted when homosexuals were treated as immoral, mentally ill, and illegal. As the first President of DOB, she penned stirring calls to arms. “Nothing was ever accomplished by hiding in a dark corner. Why not discard the hermitage for the heritage that awaits any red-blooded American woman who dares to claim it?” She was the second editor (after Phyllis Lyon) of DOB’s groundbreaking monthly magazine, The Ladder, from 1960 to 1962 and ushered in a new decade of political engagement and media visibility for the nascent gay rights movement. The Ladder grew from a mimeographed newsletter in 1956 to an internationally recognized magazine with thousands of subscribers by 1970, and thousands more readers who copied its contents or circulated it among friends and coworkers. Martin’s many contributions to The Ladder ranged from short stories to editorials to missives: one of the most famous is “If That’s All There Is,” a searing condemnation of sexism in the gay rights movement written in 1970. Due to Martin’s influence, The Ladder provided one of the few media outlets confronting misogyny in the decade before the rebirth of women’s liberation.In 1964, Del Martin was part of a group that founded the Council on Religion and the Homosexual in order to lobby city lawmakers more effectively to reduce police harassment and modify the sex laws that criminalized homosexual behavior. In later years, Martin was also a founding member of the Lesbian Mother's Union, the San Francisco Women's Centers, and the Bay Area Women's Coalition, among other organizations.
As an early member of the National Organization for Women (NOW), Del Martin worked to counter homophobia within the women’s movement – fear of the so-called “lavender menace.” She and Lyon were the first lesbians to insist on joining with a “couples’ membership rate” and Martin was the first out lesbian on NOW’s Board of Directors. Their efforts helped to insure the inclusion of lesbian rights on NOW’s agenda in the early 1970’s.
Lesbian/Woman, the book they co-authored in 1972, is one of Martin and Lyon’s landmark accomplishments. The book described lesbian lives in a positive, knowledgeable way almost unknown at the time. In 1992, Publishers Weekly chose it as one of the 20 most influential women's books of the last 20 years.For many years, Del Martin was a leader in the campaign to persuade the American Psychiatric Association to declare that homosexuality was not a mental illness. This goal was finally achieved in 1973.
Del Martin’s publication of Battered Wives in 1976 was a major catalyst for the movement against domestic violence. Martin became a nationally known advocate for battered women, and was a co-founder of the Coalition for Justice for Battered Women (1975), La Casa de las Madres (a shelter for battered women) founded in 1976, and the California Coalition against Domestic Violence (1977). She lectured at colleges and universities around the country. Martin received her doctorate from the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality in 1987.Martin’s keen political instincts and interests extended her influence into the mainstream Democratic Party. She and Lyon were co-founders, in 1972, of the Alice B. Toklas Democratic Club, the first gay political club in the United States. Martin was appointed Chair of the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women in 1976 and served on the committee until 1979. She worked as a member of many other councils and boards including the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women. Throughout the years, many politicians recognized their stature as community leaders and sought advice and endorsement from Martin and Lyon.
It is difficult to separate Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon and write about only one of them. Their lives and their work have intertwined and their enduring dedication to social justice has been recognized many times. In 1979, local health care providers established a clinic to give lesbians in the San Francisco Bay area access to nonjudgmental, affordable health care and named it Lyon-Martin Health Services in their honor. In 1990, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Northern California awarded the couple with its highest honor, the Earl Warren Civil Liberties Award. In 1995, Senator Dianne Feinstein named Martin, and Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi named Lyon, as delegates to the White House Conference on Aging, where they made headlines by using their moment at the podium to remind the 125,000 attendees that lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people grow old, too, and must be included explicitly in aging policies. The Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality gave Martin and Lyon their Outstanding Public Service Award in 1996. They are among the most beloved figures in the LGBT community and have served as Grand Marshals at Pride marches across the nation and been honored by every major LGBT organization in the country.
Del Martin identified her own legacy in 1984 when she said that her most important contribution was "being able to help make changes in the way lesbians and gay men view themselves and how the larger society views lesbians and gay men." She had the courage to be true to herself when the world offered only condemnation for lesbians. Martin showed all of us how to have what she called “self-acceptance and a good sense of my own self-worth.” Del Martin never backed down from her insistence on full equality for all people and, even at 87 years old, she kept moving all of us closer to her ideal.
Gifts in lieu of flowers can be made to honor Del’s life and commitment and to defeat the California marriage ban through NCLR’s No On 8 PAC at _www.nclrights.org/NoOn8_ (http://www.nclrights.org/NoOn8).
A public memorial and tribute celebrating the life of Del Martin will be planned in the next several weeks.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Planning is real
Ok, so we're jumping into the marriage/civil union thing. Jumping being a relative term. We're doing it on/for our 20th anniversary in October.
We've been occasionally doing something or planning some aspect of it for over a year, but now it's actually going to happen THIS YEAR. We've done lots of stuff over the past couple of years, mostly talking but also concrete things, but it's all been kind of in the distance. Almost surreal. Now it's really tangible.
Someone today called me a bride. Groom I could see, but bride? Just because I'm female? Doesn't make sense to me. I don't see myself, never saw myself, as a bride. I'm sure as hell not going to wear a dress of any kind. Tried it. I look like I'm in drag. Bad drag at that.
We have a date to meet with the wedding location and caterer - one in the same - on June 7th and taste the selections we'd like, look around, and discuss costs and options. It's one of the only places that meets our criteria. We don't want a traditional wedding place. Ideally it would be a park of some kind, but being in October, there needs to be a building involved if the weather is cold or crappy. Not many parks have buildings. We also don't want a church or temple, since either one wouldn't respect one of our beliefs (I grew up Jewish and don't want a church, D is Episcopal and doesn't want a temple). We also can't afford to hire both a rabbi and a minister. The place also must be completely accessible since we have friends and family who are disabled and it also needs to be Deaf friendly, meaning open spaces, good lighting, and clear sight lines. Since we're not doing a church or temple, it makes sense to have ceremony and reception in one location. We're getting down to the wire in terms of what meets our criteria, what we can afford and what's available. This is pretty much it.
The food better be good.
Planning ahead department...
we went to California last summer and did a couple of winery tours. At that time, we decided that we'd join a wine club with the idea of already having and bringing lots of wine to our reception with the idea of ultimately saving money. I don't know how much we'll actually save, but we've got lots of wine and champagne. At least we can get ourselves and lots of our friends drunk for a long time.
We've looked at, but not yet decided on or bought, wedding rings. We already have someone in place as a DJ. Ok, so he's also D's co-worker, but he's hired. We also have someone to officiate, a friend of many years from the Clearwater Festival. I talked to her last year and will make sure we're still on when I see her at this year's festival.
We sent save the date cards - did those while I was recuperating from surgery - and have a box of do-it-yourself wedding invitations from Staples at the ready. The card stock paper of the save the date cards didn't go through the printer here and I had to bring it to Staples, I hope the invitations don't give me the same problem.
We also have, well, I want it to be the case, that one of the songs, ideally the recessional, be Woody Guthrie's Union Maid. When I think of a civil union, I can't help singing the chorus.
Aside from the DJ, we're also going to tell everyone to bring any instruments they may have. The DJ will do his thing for a while, then we'll have a good old fashioned jam/music circle session.
Yeah, we're old hippies. Get over it.
We've been occasionally doing something or planning some aspect of it for over a year, but now it's actually going to happen THIS YEAR. We've done lots of stuff over the past couple of years, mostly talking but also concrete things, but it's all been kind of in the distance. Almost surreal. Now it's really tangible.
Someone today called me a bride. Groom I could see, but bride? Just because I'm female? Doesn't make sense to me. I don't see myself, never saw myself, as a bride. I'm sure as hell not going to wear a dress of any kind. Tried it. I look like I'm in drag. Bad drag at that.
We have a date to meet with the wedding location and caterer - one in the same - on June 7th and taste the selections we'd like, look around, and discuss costs and options. It's one of the only places that meets our criteria. We don't want a traditional wedding place. Ideally it would be a park of some kind, but being in October, there needs to be a building involved if the weather is cold or crappy. Not many parks have buildings. We also don't want a church or temple, since either one wouldn't respect one of our beliefs (I grew up Jewish and don't want a church, D is Episcopal and doesn't want a temple). We also can't afford to hire both a rabbi and a minister. The place also must be completely accessible since we have friends and family who are disabled and it also needs to be Deaf friendly, meaning open spaces, good lighting, and clear sight lines. Since we're not doing a church or temple, it makes sense to have ceremony and reception in one location. We're getting down to the wire in terms of what meets our criteria, what we can afford and what's available. This is pretty much it.
The food better be good.
Planning ahead department...
we went to California last summer and did a couple of winery tours. At that time, we decided that we'd join a wine club with the idea of already having and bringing lots of wine to our reception with the idea of ultimately saving money. I don't know how much we'll actually save, but we've got lots of wine and champagne. At least we can get ourselves and lots of our friends drunk for a long time.
We've looked at, but not yet decided on or bought, wedding rings. We already have someone in place as a DJ. Ok, so he's also D's co-worker, but he's hired. We also have someone to officiate, a friend of many years from the Clearwater Festival. I talked to her last year and will make sure we're still on when I see her at this year's festival.
