This was the scary part of the Christmas visit. And here I thought scary was supposed to be limited to Hallowe'en!
On Sunday, 23 December, we had a lovely breakfast of pancakes, bacon and sausage patties. Everyone pretty much ate the same things, so we were all a bit surprised when my little sister (for the youth out there, my little sister is 45 years old) began to feel sick. She felt like she needed to throw up and finally had to make it happen, but that didn't really help how she was feeling.
The next day, she woke up even more sore, and thought that it might have been the violence of the throwing up that had pulled some muscles, which were then extremely sore. This continued through Christmas, and included a serious loss of appetite.
On Boxing Day (26 December for the uninitiated), we left for her house, about three to four hours away, with my sister behind the wheel. (She has a bad habit of driving long distances in pain, but that, too, is another story.) We arrived, we opened presents with Tracy, we prepared dinner and Tracy and I ate ours, by Syd was unable to.
Tracy then insisted that we go to the Emergency at the local hospital and it's a darned good thing we did.
The surgeon on call diagnosed a problem with her appendix, which, when he operated very shortly later, proved to have exploded and spread infection, abscesses and gangrene throughout her abdomen. She was probably only hours away from some serious and lasting consequences (not wanting to say the D word). What is interesting is that a small city like Williams Lake B.C. has a surgeon who is as talented as this guy apparently is — they offer him unlimited OR time and he gets to do a huge variety of surgeries. I, for one, am very glad that this guy is there and was the one on call that night.
The surgery took a little over an hour and he cleaned everything out that needed to be. It took her several days of recovery to get to the point of actually passing gas (the stomach and intestines had shut down and needed time to restart). Tracy and I did our best to help and to keep her spirits up (flowers, happy face balloons, a little bee hand puppet and a bunch of games of cribbage).
I am relieved to have heard that she got out today — I even got to talk to her at her house on the phone — and that she is back eating, if carefully for a while.
I might recommend NOT spending your holidays this way, along with NOT avoiding going to the doctor for a real diagnosis of what's going on.
I'm just glad I still have my little sister!
(I have some pictures, but I decided to let her decide who to share them with, as they are a bit personal…)
31 December 2007
An Eventful Trip: Traveling
I got back from my trip to British Columbia to see my family just this past Saturday, and took a day to relax before writing this account. I am sure that this will take several entries, too, so as not to end up with a giant posting that will scare any readers away.
It didn't begin well. My plane leaving Montréal was late, so the connection in Toronto was very short — 15 minutes to be exact. I knew that there would be problems because of that, and my travelling mood was not helped by the 'helpfulness' of the airline staff. Knowing that my connection would be closer than it ought to have been, I asked even before landing if they could find out what gate my next flight would leave from. The 'helpful' response? "Look at the screen when you get into the terminal." I should have known that the subsequent problems were coming.
I had a rather lovely visit with my friend Colin in the Calgary airport, and dutifully delivered his coveted pepperoni (an amusing story on its own, but that will have to wait for another time).
Back to my next flight, to Kamloops, B.C. Before we got on the plane, they announced that there was a possibility that our flight would not land in Kamloops because of weather, and that we would be forced to return to Calgary. (Aaargh! This is why I haven't flown to B.C. in the winter for years!) Luckily, that was not the case, and we landed as we were supposed to.
My luggage, however, did not arrive. Reporting the missing luggage was the easy part, and, unlike experiences from the past, I got a certain amount of reassurance from the airline's having a web site to follow the tracing of my lost bag. (This proved to be a diversionary tactic, as they really didn't update the site!)
Two days later, I got a call at my sister's house in Kamloops to say that my bag had been found. The call was from Winnipeg (notice how that wasn't a part of my itinerary!), and the person told me that he was suspicious, as it was tagged to go to Thunder Bay next. Needless to say, that one helpful person saw to it that my bag was sent where it should be. It arrived on the morning of my third day without luggage and then the airport people took several hours to arrange delivery, almost 3 days after my own arrival.
The trip back was less eventful, and my bag and the box I also checked arrived on the same flight as I did.
I believe I might return to my previous practice of travelling there only in the summer months.
It didn't begin well. My plane leaving Montréal was late, so the connection in Toronto was very short — 15 minutes to be exact. I knew that there would be problems because of that, and my travelling mood was not helped by the 'helpfulness' of the airline staff. Knowing that my connection would be closer than it ought to have been, I asked even before landing if they could find out what gate my next flight would leave from. The 'helpful' response? "Look at the screen when you get into the terminal." I should have known that the subsequent problems were coming.
I had a rather lovely visit with my friend Colin in the Calgary airport, and dutifully delivered his coveted pepperoni (an amusing story on its own, but that will have to wait for another time).
Back to my next flight, to Kamloops, B.C. Before we got on the plane, they announced that there was a possibility that our flight would not land in Kamloops because of weather, and that we would be forced to return to Calgary. (Aaargh! This is why I haven't flown to B.C. in the winter for years!) Luckily, that was not the case, and we landed as we were supposed to.
My luggage, however, did not arrive. Reporting the missing luggage was the easy part, and, unlike experiences from the past, I got a certain amount of reassurance from the airline's having a web site to follow the tracing of my lost bag. (This proved to be a diversionary tactic, as they really didn't update the site!)
Two days later, I got a call at my sister's house in Kamloops to say that my bag had been found. The call was from Winnipeg (notice how that wasn't a part of my itinerary!), and the person told me that he was suspicious, as it was tagged to go to Thunder Bay next. Needless to say, that one helpful person saw to it that my bag was sent where it should be. It arrived on the morning of my third day without luggage and then the airport people took several hours to arrange delivery, almost 3 days after my own arrival.
The trip back was less eventful, and my bag and the box I also checked arrived on the same flight as I did.
I believe I might return to my previous practice of travelling there only in the summer months.
16 December 2007
Early *iversary
Yeah, I did mean to do that.
I have two *iversaries to mark in the coming week, and since I will be out of town and, unthinkably, in a place where I will have NO internet access (not to mention NO cell phone signal!) when the *iversaries happen, I thought I would write about them now.
The first one to arrive is my AIDSiversary on 22 December. It will have been ten years ago on that day when I presented myself first at my doctor's office and then, with his direction, at the emergency room up the hill with case of what would turn out to be PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia), an AIDS-defining illness. Who knew that I would still be alive and relatively healthy ten years later? I certainly doubted it, despite the reassurance of my doctor and the (then) fresh new medications which would serve to restore my health.
In a little "what good luck, what bad luck" twist, that is also my friend Lois' birthday. I no longer forget her birthday, but I do have a sort of tragic association with it….
The next to arrive is my Blogiversary on 24 December. A whole year that I have been spouting off into the ether, sometimes creatively (at least in my own mind) and sometimes less so. I feel quite pleased that I have kept this up and I feel confident that I have more inanities to share in the months to come.
Happy *iversaries to me!
I have two *iversaries to mark in the coming week, and since I will be out of town and, unthinkably, in a place where I will have NO internet access (not to mention NO cell phone signal!) when the *iversaries happen, I thought I would write about them now.
The first one to arrive is my AIDSiversary on 22 December. It will have been ten years ago on that day when I presented myself first at my doctor's office and then, with his direction, at the emergency room up the hill with case of what would turn out to be PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia), an AIDS-defining illness. Who knew that I would still be alive and relatively healthy ten years later? I certainly doubted it, despite the reassurance of my doctor and the (then) fresh new medications which would serve to restore my health.
In a little "what good luck, what bad luck" twist, that is also my friend Lois' birthday. I no longer forget her birthday, but I do have a sort of tragic association with it….
The next to arrive is my Blogiversary on 24 December. A whole year that I have been spouting off into the ether, sometimes creatively (at least in my own mind) and sometimes less so. I feel quite pleased that I have kept this up and I feel confident that I have more inanities to share in the months to come.
Happy *iversaries to me!
Ah, cooking
Here's a quick little one: before and after shots of my cranberry sauce-making activity.