We sent save the date cards - did those while I was recuperating from surgery - and have a box of do-it-yourself wedding invitations from Staples at the ready. The card stock paper of the save the date cards didn't go through the printer here and I had to bring it to Staples, I hope the invitations don't give me the same problem.
We also have, well, I want it to be the case, that one of the songs, ideally the recessional, be Woody Guthrie's Union Maid. When I think of a civil union, I can't help singing the chorus.
Aside from the DJ, we're also going to tell everyone to bring any instruments they may have. The DJ will do his thing for a while, then we'll have a good old fashioned jam/music circle session.
Yeah, we're old hippies. Get over it.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
How fucking cool is this?
From the back. The tail is barred or banded and the back is mottled.
Not sure if it's female or juvenile
From the side - light brown speckled chest.
From the side - light brown speckled chest.Size reference - the board is just under 6" wide, maybe 5 3/8"?
Watching me. Eyes are a golden brown
How fucking cool is this? This morning, around 10:30, this bird landed on our deck and simply perched there for about a half hour. After doing some research and asking questions, it seems our little friend is a sharp-shinned hawk. When D started to get ready for work, which meant getting coffee and conversing, it finally decided we were disturbing it and it left. These pictures were taken out our kitchen window and through the sun room door. We think it was not only sunning itself, but attracted by the scent of the old bird cages. So glad we haven't recycled them yet :)
Watching me. Eyes are a golden brown
Friday, March 07, 2008
One month
It's now a month since surgery and I'm doing much better.
I was just posting the catch up stuff and older messages from the website and it seems so long ago I was counting my recovery by the day. Now it's by the week. Gotta love time.
I'm feeling SOOOO much better than before I had the hyst. I can't believe those damn things were sucking the life out of me like they were. It's amazing what your body can do when it's got oxygen! I still have twinges and some achiness, but my energy level, even post op, is twice what it was before surgery.
As well as recovery is going, however, it feels slow for me and I'm not good at doing bored. There's only so much online/reading/TV one can deal with before cabin fever sets in. I've been out and about for the past couple of days, extending the time as much as possible, but I'm still bored silly. I need mental and social stimulation, dammit!!!
I haven't spoken to/seen a Deaf person since the night of surgery and I feel like I'm gonna be rusty when I get back to work on the 21st. With the short term disability legalities, I'm not allowed to even set foot on FSW property so I can't go schmooze with the Deaf seniors on Fridays or visit the office/my co-workers.
That said...hmmm...thinking getting a couple of folks together for lunch off property might be possible. I'd have to do it quietly, but it might be possible...the gears are turning...
I was just posting the catch up stuff and older messages from the website and it seems so long ago I was counting my recovery by the day. Now it's by the week. Gotta love time.
I'm feeling SOOOO much better than before I had the hyst. I can't believe those damn things were sucking the life out of me like they were. It's amazing what your body can do when it's got oxygen! I still have twinges and some achiness, but my energy level, even post op, is twice what it was before surgery.
As well as recovery is going, however, it feels slow for me and I'm not good at doing bored. There's only so much online/reading/TV one can deal with before cabin fever sets in. I've been out and about for the past couple of days, extending the time as much as possible, but I'm still bored silly. I need mental and social stimulation, dammit!!!
I haven't spoken to/seen a Deaf person since the night of surgery and I feel like I'm gonna be rusty when I get back to work on the 21st. With the short term disability legalities, I'm not allowed to even set foot on FSW property so I can't go schmooze with the Deaf seniors on Fridays or visit the office/my co-workers.
That said...hmmm...thinking getting a couple of folks together for lunch off property might be possible. I'd have to do it quietly, but it might be possible...the gears are turning...
More postings from said website...
Posted on 2/20:
Well I'm day 8 out from surgery and all is pretty good. I had my staples removed today and replaced with steri-strips. I got up from the table, walked out of the exam room, and promptly had a vagal response!
I turned as white as their lab coats, got sweaty, cold and clammy, and nearly passed out. The doc (not mine, he's on vacation) and a nurse practically carried me back into the room where I lay down and was fed juice and crackers until my BP came back to the realm of living and I felt better.
About 15 minutes later, I slowly walked out of the office and my partner drove home. Got home and went to bed, napping for about 2-3 hours. I've spent the rest of the day between the bedroom and living room, mostly with a TV remote in my hand.
Since I was at a rehab, I had the visiting nurse come by today who declared I'm alive and only need her one more time per protocol. I'll also have a visit from physical therapy to prove I can walk again. Oh, and it seems I've lost about 15 lbs! I'm sure some is the soccer ball of ute and tumor I just lost, but I can't discount a liquid diet for 3 days and healthy food in rehab. Regardless, it's 15 lbs, dammit!
Had my big excursion tonight to Linens and Things for curtains then to the local "farm" store with a buffet for dinner - chicken orzo soup and wild rice salad. Woohoo!
Pain-wise I'm doing ok. I live in constant pain from my disability, so I have a really high tolerance to begin with. I'm only taking 1 or 2 Dilaudid a day and doing fine with that.
Pictures? Hell yeah! I have pictures of my ute and more of the weird, huge tumors I had. Definitely proves the hyst was the best decision to make. If anyone wants to see the gory pics, let me know and I'll send them.
No, not gonna post them to Blogger...not everyone can handle it. If you want to see them or the "don't fuck up" pics, let me know and I'll send them
Well I'm day 8 out from surgery and all is pretty good. I had my staples removed today and replaced with steri-strips. I got up from the table, walked out of the exam room, and promptly had a vagal response!
I turned as white as their lab coats, got sweaty, cold and clammy, and nearly passed out. The doc (not mine, he's on vacation) and a nurse practically carried me back into the room where I lay down and was fed juice and crackers until my BP came back to the realm of living and I felt better.
About 15 minutes later, I slowly walked out of the office and my partner drove home. Got home and went to bed, napping for about 2-3 hours. I've spent the rest of the day between the bedroom and living room, mostly with a TV remote in my hand.
Since I was at a rehab, I had the visiting nurse come by today who declared I'm alive and only need her one more time per protocol. I'll also have a visit from physical therapy to prove I can walk again. Oh, and it seems I've lost about 15 lbs! I'm sure some is the soccer ball of ute and tumor I just lost, but I can't discount a liquid diet for 3 days and healthy food in rehab. Regardless, it's 15 lbs, dammit!
Had my big excursion tonight to Linens and Things for curtains then to the local "farm" store with a buffet for dinner - chicken orzo soup and wild rice salad. Woohoo!
Pain-wise I'm doing ok. I live in constant pain from my disability, so I have a really high tolerance to begin with. I'm only taking 1 or 2 Dilaudid a day and doing fine with that.
Pictures? Hell yeah! I have pictures of my ute and more of the weird, huge tumors I had. Definitely proves the hyst was the best decision to make. If anyone wants to see the gory pics, let me know and I'll send them.
No, not gonna post them to Blogger...not everyone can handle it. If you want to see them or the "don't fuck up" pics, let me know and I'll send them
The first few days
Now that it's a month out, I figured I owed folks an update. To save time and brain space, the first couple of posts are simply copied and pasted from another website that's specific for hysterectomies. It's littered with Google ads and constantly tries to sell you products and membership, but if you can avoid that, it's pretty good.
The site itself is wonderful for peer support and basic information, but I found the owners and moderators pretty homophobic. Most of the women on the site aren't so bad, at least not outwardly, but since the owners seem to be jerks, I refuse to buy any of their products or support them in any way financially.
The site is also VERY middle-America and oh so vanilla and G rated. Knowing me, it can get really tough to try and find the words that the auto-censor will accept! Here I changed my words back to MY words, fuck censoring.
Posted on 2/11:
Hey everyone! I'm not yet home but I wanted to post my surgery story and let everyone know I'm already feeling so much better! And I'm sorry this is so long.
We got to the hospital at 8:15 in the morning and were in the pre-op interview area by 8:30 or so. Since my partner was really stressing, I had asked a friend to come and be there to support her. My feeling was that as long as she's supported, I can focus on myself and will be ok. Our friend was with us until I was taken into the OR - through the interview, OR holding and everything. Great friend.
When the anesthesiologist came into the OR holding area to ask questions, my partner knew her and finally was a lot calmer and felt more secure knowing I was in good hands. Just before leaving holding, they injected a bit of Versed and I started to get loopy. The last thing I remember was an arm in blue scrubs reaching over me to attach sensors, equipment and whatnot. I barely remember PACU (post-op), but know I asked for pain meds more than once. I remember going up to my room, ouching at every bump in the hallway and elevator, dreading the transfer to the bed, and holding onto my belly and dressing, wondering why it seemed so large.
I got up to my room around 2:30 or 3pm and by 4:00 had my first visitor. A good friend was in town for a meeting and just happened the timing was perfect. I was still quite stoned, but it was fine. The rest of the afternoon I was in and out of sleep, a combination of pain, effects of anesthesia, general hospital noise and the incessant taking of vitals made for a bad night. My roommate had the same surgery and poor woman, was puking for 3 days from the anesthesia. I had a PCA set up and kept hitting the button as much as possible, mostly for pain, but also hoping I would be stoned enough to just sleep and not be bothered by routine hospital stuff and the nurses in and out for my roomie. For the most part, it worked. Dilaudid was my best friend.