I must say that my very best cookbook — and I do have quite a few of them — is my old, falling-apart cookbook from the Five Roses Flour Company. The most reliable recipes, recipes for virtually everything. And from a company whose illuminated sign is a landmark in Montréal.
I must say that my very best cookbook — and I do have quite a few of them — is my old, falling-apart cookbook from the Five Roses Flour Company. The most reliable recipes, recipes for virtually everything. And from a company whose illuminated sign is a landmark in Montréal.
14 December 2007
Friday en français : préparation
Premièrement (et brièvement, comme ce n'est pas l'objet principal du jour), les chiffres les plus récentes, du 13 novembre :
• Charge virale : indétectable (moins de 50)
• CD4+ absolu : 225
• CD4+ pourcentage : 15%
Sensiblement inchangés depuis la dernière fois.
Mardi prochain je quitte ma belle ville pour une visite chez ma famille en Colombie-britannique. C'est la première fois depuis des années que je vais passer les fêtes avec ma famille et il y a plusieurs habitudes que je dois reprendre pour le faire. Et non, ce n'est pas parce que je n'aime pas ma famille — bien au contraire! Mais j'ai acquis des habitudes de quelqu'un qui passe les fêtes tout seul.
Premier changement : les cadeaux. Ça fait des années que je n'achète pas de cadeaux de noël. Loin de ma famille, non-croyant et seul, il n'y avait pas de raison d'ajouter aux excès de possessions de mes parents, frère, sœurs. J'ai essayé de substituer des « cadeaux » comestibles — des truffes au chocolat de plusieurs sortes que j'ai fait moi-même et parfois ma propre recette de biscuits sablés. J'ai même essayé de décourager ma famille de m'envoyer des cadeaux (mes parents ne m'écoutent pas nécessairement sur ce point). Cette année, je serais directement devant eux le matin du 25. On va voir si mes chocolats font l'affaire en personne.
Deuxième changement : voyager en hiver. La dernière fois que j'ai voyagé de Montréal à Kamloops en hiver, c'était assez difficile. Un peu de neige à Kamloops et l'avion est incapable d'atterrir. J'ai passé toute la journée à l'aéroport de Vancouver avec un mal de tête qui augmentait avec chaque annulation de vol vers Kamloops. De plus, j'aurais à craindre que mes voisins vont profiter de mon absence de onze jours pour créer de la glace sur notre escalier commun. (Leur réponse à la neige est de marcher dessus et non pas de pelleter; ça tombe uniquement à moi, la personne malade et plus âgée, d'enlever la neige et la glace.)
Troisième des choses : une longue liste de tâches à accomplir avant d'y aller. Et très peu de temps, donc… au travail!
• Charge virale : indétectable (moins de 50)
• CD4+ absolu : 225
• CD4+ pourcentage : 15%
Sensiblement inchangés depuis la dernière fois.
Mardi prochain je quitte ma belle ville pour une visite chez ma famille en Colombie-britannique. C'est la première fois depuis des années que je vais passer les fêtes avec ma famille et il y a plusieurs habitudes que je dois reprendre pour le faire. Et non, ce n'est pas parce que je n'aime pas ma famille — bien au contraire! Mais j'ai acquis des habitudes de quelqu'un qui passe les fêtes tout seul.
Premier changement : les cadeaux. Ça fait des années que je n'achète pas de cadeaux de noël. Loin de ma famille, non-croyant et seul, il n'y avait pas de raison d'ajouter aux excès de possessions de mes parents, frère, sœurs. J'ai essayé de substituer des « cadeaux » comestibles — des truffes au chocolat de plusieurs sortes que j'ai fait moi-même et parfois ma propre recette de biscuits sablés. J'ai même essayé de décourager ma famille de m'envoyer des cadeaux (mes parents ne m'écoutent pas nécessairement sur ce point). Cette année, je serais directement devant eux le matin du 25. On va voir si mes chocolats font l'affaire en personne.