Later that evening, my doc and the doc who assisted him came in and I found out why the bandage was so large. Once he saw the monsters, the planned bikini cut was not an option and he had to make a vertical cut. I got filleted from just below my belly button to my pubes. I think there's something like 18 staples. My uterus was the size of a 19 week pregnancy and the majority of the external (pedunculated) tumor mass was shaped like a dumbell, spanning the height/length of the left side of my uterus, following along the tubes at the top and down the other side. The left side was about the size and shape of a football, the right, a smaller nerf football. All together, probably about the size of a soccer ball. He also had to do some digging since it had spread to alongside my va&ina (trying to avoid the snerts). Hence the vertical incision.
I had also decided to have some fun with my doc and the OR staff and put a temporary tattoo saying "don't fuck up" across my belly. They totally loved it, took pictures, he even posed with thumbs up. He said he was going to bring it to the next conference that talked about marking the surgical site. It also became the talk of the floor when I went up. Unfortunately they had to tape over it so when the dressing was removed Saturday morning, most of it was gone. Made the point though and I had my fun. Speaking of removing the dressing...I tend to be pretty hairy and hadn't shaved or been shaved down there. The tape, however, was massive and after the doc tried to be gentle, I finally told her to just cut the hair. It was bad. Hopefully the growing back in won't be too brutal. That's enough for now..will post more later and explain why I'm not yet home.
Posted on 2/13:
I'm 6 days out from surgery, 7 if you count surgery day, and FINALLY going home tomorrow. Because of my disability, nobody was sure how having my abdominal muscles filleted would impact my ability to walk, move and generally get around so I went to a short term rehab for a few days. I've been going fucking nuts here! Since it's primarily a nursing home, I'm one of the youngest people here and feel like I'm being treated like a child. They definitely infantalize you here and assume you can't do something rather than encourage independence. I can't even take a fucking shower more than once a week here!
It's been good in that it has forced me to take it slowly post-op, rather than my usual 100MPH, and physical and occupational therapy are getting me equipment I should have had for years. I also haven't had to worry about cooking, shopping or anything along those lines, so it's also been good in that respect. The prisoner feeling, however, doesn't make up for it. I'm SOOOO looking forward to getting home tomorrow, seeing my doggies and getting back to my normal life - not to mention a nice, long hot shower - I'm almost ready to cry. Can't wait for independence!!!
The site itself is wonderful for peer support and basic information, but I found the owners and moderators pretty homophobic. Most of the women on the site aren't so bad, at least not outwardly, but since the owners seem to be jerks, I refuse to buy any of their products or support them in any way financially.
The site is also VERY middle-America and oh so vanilla and G rated. Knowing me, it can get really tough to try and find the words that the auto-censor will accept! Here I changed my words back to MY words, fuck censoring.
Posted on 2/11:
Hey everyone! I'm not yet home but I wanted to post my surgery story and let everyone know I'm already feeling so much better! And I'm sorry this is so long.
We got to the hospital at 8:15 in the morning and were in the pre-op interview area by 8:30 or so. Since my partner was really stressing, I had asked a friend to come and be there to support her. My feeling was that as long as she's supported, I can focus on myself and will be ok. Our friend was with us until I was taken into the OR - through the interview, OR holding and everything. Great friend.
When the anesthesiologist came into the OR holding area to ask questions, my partner knew her and finally was a lot calmer and felt more secure knowing I was in good hands. Just before leaving holding, they injected a bit of Versed and I started to get loopy. The last thing I remember was an arm in blue scrubs reaching over me to attach sensors, equipment and whatnot. I barely remember PACU (post-op), but know I asked for pain meds more than once. I remember going up to my room, ouching at every bump in the hallway and elevator, dreading the transfer to the bed, and holding onto my belly and dressing, wondering why it seemed so large.
I got up to my room around 2:30 or 3pm and by 4:00 had my first visitor. A good friend was in town for a meeting and just happened the timing was perfect. I was still quite stoned, but it was fine. The rest of the afternoon I was in and out of sleep, a combination of pain, effects of anesthesia, general hospital noise and the incessant taking of vitals made for a bad night. My roommate had the same surgery and poor woman, was puking for 3 days from the anesthesia. I had a PCA set up and kept hitting the button as much as possible, mostly for pain, but also hoping I would be stoned enough to just sleep and not be bothered by routine hospital stuff and the nurses in and out for my roomie. For the most part, it worked. Dilaudid was my best friend.
Later that evening, my doc and the doc who assisted him came in and I found out why the bandage was so large. Once he saw the monsters, the planned bikini cut was not an option and he had to make a vertical cut. I got filleted from just below my belly button to my pubes. I think there's something like 18 staples. My uterus was the size of a 19 week pregnancy and the majority of the external (pedunculated) tumor mass was shaped like a dumbell, spanning the height/length of the left side of my uterus, following along the tubes at the top and down the other side. The left side was about the size and shape of a football, the right, a smaller nerf football. All together, probably about the size of a soccer ball. He also had to do some digging since it had spread to alongside my va&ina (trying to avoid the snerts). Hence the vertical incision.
I had also decided to have some fun with my doc and the OR staff and put a temporary tattoo saying "don't fuck up" across my belly. They totally loved it, took pictures, he even posed with thumbs up. He said he was going to bring it to the next conference that talked about marking the surgical site. It also became the talk of the floor when I went up. Unfortunately they had to tape over it so when the dressing was removed Saturday morning, most of it was gone. Made the point though and I had my fun. Speaking of removing the dressing...I tend to be pretty hairy and hadn't shaved or been shaved down there. The tape, however, was massive and after the doc tried to be gentle, I finally told her to just cut the hair. It was bad. Hopefully the growing back in won't be too brutal. That's enough for now..will post more later and explain why I'm not yet home.
Posted on 2/13:
I'm 6 days out from surgery, 7 if you count surgery day, and FINALLY going home tomorrow. Because of my disability, nobody was sure how having my abdominal muscles filleted would impact my ability to walk, move and generally get around so I went to a short term rehab for a few days. I've been going fucking nuts here! Since it's primarily a nursing home, I'm one of the youngest people here and feel like I'm being treated like a child. They definitely infantalize you here and assume you can't do something rather than encourage independence. I can't even take a fucking shower more than once a week here!
It's been good in that it has forced me to take it slowly post-op, rather than my usual 100MPH, and physical and occupational therapy are getting me equipment I should have had for years. I also haven't had to worry about cooking, shopping or anything along those lines, so it's also been good in that respect. The prisoner feeling, however, doesn't make up for it. I'm SOOOO looking forward to getting home tomorrow, seeing my doggies and getting back to my normal life - not to mention a nice, long hot shower - I'm almost ready to cry. Can't wait for independence!!!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Farewell to my Uterus Party
It's going, going, GOOOONE!
Come to my "Farewell to my Uterus" party
Let's give it the send-off it deserves!
Call me crazy, but as long as it's going, let's have some fun!
Wednesday, February 6th
6:00PM
Pot luck dinner, nothing fancy (I'm on a clear liquid diet so it better taste bad - ;) ), just good friends and fun.
Please RSVP
Friday, December 21, 2007
Letter to my gyn
Last Friday my gyn called me at home. He tends to call back patients later anyway, but this was late, around 8pm. We talked for over 10 minutes and said a lot to each other. He is an incredibly sweet and gentle man and I think it honestly hurt him when I stopped seeing him.
I also read the letter to Debbie and it blew her away. We haven't really talked much about it all, just kind of left it alone, so much of what I said was a surprise. We haven't talked about it since, but I think the letter says quite enough.
Dear Dr L,
Of course after we hung up the other day I wanted to say more. Why change now?
One reason why I started seeing Dr. P may seem stupid now but it is what it is. After talking to several friends, I realized I had never seen a female gyn. I'd always seen men. As a staunch feminist this seemed strange to me and I wanted to see a woman, just to experience the difference, if any, in care, understanding, or connection. We have had a long, difficult and trusting history but yet I wanted a change. In retrospect, perhaps it was a step away from the fertility process and pain of loss. For whatever reasons, at the time it seemed right. Now it seems silly or escapist, but hey, hindsight being what it is. I also had what perhaps is an unrealistic fear, believing that when I mentioned hysterectomy that you'd somehow try to talk me out of it. Yes, it is an absolute finality to my fertility journey, the last concrete vestige of the process and there’s absolutely no turning back. I do recognize that aspect of it and have and will continue to explore it emotionally and psychologically. At this point, it’s less about that and more a matter of I'm not using it, its causing me pain, and I've got fucking softballs growing. If I wait until menopause, at this rate of growth, they'll be basketball size and excruciating.
And yes, as I said on the phone, a big part of it was scheduling. As you know, my schedule can rival any resident's and is unpredictable to say the least. I generally try to see all my doctors or clinicians on a catch-as-catch-can basis. For obvious reasons, it doesn't always work.
I really do appreciate and treasure the relationship and trust we've developed over the years and it did feel odd seeing someone else. There are not many doctors who will cry with their patients. There was only one time that I really felt uncomfortable, and that was sometime after my second miscarriage. I had said we decided to stop and move on and you said that we weren't done, that I'd be back. It almost felt like you were trying to convince me to continue, not respecting our choice. That angered me. Maybe it was your experience talking, knowing that we would eventually get back to the process, but at the time, I pissed me off. I should have said something then but my grief, anger or whatever prevented me from it.
Naturally I wish circumstances turned out differently and I were holding my child, but I'm not and I'm really ok with it. For whatever the reasons, whomever or whatever made that ultimate decision, it turned out the way it was supposed to. It took a lot for me to reach that acceptance, but I'm there and it’s ok. As much as I can be right now, I’m at peace with it all. I also sincerely want to thank you for all your kindness, caring and support during those years. It meant and means a lot to me. You are one of true treasures in the vast sea of clinicians.
I look forward to our continued professional relationship and whatever friendship may develop in the process.
I also read the letter to Debbie and it blew her away. We haven't really talked much about it all, just kind of left it alone, so much of what I said was a surprise. We haven't talked about it since, but I think the letter says quite enough.
Dear Dr L,
Of course after we hung up the other day I wanted to say more. Why change now?
One reason why I started seeing Dr. P may seem stupid now but it is what it is. After talking to several friends, I realized I had never seen a female gyn. I'd always seen men. As a staunch feminist this seemed strange to me and I wanted to see a woman, just to experience the difference, if any, in care, understanding, or connection. We have had a long, difficult and trusting history but yet I wanted a change. In retrospect, perhaps it was a step away from the fertility process and pain of loss. For whatever reasons, at the time it seemed right. Now it seems silly or escapist, but hey, hindsight being what it is. I also had what perhaps is an unrealistic fear, believing that when I mentioned hysterectomy that you'd somehow try to talk me out of it. Yes, it is an absolute finality to my fertility journey, the last concrete vestige of the process and there’s absolutely no turning back. I do recognize that aspect of it and have and will continue to explore it emotionally and psychologically. At this point, it’s less about that and more a matter of I'm not using it, its causing me pain, and I've got fucking softballs growing. If I wait until menopause, at this rate of growth, they'll be basketball size and excruciating.
And yes, as I said on the phone, a big part of it was scheduling. As you know, my schedule can rival any resident's and is unpredictable to say the least. I generally try to see all my doctors or clinicians on a catch-as-catch-can basis. For obvious reasons, it doesn't always work.
I really do appreciate and treasure the relationship and trust we've developed over the years and it did feel odd seeing someone else. There are not many doctors who will cry with their patients. There was only one time that I really felt uncomfortable, and that was sometime after my second miscarriage. I had said we decided to stop and move on and you said that we weren't done, that I'd be back. It almost felt like you were trying to convince me to continue, not respecting our choice. That angered me. Maybe it was your experience talking, knowing that we would eventually get back to the process, but at the time, I pissed me off. I should have said something then but my grief, anger or whatever prevented me from it.
Naturally I wish circumstances turned out differently and I were holding my child, but I'm not and I'm really ok with it. For whatever the reasons, whomever or whatever made that ultimate decision, it turned out the way it was supposed to. It took a lot for me to reach that acceptance, but I'm there and it’s ok. As much as I can be right now, I’m at peace with it all. I also sincerely want to thank you for all your kindness, caring and support during those years. It meant and means a lot to me. You are one of true treasures in the vast sea of clinicians.
I look forward to our continued professional relationship and whatever friendship may develop in the process.
The date
I finally have a date for my surgery - February 7th. Pass the fentanyl.
Oh, and I figured out that since I'm a lesbian, they're the size of softballs, not oranges.
that is all
Oh, and I figured out that since I'm a lesbian, they're the size of softballs, not oranges.
that is all
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Absolute
It's official. Any lingering thoughts or fleeting ideas I may have had about having a baby are completely, finally and absolutely no longer an option.
The hysterectomy will be the end of January. Just waiting for a call from the woman in the GYN office who does procedure scheduling.
The past few months have been much worse than usual in terms of period pain. I've always bled like a sonofabitch, a box of tampons plus a dozen or more pads a month, so that wasn't new, but the pain that felt like my ovary was being twisted was a new sensation. So I went to the GYN. I was due for my annual anyway. She said my uterus was quite enlarged and wanted to to an SIS, or saline injected/introduced sonogram to see the details of my fibroids. I've known they were there for years, just basically ignored them.
The tech did the initial ultrasound and then the doc came in. I just about jumped off the table when she inserted the speculum. She apologized, saying it was larger than usual for the test. Larger than usual?! It felt like a fucking spatula! Then she got a smaller one and proceded to dig around to try and get a good angle of my cervix to insert the catheter. After a few tries, she said my uterus is so enlarged and my cervix so high as a result, that there's no need to continue to cause me pain (thank you). She wasn't going to get significantly more information from the SIS that she didn't already have from the ultrasound. So I cleaned up, got dressed and went upstairs to her office.
I have two very large fibroids, 8.7 and 9.8cm, roughly the size of oranges, that are causing most of my pain. They have also apparently nearly doubled in size in 2 years. Not good. Fibroids do shrink after menopause, but at 42, I have another 10 or so years to go. By that time and at this rate of growth, I'll have basketballs. Time to go.
We discussed surgery options: whether to leave my cervix or not, abdominal vs vaginal, etc. If my cervix is left, I will continue to need pap tests, but pretty infrequently. It also means that some supporting ligaments can be left - much better for supporting the pelvic floor. The downside is that it pretty much guarantees an abdominal procedure and a much longer recovery time. If it's done vaginally, the cervix almost certainly has to go, but the recovery time is much less. With the size of my fibroids she's pretty sure it will have to be abdominal surgery but she's willing to try LAVH, laparoscopically assisted vaginal hysterectomy. If it's done that way, the fibroids and uterus will have to be taken out in pieces, probably meaning a longer time under anesthesia. Yes, unless she sees something heinous, she plans on leaving my ovaries. I don't want instant menopause, thankyouverymuch.
I don't really have the belief that my womanhood is tied to my uterus, so that's not really an issue. There's also a relief of sorts that, despite knowing my motherhood journey was over 2 years ago, I still had fleeting fantasies of "what if". Now that will be absolutely not possible. I think my biggest issue right now is not really comprehending the scope and enormity of this surgery. I've had plenty of surgeries over the years, but none major enough to require a hospital stay since I was 11 and had my appendix out. I have to admit, there's a part of me almost looking forward to the dilaudid and percocet, but this is major shit, man! Scared? Yeah, I think I if I weren't I'd be dead or stupid. But I'm also looking forward to not having this monthly pain, not spending money on tampons and pads and the undeniable grossness of the bleeding.
With any luck, I can also find a way to fly to FL and visit my sister and some friends during the last week or so of recovery. After 3 or 4 weeks at home, I'll be desperate enough to do anything.
The hysterectomy will be the end of January. Just waiting for a call from the woman in the GYN office who does procedure scheduling.
The past few months have been much worse than usual in terms of period pain. I've always bled like a sonofabitch, a box of tampons plus a dozen or more pads a month, so that wasn't new, but the pain that felt like my ovary was being twisted was a new sensation. So I went to the GYN. I was due for my annual anyway. She said my uterus was quite enlarged and wanted to to an SIS, or saline injected/introduced sonogram to see the details of my fibroids. I've known they were there for years, just basically ignored them.
The tech did the initial ultrasound and then the doc came in. I just about jumped off the table when she inserted the speculum. She apologized, saying it was larger than usual for the test. Larger than usual?! It felt like a fucking spatula! Then she got a smaller one and proceded to dig around to try and get a good angle of my cervix to insert the catheter. After a few tries, she said my uterus is so enlarged and my cervix so high as a result, that there's no need to continue to cause me pain (thank you). She wasn't going to get significantly more information from the SIS that she didn't already have from the ultrasound. So I cleaned up, got dressed and went upstairs to her office.
I have two very large fibroids, 8.7 and 9.8cm, roughly the size of oranges, that are causing most of my pain. They have also apparently nearly doubled in size in 2 years. Not good. Fibroids do shrink after menopause, but at 42, I have another 10 or so years to go. By that time and at this rate of growth, I'll have basketballs. Time to go.
We discussed surgery options: whether to leave my cervix or not, abdominal vs vaginal, etc. If my cervix is left, I will continue to need pap tests, but pretty infrequently. It also means that some supporting ligaments can be left - much better for supporting the pelvic floor. The downside is that it pretty much guarantees an abdominal procedure and a much longer recovery time. If it's done vaginally, the cervix almost certainly has to go, but the recovery time is much less. With the size of my fibroids she's pretty sure it will have to be abdominal surgery but she's willing to try LAVH, laparoscopically assisted vaginal hysterectomy. If it's done that way, the fibroids and uterus will have to be taken out in pieces, probably meaning a longer time under anesthesia. Yes, unless she sees something heinous, she plans on leaving my ovaries. I don't want instant menopause, thankyouverymuch.