Deuxième changement : voyager en hiver. La dernière fois que j'ai voyagé de Montréal à Kamloops en hiver, c'était assez difficile. Un peu de neige à Kamloops et l'avion est incapable d'atterrir. J'ai passé toute la journée à l'aéroport de Vancouver avec un mal de tête qui augmentait avec chaque annulation de vol vers Kamloops. De plus, j'aurais à craindre que mes voisins vont profiter de mon absence de onze jours pour créer de la glace sur notre escalier commun. (Leur réponse à la neige est de marcher dessus et non pas de pelleter; ça tombe uniquement à moi, la personne malade et plus âgée, d'enlever la neige et la glace.)
Troisième des choses : une longue liste de tâches à accomplir avant d'y aller. Et très peu de temps, donc… au travail!
04 December 2007
Updated Lab Porn!
With a wink to Brian and a nod to Paul, here's a little update of my viral load results,plotted as they should be on a logarithmic scale:
It makes the blips look a little scarier, but they do quickly return to undetectable. The difference in the plateau levels is all about when Québec stopped using the viral load test sensitive to 500 copies per ml and started using one sensitive to 50 copies per ml. I record my 'undetectable' results on my spreadsheet (and therefore on my graph) as 499 and 49 copies respectively (by test sensitivity), which helps to remind me that there is still some virus there.
It makes the blips look a little scarier, but they do quickly return to undetectable. The difference in the plateau levels is all about when Québec stopped using the viral load test sensitive to 500 copies per ml and started using one sensitive to 50 copies per ml. I record my 'undetectable' results on my spreadsheet (and therefore on my graph) as 499 and 49 copies respectively (by test sensitivity), which helps to remind me that there is still some virus there.
30 November 2007
Friday en français : la veille
Le 30 novembre 2007. Ça veut dire que c'est la veille de la journée mondiale du sida, la veille de notre deuxième Forum des personnes vivant avec le VIH du Québec, et trois semaines et un jour avant la dixième anniversaire de mon diagnostic du sida.
Mercredi passé, j'ai eu l'expérience de raconter des éléments de mon histoire personnelle du VIH-Sida à des députés de l'Assemblée nationale du Québec, faisant des liens avec les réclamations de la coalition. C'était en effet la première fois que j'ai raconté mon histoire en français, et je pense que je l'ai bien fait. Ma présentation tournait sur la chance que j'ai d'avoir tant d'avantages, en comparaison avec d'autres PVVIH, mais que mon vécu non plus n'a pas été facile. J'espère que c'était aussi efficace que je pensais dans le moment.
Aujourd'hui, j'ai passé deux heures et demie dans le froid dans notre Parc de l'Espoir, le parc dédié au mémoire des personnes décédées du sida au Québec. Premièrement, nous avons installé nos cent huit poupées en papier, représentant le nombre de personnes infectées au VIH depuis la Fête du travail. Vous pouvez voir des photos de notre installation ici et le vidéo qui complète ce projet ici :
(Attention : la page et le vidéo sont tous les deux en anglais!) (Et pour ceux et celles qui veulent savoir, ce n'est pas ma voix.)
Suite à ça, des discours et l'installation de plaques commémorant un des fondateurs dudit parc, décédé il y a cinq ans.
Demain et le lendemain, on va espérer passer des journées agréables de partage d'expériences entre personnes vivant avec le VIH de tous les coins du Québec. Bien que ces expériences soient souvent difficiles, le partage fait toujours du bien. C'est réaffirmant, et il n'y a personne qui peut sortir d'un tel exercice sans me sentir énergisé et validé.
Et maintenant pour préparer mon allocution d'ouverture du forum….
Mercredi passé, j'ai eu l'expérience de raconter des éléments de mon histoire personnelle du VIH-Sida à des députés de l'Assemblée nationale du Québec, faisant des liens avec les réclamations de la coalition. C'était en effet la première fois que j'ai raconté mon histoire en français, et je pense que je l'ai bien fait. Ma présentation tournait sur la chance que j'ai d'avoir tant d'avantages, en comparaison avec d'autres PVVIH, mais que mon vécu non plus n'a pas été facile. J'espère que c'était aussi efficace que je pensais dans le moment.