I don't really have the belief that my womanhood is tied to my uterus, so that's not really an issue. There's also a relief of sorts that, despite knowing my motherhood journey was over 2 years ago, I still had fleeting fantasies of "what if". Now that will be absolutely not possible. I think my biggest issue right now is not really comprehending the scope and enormity of this surgery. I've had plenty of surgeries over the years, but none major enough to require a hospital stay since I was 11 and had my appendix out. I have to admit, there's a part of me almost looking forward to the dilaudid and percocet, but this is major shit, man! Scared? Yeah, I think I if I weren't I'd be dead or stupid. But I'm also looking forward to not having this monthly pain, not spending money on tampons and pads and the undeniable grossness of the bleeding.
With any luck, I can also find a way to fly to FL and visit my sister and some friends during the last week or so of recovery. After 3 or 4 weeks at home, I'll be desperate enough to do anything.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Inspiration
Apparently, I'm an inspiration when I go shopping. I don't know why.
I'm not ending world hunger, negotiating peace in the Middle East, curing diseases.
I'm just shopping. For dog food, mostly. Not inspirational in my book.
I had gotten a short cart when I got into the store. Not technically an accessible one, but good enough. I did my shopping like anyone would, putting items into the cart and bringing them to the check-out. On my way to the check-out, a woman with a young kid stops me and tells me how wonderful I am that I was able to maneuver the cart. I'm thinking it's fucking high school physics , lady! It's not that hard to push a shopping cart from a wheelchair.
I just smiled and moved on.
Inspiration, my ass.
I'm not ending world hunger, negotiating peace in the Middle East, curing diseases.
I'm just shopping. For dog food, mostly. Not inspirational in my book.
I had gotten a short cart when I got into the store. Not technically an accessible one, but good enough. I did my shopping like anyone would, putting items into the cart and bringing them to the check-out. On my way to the check-out, a woman with a young kid stops me and tells me how wonderful I am that I was able to maneuver the cart. I'm thinking it's fucking high school physics , lady! It's not that hard to push a shopping cart from a wheelchair.
I just smiled and moved on.
Inspiration, my ass.
Context is Everything
I've gotten into the routine of making the dogs' food on Sundays. I'm not sure why, probably because I can usually stay home all day, but it's become a routine. I had put off buying most of the ingredients until yesterday, so I spent a good hour shopping. First place I went, Stews, was crowded as hell. It always is on weekends, but since I ask the butcher for free off-cuts and scraps, the weekends tend to have good scraps, so I suck it up and deal.
So I'm walking through the store and I see this guy that I know I know. I just can't place where I know him from. There's a mutual spark of recognition, so I know it's not just me. We shake hands, do the usual "hi, how are you's", and move on. He's with his wife. Later on we see each other and he grabs my arm, commenting on how strong I must be. I flex and show off. Near the end of the Stews cattle drive (I hate the layout of their stores), near the sushi fridge, we see each other again. I still can't place where the hell I know him from and it's driving me nuts. I KNOW I should know him, dammit! I start a conversation about the sushi, then finally ask where we know each other from. He simply says, "the hospital".
Ok, great. I regularly work in 20 different hospitals. Can he be a little more specific!? I just smile, and say something like, "oh right".
We part ways and as I see he and his wife on another check-out line, it occurs to me...the next time I see my gynecologist, I should bring him eel sushi.
It's all about the context, folks.
So I'm walking through the store and I see this guy that I know I know. I just can't place where I know him from. There's a mutual spark of recognition, so I know it's not just me. We shake hands, do the usual "hi, how are you's", and move on. He's with his wife. Later on we see each other and he grabs my arm, commenting on how strong I must be. I flex and show off. Near the end of the Stews cattle drive (I hate the layout of their stores), near the sushi fridge, we see each other again. I still can't place where the hell I know him from and it's driving me nuts. I KNOW I should know him, dammit! I start a conversation about the sushi, then finally ask where we know each other from. He simply says, "the hospital".
Ok, great. I regularly work in 20 different hospitals. Can he be a little more specific!? I just smile, and say something like, "oh right".
We part ways and as I see he and his wife on another check-out line, it occurs to me...the next time I see my gynecologist, I should bring him eel sushi.
It's all about the context, folks.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Snorkeling
I've inherited (earned?) the right to use a CPAP. I had a sleep study done about two months ago and it found that while I have mild sleep apnea, I snore like a fucking buzzsaw.
This was not news to either Debbie or Bridget, who usually rooms with me at conferences.
The combination of the two, apnea and snoring, mean I arouse myself out of sleep at least 15 times/hour, enough to earn me a CPAP machine. Level 12, for those who know.
It's roughly like sleeping with a vacuum hose attached to your face. My sister calls it a snorkel. Apparently my brother-in-law opted for the surgical correction, something he regrets and tries to convince anyone he can NOT to have.
It feels fucking weird. You can't open your mouth to talk, even breathe, because the forced air that's meant for your nose (I have a nasal mask, not full face), rushes out of your mouth and aside from the odd feeling, it makes talking nearly impossible. I'm sure more experienced CPAP users can have complete conversations while it's running, but this is my first week. No machine can shut me up for long, though.
Debbie's first comment the morning after my first night, "Quiet night."
I simply replied, "You're welcome."
Complaints and weirdness aside, I have never slept better in my life. I actually wake up feeling rested, something I haven't truly felt in years. I'm tired at times, but I know it's from staying up late, it's a different kind of tired, and not feeling physically and mentally exhausted for no tangible reason. One cup of coffee actually wakes me up, not the 2 or 3 or more that I tended to chug during the day.
Long live the vacuum hose.
This was not news to either Debbie or Bridget, who usually rooms with me at conferences.
The combination of the two, apnea and snoring, mean I arouse myself out of sleep at least 15 times/hour, enough to earn me a CPAP machine. Level 12, for those who know.
It's roughly like sleeping with a vacuum hose attached to your face. My sister calls it a snorkel. Apparently my brother-in-law opted for the surgical correction, something he regrets and tries to convince anyone he can NOT to have.
It feels fucking weird. You can't open your mouth to talk, even breathe, because the forced air that's meant for your nose (I have a nasal mask, not full face), rushes out of your mouth and aside from the odd feeling, it makes talking nearly impossible. I'm sure more experienced CPAP users can have complete conversations while it's running, but this is my first week. No machine can shut me up for long, though.
Debbie's first comment the morning after my first night, "Quiet night."
I simply replied, "You're welcome."
Complaints and weirdness aside, I have never slept better in my life. I actually wake up feeling rested, something I haven't truly felt in years. I'm tired at times, but I know it's from staying up late, it's a different kind of tired, and not feeling physically and mentally exhausted for no tangible reason. One cup of coffee actually wakes me up, not the 2 or 3 or more that I tended to chug during the day.
Long live the vacuum hose.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
SF Pride
Can I just say that I LOVE San Francisco? I mean totally love the place. If I could afford to live there, I'd be very happy, although I'm certain nearly all of my inhibitions and decorum would be shot to hell. Debbie, on the other hand, Ms. Puritanical New England, would be shitting a brick every 5 seconds.
After a nightmare experience with JetScrew (JetBlue) at JFK airport and a 6 hour non-stop flight, I landed at SFO at around 11:30 in the morning. Corbett had arranged an airport van to bring me to her house, where Robin and her PCA were packing to leave to go home to Denver after a year in Berkeley. Not a half hour after arriving, we all piled into Corbett's van and drove Robin and her PCA to Oakland airport, said a tearful goodbye, and Corb and I just hung out the rest of the day. She was emotionally drained and I was exhausted from traveling. We had a great dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant under a bridge and called it an early night.
The next day was the SF Pride parade and festival. We both planned to be up early and head into the city, but Corb slept late, I didn't wake her up, and we got there towards the end of the parade. Oh well. The festival was incredible enough. We met up with her friend/ex Maria and wandered around a bit, looking at booths, and spent a good deal of money. One place was doing airbrush temporary tattoos and as we were looking at the designs and deciding what to get, another long time friend, N, and her partner M came by. All but M got tats. I had one of a pair of lips on my left breast and since I was in SF at pride, egged on by my friends, I simply left my shirt off for the rest of the day, at least until it got cooler. We had somehow inherited a few strands of parade beads and Corbett managed to put a string through and around my bra so it outlined my breast. She, of course, fixed it every time it fell off.
N and M are into S&M, something I'm definitely NOT into, but don't hold it against anyone who is...their life and choices and I can't, nor do I want to, dictate what consenting adults do. At SF Pride, there's several side streets that have been designated for different purposes or focuses. There's Women's, Men's, Family, etc and Leather Alley. Leather Alley is very well marked and allows people who might be triggered by the materials enough warning to avoid the area. Corb knows my history and was very concerned I might be triggered, but I'm not. I don't like it, but it doesn't trigger me. Well, N and M had expected and planned to demonstrate/perform crip S&M, but by the time we arrived, they were already tearing down the fenced and visually blocked area that they would have used. Since we had all been talking about it, they were quite hot and horny and nothing was going to stop them from getting some. They wanted to use my hotel room, but after I refused, saying I had to teach the employees the next day and who knows what they might have heard, we found a small alley/street and went behind a dumpster. Without the details, let me just say it was quite the education. Corbett, in an effort to not get too horny, make me more comfortable, whatever, was explaining everything they were doing and why and what she would do if she knew M and it was safe to get involved.
Not long afterwards, they all went home and I went back to my hotel room and, well, you gotta know I masturbated.
Inhibitions, decorum, shot to bloody hell. Welcome to San Francisco.
After a nightmare experience with JetScrew (JetBlue) at JFK airport and a 6 hour non-stop flight, I landed at SFO at around 11:30 in the morning. Corbett had arranged an airport van to bring me to her house, where Robin and her PCA were packing to leave to go home to Denver after a year in Berkeley. Not a half hour after arriving, we all piled into Corbett's van and drove Robin and her PCA to Oakland airport, said a tearful goodbye, and Corb and I just hung out the rest of the day. She was emotionally drained and I was exhausted from traveling. We had a great dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant under a bridge and called it an early night.
The next day was the SF Pride parade and festival. We both planned to be up early and head into the city, but Corb slept late, I didn't wake her up, and we got there towards the end of the parade. Oh well. The festival was incredible enough. We met up with her friend/ex Maria and wandered around a bit, looking at booths, and spent a good deal of money. One place was doing airbrush temporary tattoos and as we were looking at the designs and deciding what to get, another long time friend, N, and her partner M came by. All but M got tats. I had one of a pair of lips on my left breast and since I was in SF at pride, egged on by my friends, I simply left my shirt off for the rest of the day, at least until it got cooler. We had somehow inherited a few strands of parade beads and Corbett managed to put a string through and around my bra so it outlined my breast. She, of course, fixed it every time it fell off.
N and M are into S&M, something I'm definitely NOT into, but don't hold it against anyone who is...their life and choices and I can't, nor do I want to, dictate what consenting adults do. At SF Pride, there's several side streets that have been designated for different purposes or focuses. There's Women's, Men's, Family, etc and Leather Alley. Leather Alley is very well marked and allows people who might be triggered by the materials enough warning to avoid the area. Corb knows my history and was very concerned I might be triggered, but I'm not. I don't like it, but it doesn't trigger me. Well, N and M had expected and planned to demonstrate/perform crip S&M, but by the time we arrived, they were already tearing down the fenced and visually blocked area that they would have used. Since we had all been talking about it, they were quite hot and horny and nothing was going to stop them from getting some. They wanted to use my hotel room, but after I refused, saying I had to teach the employees the next day and who knows what they might have heard, we found a small alley/street and went behind a dumpster. Without the details, let me just say it was quite the education. Corbett, in an effort to not get too horny, make me more comfortable, whatever, was explaining everything they were doing and why and what she would do if she knew M and it was safe to get involved.
Not long afterwards, they all went home and I went back to my hotel room and, well, you gotta know I masturbated.
Inhibitions, decorum, shot to bloody hell. Welcome to San Francisco.
Clearwater
Well, the Clearwater Revival went off with a few hitches, always does. I lost a few years off my life on this one.
We didn't have a confirmation of wheelchairs until the TUESDAY before Revival. That's right, 4 days before the festival I finally knew we had wheelchairs to loan, a MAJOR access issue for this festival. I found a few grey hairs and I swear it's because of this.
The festival itself was relatively smooth. The usual problems but nothing so out of the ordinary it couldn't be handled. In a new twist, one of my volunteers who was under 18 had a seizure and the paramedics wanted to bring her to the hospital. She's 16 and refused, but because she's underage, they had to have her guardian make the final decision. It took at least a half an hour to locate her guardian. She ended up not going and all was well.
The festival itself was fantastic. The weather held up beautifully and we actually broke the box office record. I don't know if that record is number of tickets sold or cash income, but either way, hot shit. We'll find out the numbers and whatnot at the post-mortem meeting, whenever that is.
As happens every year, I was able to connect with long time friends and meet many more. This year, volunteer hospitality was made even more hospitable when a friend of theirs brought a home made bar and proceded to make bar stools out of scrap picnic tables from the stump dump. The beer she was a flowin' and the weed she was a smokin'. I also finally introduced Brenda from Brahalla, the unofficial volunteer hospitality hang-out to the official volunteer hospitality crew. They're planning to collaborate next year.
Perhaps the best news is that the Board is FINALLY getting fed up with the festival director. Sure he may bring in a crowd, but he's an arrogant, self-important, takes-the-credit-for-everything prick. He even takes the credit for the ENTIRE festival. Including coordinators, there are roughly 900 volunteers who work their asses of prior to and during the festival, but he, of course, made it all happen. Yeah, answer your fucking radio during the weekend and we'll talk about how much you do.
Every once in a while, I'll actually try to talk to him as a person. I've learned that he's actually Mexican-American, grew up in CA and was the dark-haired immigrant kid that everyone picked on. He tried very hard to fit into CA world and American culture and basically got stuck between two cultures, not really fitting into either. Ok, so decent human being, just has a few issues. Then WHAM! Just when you think he's made progress towards being human, he shows his true colors and he's a prick again. I think I'm sticking with the "he's really a fucking prick" attitude from now on.
There's several hundred people, mostly coordinators and long-timers who are just waiting for the Board to finally axe the asshole. Party at my house when they do.
We didn't have a confirmation of wheelchairs until the TUESDAY before Revival. That's right, 4 days before the festival I finally knew we had wheelchairs to loan, a MAJOR access issue for this festival. I found a few grey hairs and I swear it's because of this.
The festival itself was relatively smooth. The usual problems but nothing so out of the ordinary it couldn't be handled. In a new twist, one of my volunteers who was under 18 had a seizure and the paramedics wanted to bring her to the hospital. She's 16 and refused, but because she's underage, they had to have her guardian make the final decision. It took at least a half an hour to locate her guardian. She ended up not going and all was well.
The festival itself was fantastic. The weather held up beautifully and we actually broke the box office record. I don't know if that record is number of tickets sold or cash income, but either way, hot shit. We'll find out the numbers and whatnot at the post-mortem meeting, whenever that is.
As happens every year, I was able to connect with long time friends and meet many more. This year, volunteer hospitality was made even more hospitable when a friend of theirs brought a home made bar and proceded to make bar stools out of scrap picnic tables from the stump dump. The beer she was a flowin' and the weed she was a smokin'. I also finally introduced Brenda from Brahalla, the unofficial volunteer hospitality hang-out to the official volunteer hospitality crew. They're planning to collaborate next year.
Perhaps the best news is that the Board is FINALLY getting fed up with the festival director. Sure he may bring in a crowd, but he's an arrogant, self-important, takes-the-credit-for-everything prick. He even takes the credit for the ENTIRE festival. Including coordinators, there are roughly 900 volunteers who work their asses of prior to and during the festival, but he, of course, made it all happen. Yeah, answer your fucking radio during the weekend and we'll talk about how much you do.
Every once in a while, I'll actually try to talk to him as a person. I've learned that he's actually Mexican-American, grew up in CA and was the dark-haired immigrant kid that everyone picked on. He tried very hard to fit into CA world and American culture and basically got stuck between two cultures, not really fitting into either. Ok, so decent human being, just has a few issues. Then WHAM! Just when you think he's made progress towards being human, he shows his true colors and he's a prick again. I think I'm sticking with the "he's really a fucking prick" attitude from now on.
There's several hundred people, mostly coordinators and long-timers who are just waiting for the Board to finally axe the asshole. Party at my house when they do.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Transitions
Wow, life is changing fast. Ok, so it's not exactly MY life that's changing, but the changes that other people are making in their lives are impacting mine. Big time.
On Friday, my boss confirmed the rumors that he's accepted another job in another state. I've never posted about my boss because there's nothing to complain about. He's amazing. No, not perfect, but in the book of "World's Greatest Bosses", he's right there on page one. I have an incredible amount of respect for him as an interpreter, a colleague, a friend, a boss and as a human being. He will be sorely missed.
It's only been in the last couple of years, really since the 2005 San Antonio RID conference, that I've become closer to he and his wife. I think in San Antonio, he was really able to relax, more than in Chicago, and we got to know each other on a more personal level. Too bad it was so damn late. His absence will definitely leave a huge hole in the agency and community.
My concern, and it's shared with nearly everyone in the department is, what's going to happen next? Who will take his position and how will it impact us, the Deaf community, the department, agency, etc...? We're all pretty nervous. He's offered to help in the search and transition process, but he's only here for the next 7 weeks. We've been wracking our brains trying to think of who can fit into that position and so far, there's nobody in CT who can or would. I know ultimately it will take time and we'll have to wait and see, but in the meantime, yikes, it's scary.
The other major transition not actually happening to us is the moving of our good friends to Puerto Rico. It's their dream retirement and I'm thrilled for them, but wow, what a loss to the area. Rick and Nelly have been integral parts of the area community for over 35 years. They were both teachers, professionally and in their hearts. They are perfect examples of Ghandi's quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world".
They are the kind of people that you wish you met when you were younger. You never quite had enough time with them, learning from them, appreciating the life they've shown you. I've known Rick for nearly 10 years, but it's only been the last 3 0r 4 that I've gotten to really know he and Nelly. Too damn late.
Nelly is a native Puerto Rican and now it's time for their lives to return to Puerto Rico. They bought acreage in a deeply forrested area of the island and are building an ecologically responsible, accessible home and guest house. Already they've been talking to area farmers who are complaining of being sick from all the chemicals and fertilizers. They're working towards educating them on organic/natural farming and hope to change their practices, ultimately making the island and surrounding ocean healthier.
On Friday, my boss confirmed the rumors that he's accepted another job in another state. I've never posted about my boss because there's nothing to complain about. He's amazing. No, not perfect, but in the book of "World's Greatest Bosses", he's right there on page one. I have an incredible amount of respect for him as an interpreter, a colleague, a friend, a boss and as a human being. He will be sorely missed.
It's only been in the last couple of years, really since the 2005 San Antonio RID conference, that I've become closer to he and his wife. I think in San Antonio, he was really able to relax, more than in Chicago, and we got to know each other on a more personal level. Too bad it was so damn late. His absence will definitely leave a huge hole in the agency and community.
My concern, and it's shared with nearly everyone in the department is, what's going to happen next? Who will take his position and how will it impact us, the Deaf community, the department, agency, etc...? We're all pretty nervous. He's offered to help in the search and transition process, but he's only here for the next 7 weeks. We've been wracking our brains trying to think of who can fit into that position and so far, there's nobody in CT who can or would. I know ultimately it will take time and we'll have to wait and see, but in the meantime, yikes, it's scary.
The other major transition not actually happening to us is the moving of our good friends to Puerto Rico. It's their dream retirement and I'm thrilled for them, but wow, what a loss to the area. Rick and Nelly have been integral parts of the area community for over 35 years. They were both teachers, professionally and in their hearts. They are perfect examples of Ghandi's quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world".
They are the kind of people that you wish you met when you were younger. You never quite had enough time with them, learning from them, appreciating the life they've shown you. I've known Rick for nearly 10 years, but it's only been the last 3 0r 4 that I've gotten to really know he and Nelly. Too damn late.
Nelly is a native Puerto Rican and now it's time for their lives to return to Puerto Rico. They bought acreage in a deeply forrested area of the island and are building an ecologically responsible, accessible home and guest house. Already they've been talking to area farmers who are complaining of being sick from all the chemicals and fertilizers. They're working towards educating them on organic/natural farming and hope to change their practices, ultimately making the island and surrounding ocean healthier.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
5/16/88
Happy Anniversary of sorts to me. Ok, so it's 4 days late, but when the fuck have I done anything on time?
May 16, 1988 was when I started my new life as a woman with a disability. I became a crip, politically aware and active in the disability world, later.
I won't go into details, if you want them, ask, it's too nice a day to be sitting inside blogging and the grass needs mowing. Long story short, it involves youth, bad decisions, a fucked up worker's comp system and malpractice.
And here I am. A crip lesbian living her life, mowing the lawn, yelling at the dogs to shut up, and blogging when I get around to it.
Not such a bad deal.
May 16, 1988 was when I started my new life as a woman with a disability. I became a crip, politically aware and active in the disability world, later.
I won't go into details, if you want them, ask, it's too nice a day to be sitting inside blogging and the grass needs mowing. Long story short, it involves youth, bad decisions, a fucked up worker's comp system and malpractice.
And here I am. A crip lesbian living her life, mowing the lawn, yelling at the dogs to shut up, and blogging when I get around to it.
Not such a bad deal.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
SF Part 2
Where did we leave off, boys and girls?
Friday, after saying goodbye to Meecha before she went to school, Corb and I hit the town, so to speak. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, with bright sunshine and high 60's-mid 70's. Not a cloud in the sky. Completely atypical SF. First we met a mutual friend, Alison, for breakfast in Berkeley. Alison has been at UC Berkeley on a fellowship which is running out at the end of the semester, right about now, actually. I met Alison at the QueerDisability conference in 2002. She was one of the organizers along with Corbett and a handful of others that I have developed friendships with.
After breakfast, we headed into the city and parked at Fisherman's Wharf . I never thought of myself as a typical tourist and tend to avoid all the tourist traps and usual places. I've always liked the side roads, alleys and places that draw more local people. I just sit and watch, listen and learn. For whatever reason, this day was different. We didn't do everything tourist, but it was definitely NOT my typical avoidance of said traps. We hopped on a ferry to Tiburon and Sausalito, strolling around each place for a while and enjoying the sights. Corbett found something she'd been looking for in each place - a bed/lap table at a thrift store and a gadget with clips and magnifying glass for working on jewelry. After we got back into the city, we walked around for a while, finding a museum dedicated to old, some VERY old, mechanical toys and games. You know, the kind where you put in a quarter, squeeze a handle, and it tells you how sexy you are...or you put in the quarter and turn a handle to see a flip-card movie. We played skee-ball, each winning one game...basically we had a blast just being silly. Dinner was Joe's Crab Shack (it was crab season YUM) and afterwards, we headed to visit Laura and Robin, other mutual friends and organizers of the queer disability conference. They, too, are leaving the Bay area soon and moving back to Colorado where they can afford to live. Robin is an attorney and has been looking for a job for months. She's got CP and NOBODY is willing to hire her. Sure, she can get a shitty job in an ILC (independent living center), but she's done that before and she's a fucking ATTORNEY! Why should she have to settle for a shit job at minimum wage just because she's a crip? Bullshit. It's not fucking fair.
We got back to Corbett's house late and she had to spend time on the phone arguing with the nursing home that a friend is in. The friend was just transferred from a hospital where she was on high doses of pain meds, all approved and necessary, and the nursing home wasn't giving her the prescribed dose, saying she's drug seeking. Again, BULLSHIT. Corbett has power of attorney for this friend and it was an ordeal talking to the friend and the nursing home, trying to get a straight answer and proper meds. It finally worked itself out, but oy!
Next morning the hotel had arranged for a town car to pick me up from her house and take me to the airport...I can get used to this. The flights home were better - I slept for most of it - and I got home around 11:30PM.
For those of you who don't know me, I'm on the right, Corbett's on the left. For the record, the light is on the word "Wild".
Friday, after saying goodbye to Meecha before she went to school, Corb and I hit the town, so to speak. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, with bright sunshine and high 60's-mid 70's. Not a cloud in the sky. Completely atypical SF. First we met a mutual friend, Alison, for breakfast in Berkeley. Alison has been at UC Berkeley on a fellowship which is running out at the end of the semester, right about now, actually. I met Alison at the QueerDisability conference in 2002. She was one of the organizers along with Corbett and a handful of others that I have developed friendships with.
After breakfast, we headed into the city and parked at Fisherman's Wharf . I never thought of myself as a typical tourist and tend to avoid all the tourist traps and usual places. I've always liked the side roads, alleys and places that draw more local people. I just sit and watch, listen and learn. For whatever reason, this day was different. We didn't do everything tourist, but it was definitely NOT my typical avoidance of said traps. We hopped on a ferry to Tiburon and Sausalito, strolling around each place for a while and enjoying the sights. Corbett found something she'd been looking for in each place - a bed/lap table at a thrift store and a gadget with clips and magnifying glass for working on jewelry. After we got back into the city, we walked around for a while, finding a museum dedicated to old, some VERY old, mechanical toys and games. You know, the kind where you put in a quarter, squeeze a handle, and it tells you how sexy you are...or you put in the quarter and turn a handle to see a flip-card movie. We played skee-ball, each winning one game...basically we had a blast just being silly. Dinner was Joe's Crab Shack (it was crab season YUM) and afterwards, we headed to visit Laura and Robin, other mutual friends and organizers of the queer disability conference. They, too, are leaving the Bay area soon and moving back to Colorado where they can afford to live. Robin is an attorney and has been looking for a job for months. She's got CP and NOBODY is willing to hire her. Sure, she can get a shitty job in an ILC (independent living center), but she's done that before and she's a fucking ATTORNEY! Why should she have to settle for a shit job at minimum wage just because she's a crip? Bullshit. It's not fucking fair.
We got back to Corbett's house late and she had to spend time on the phone arguing with the nursing home that a friend is in. The friend was just transferred from a hospital where she was on high doses of pain meds, all approved and necessary, and the nursing home wasn't giving her the prescribed dose, saying she's drug seeking. Again, BULLSHIT. Corbett has power of attorney for this friend and it was an ordeal talking to the friend and the nursing home, trying to get a straight answer and proper meds. It finally worked itself out, but oy!
Next morning the hotel had arranged for a town car to pick me up from her house and take me to the airport...I can get used to this. The flights home were better - I slept for most of it - and I got home around 11:30PM.
For those of you who don't know me, I'm on the right, Corbett's on the left. For the record, the light is on the word "Wild".
Sunday, May 06, 2007
SF, blow by blow, part one.
I suppose it's about time I post about the trip to SF itself and fill in the details. Lots of details.
After my too long flight and being stuck between two military folks... no Estelle, I didn't back down from a fight, just chose to pick my battles. Kinda hard to run when you're stuck in a recycled beer can 34,000 feet above the planet...I arrived at the hotel around 2AM. I was up by 7:30AM (thank you eastern time) and chugging down Starfucks in the lobby by 9AM. My meeting with the Parc 55 wasn't until 1:00, so I tootled around about a 3-4 block area, taking in the sights and neighborhood. There's a great little park right across the street from the Marriott, completely accessible and with the requisite pigeons, fountains and homeless folks. Inside the park and on the perimeter there's a couple of small museums, art galleries and stores. Don't ask me what the name of it is, but I can picture it as a perfect place to go sit and un-conference when necessary.
Part of my wandering was to actually locate the Parc 55. I knew it had to be close, but I had no idea where it might be. I did find it fairly easily...leave the Marriott via the 4th St entrance, make a right and keep going until you find the Virgin...megastore...make a left and it's about 2 blocks. Just in case you wanted to know.
Anyway, after I found the Parc 55 I had plenty of time to kill. On the way, there's a small square, again, don't ask me the name, and one of the cable car lines ends there. Powell St. Something else I discovered - the homeless and hungry folks in a tourist town are pretty enterprising. Several hung around at the square and offered directions and help to anyone who looked like a tourist...for a price, of course. One guy offered to show me to a Walgreens and then pushed me up the hill to it. I gave him $2 for his efforts. I've been homeless, I know it sucks. Never begged, but if I had been in that situation longer, I may have.
There were a couple of guys shining shoes in front of the Virgin store and I gave them my boots to shine. Damn they came out good. The guy who shined my boots was nice enough, even if he did have the appliance repairman's butt crack thing happening. The other guy spent more time watching the women walk by than working. He probably gave spit-shines from all the drool.
After my 1:00 meeting, I headed back to the Marriott and just chilled. I went up to their bar on the top floor - the view of the city and the bay is amazing - and then back to my room. I had made plans to have dinner with a friend from Clearwater - we discovered that we would be in SF and at the SAME HOTEL at the same time so we made plans to meet. We had a mediocre Thai dinner and she turned in early. I headed for the bar. What a night. Let's just say that computer geeks work hard and party harder. I was wandering around the bar, looking for a place to land, and all of a sudden there's a camera flash in my face. WTF?! I start wandering towards it, curious, and there's 3 very drunk computer techies having a great evening. Apparently those 3 were what was left over...a couple of others had already gotten way past drunk and left. The guy with the camera offered to buy me a drink, so sure, I'll take free booze. I spent the rest of the evening with them, a couple of others from their group coming and going, and they bought me drinks all night. We had some interesting conversations about culture, Deaf issues, interpreting and religion/spirituality. They were surprisingly lucid, although I'm sure they looked at the pictures the next day and have no fucking idea who the chick in the wheelchair is.
The next day, way too early at 7:15, I had a meeting with the conference co-chair. It was pretty light chat and we discovered our fathers are buried in the same cemetery in NY, for what it's worth. Then I had a 9:00 meeting with several managers from the Marriott. That went well and I was done by 11:00. After the meeting, my friend Corbett, who lives in the East Bay and who I haven't seen for a couple of years, picked me up. I had planned to stay with her and her daughter until I left Saturday morning. No need to take advantage of the Marriott's hospitality.
That afternoon, after a couple of shuffles with vans and drivers, Corb introduced me to power soccer. What a blast! Corbett is on the national team and she coaches a youth team in the bay area. Let me back up a tad and tell you about our trip to the gym. We had picked up her friend and teammate Karyn and drove Karyn's van to the gym. On the way, all of a sudden, there's no brakes. Pedal to the floor. In rush hour Bay area traffic. Fuck. Corb does a great job of not hitting anyone and giving plenty of room between her and the guy in front. Right about that time, Corb and I both notice a burning smell. Fuck. We take it slowly and when we get to the gym, Karyn, automotively clueless and champion worry-wart, goes in to start the kids' practice and we check out the van. I look at the brake fluid, check for leaks...everything I can think of. Finally Corb comes out from the driver's side and informs me that we just drove 30 minutes with the parking brake on! No idiot light, that would have been too obvious. Two hours later the brakes have cooled and are perfectly fine. Well, a bit worn down but they work. Power soccer itself, well, I was supposed to be assisting Corb and Karyn, laying low (everyone but me was in a power chair and had guards on the front of their chairs) and just trying not to get hurt. I didn't get hurt but my competitive side definitely came out. Sorry kids.
That night, after dropping Karyn off, we had dinner at yet another Thai place in Berkeley. Much better food. We then hopped the BART and headed for home.
Episode 2 later...
After my too long flight and being stuck between two military folks... no Estelle, I didn't back down from a fight, just chose to pick my battles. Kinda hard to run when you're stuck in a recycled beer can 34,000 feet above the planet...I arrived at the hotel around 2AM. I was up by 7:30AM (thank you eastern time) and chugging down Starfucks in the lobby by 9AM. My meeting with the Parc 55 wasn't until 1:00, so I tootled around about a 3-4 block area, taking in the sights and neighborhood. There's a great little park right across the street from the Marriott, completely accessible and with the requisite pigeons, fountains and homeless folks. Inside the park and on the perimeter there's a couple of small museums, art galleries and stores. Don't ask me what the name of it is, but I can picture it as a perfect place to go sit and un-conference when necessary.
Part of my wandering was to actually locate the Parc 55. I knew it had to be close, but I had no idea where it might be. I did find it fairly easily...leave the Marriott via the 4th St entrance, make a right and keep going until you find the Virgin...megastore...make a left and it's about 2 blocks. Just in case you wanted to know.
Anyway, after I found the Parc 55 I had plenty of time to kill. On the way, there's a small square, again, don't ask me the name, and one of the cable car lines ends there. Powell St. Something else I discovered - the homeless and hungry folks in a tourist town are pretty enterprising. Several hung around at the square and offered directions and help to anyone who looked like a tourist...for a price, of course. One guy offered to show me to a Walgreens and then pushed me up the hill to it. I gave him $2 for his efforts. I've been homeless, I know it sucks. Never begged, but if I had been in that situation longer, I may have.
There were a couple of guys shining shoes in front of the Virgin store and I gave them my boots to shine. Damn they came out good. The guy who shined my boots was nice enough, even if he did have the appliance repairman's butt crack thing happening. The other guy spent more time watching the women walk by than working. He probably gave spit-shines from all the drool.
After my 1:00 meeting, I headed back to the Marriott and just chilled. I went up to their bar on the top floor - the view of the city and the bay is amazing - and then back to my room. I had made plans to have dinner with a friend from Clearwater - we discovered that we would be in SF and at the SAME HOTEL at the same time so we made plans to meet. We had a mediocre Thai dinner and she turned in early. I headed for the bar. What a night. Let's just say that computer geeks work hard and party harder. I was wandering around the bar, looking for a place to land, and all of a sudden there's a camera flash in my face. WTF?! I start wandering towards it, curious, and there's 3 very drunk computer techies having a great evening. Apparently those 3 were what was left over...a couple of others had already gotten way past drunk and left. The guy with the camera offered to buy me a drink, so sure, I'll take free booze. I spent the rest of the evening with them, a couple of others from their group coming and going, and they bought me drinks all night. We had some interesting conversations about culture, Deaf issues, interpreting and religion/spirituality. They were surprisingly lucid, although I'm sure they looked at the pictures the next day and have no fucking idea who the chick in the wheelchair is.
The next day, way too early at 7:15, I had a meeting with the conference co-chair. It was pretty light chat and we discovered our fathers are buried in the same cemetery in NY, for what it's worth. Then I had a 9:00 meeting with several managers from the Marriott. That went well and I was done by 11:00. After the meeting, my friend Corbett, who lives in the East Bay and who I haven't seen for a couple of years, picked me up. I had planned to stay with her and her daughter until I left Saturday morning. No need to take advantage of the Marriott's hospitality.
That afternoon, after a couple of shuffles with vans and drivers, Corb introduced me to power soccer. What a blast! Corbett is on the national team and she coaches a youth team in the bay area. Let me back up a tad and tell you about our trip to the gym. We had picked up her friend and teammate Karyn and drove Karyn's van to the gym. On the way, all of a sudden, there's no brakes. Pedal to the floor. In rush hour Bay area traffic. Fuck. Corb does a great job of not hitting anyone and giving plenty of room between her and the guy in front. Right about that time, Corb and I both notice a burning smell. Fuck. We take it slowly and when we get to the gym, Karyn, automotively clueless and champion worry-wart, goes in to start the kids' practice and we check out the van. I look at the brake fluid, check for leaks...everything I can think of. Finally Corb comes out from the driver's side and informs me that we just drove 30 minutes with the parking brake on! No idiot light, that would have been too obvious. Two hours later the brakes have cooled and are perfectly fine. Well, a bit worn down but they work. Power soccer itself, well, I was supposed to be assisting Corb and Karyn, laying low (everyone but me was in a power chair and had guards on the front of their chairs) and just trying not to get hurt. I didn't get hurt but my competitive side definitely came out. Sorry kids.
That night, after dropping Karyn off, we had dinner at yet another Thai place in Berkeley. Much better food. We then hopped the BART and headed for home.
Episode 2 later...
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