Aujourd'hui, j'ai passé deux heures et demie dans le froid dans notre Parc de l'Espoir, le parc dédié au mémoire des personnes décédées du sida au Québec. Premièrement, nous avons installé nos cent huit poupées en papier, représentant le nombre de personnes infectées au VIH depuis la Fête du travail. Vous pouvez voir des photos de notre installation ici et le vidéo qui complète ce projet ici :
(Attention : la page et le vidéo sont tous les deux en anglais!) (Et pour ceux et celles qui veulent savoir, ce n'est pas ma voix.)
Suite à ça, des discours et l'installation de plaques commémorant un des fondateurs dudit parc, décédé il y a cinq ans.
Demain et le lendemain, on va espérer passer des journées agréables de partage d'expériences entre personnes vivant avec le VIH de tous les coins du Québec. Bien que ces expériences soient souvent difficiles, le partage fait toujours du bien. C'est réaffirmant, et il n'y a personne qui peut sortir d'un tel exercice sans me sentir énergisé et validé.
Et maintenant pour préparer mon allocution d'ouverture du forum….
15 November 2007
De-dramatizing Lab Results
I'm coming up on the tenth anniversary of my diagnosis with HIV (actually, directly to AIDS because I was silly enough not to be tested along the way and was diagnosed when I developed PCP, an AIDS-defining illness). The actual anniversary will be 22 December, ensuring that I will never again forget my friend Lois' birthday, even if it is stained by something a little darker.
The anniversary seems like a good time to share a little bit of the various things I do to deal with my condition. Here's a little thing I like to do in order to get a good grip on the significance of my lab test results: plotting them on a graph to get a good sense of what is dramatic and what isn't.
Above is the graph of my viral load (in copies per ml) through 44 test results over the last ten years. You can see how starting at close to 75,000 copies (per ml!!) of HIV in my system seems a bit scary, but how at the next test only 49 days later I was undetectable (below 500, recorded by my hospital lab as 499, not 0), which was dramatic indeed. The fear of my two experiences of blips (677 and 1169) really fades when seeing those incidents plotted on the graph.
Here is my absolute CD4+ count, from the scary starting position of 4 (I told you I waited way too long to get tested!) to my all-time high a couple of years ago (315) and on to my last result (210). I have long been frustrated with what seemed like the lack of progress, never reaching those lofty numbers some of my friends have managed to get to, but that stagnancy, too, seems to pale when plotted on a graph. I do feel like generally there is a levelling off, but at the top of a rather steady rise over the years.
I have been told that the CD4+ percentage is a more stable indicator than the absolute CD4+ count, and the above graph seems to bear that out. Yes, there are still peaks and valleys, but they are a little less pronounced, and the trend seems more clearly upward.
The anniversary seems like a good time to share a little bit of the various things I do to deal with my condition. Here's a little thing I like to do in order to get a good grip on the significance of my lab test results: plotting them on a graph to get a good sense of what is dramatic and what isn't.
Above is the graph of my viral load (in copies per ml) through 44 test results over the last ten years. You can see how starting at close to 75,000 copies (per ml!!) of HIV in my system seems a bit scary, but how at the next test only 49 days later I was undetectable (below 500, recorded by my hospital lab as 499, not 0), which was dramatic indeed. The fear of my two experiences of blips (677 and 1169) really fades when seeing those incidents plotted on the graph.
Here is my absolute CD4+ count, from the scary starting position of 4 (I told you I waited way too long to get tested!) to my all-time high a couple of years ago (315) and on to my last result (210). I have long been frustrated with what seemed like the lack of progress, never reaching those lofty numbers some of my friends have managed to get to, but that stagnancy, too, seems to pale when plotted on a graph. I do feel like generally there is a levelling off, but at the top of a rather steady rise over the years.
I have been told that the CD4+ percentage is a more stable indicator than the absolute CD4+ count, and the above graph seems to bear that out. Yes, there are still peaks and valleys, but they are a little less pronounced, and the trend seems more clearly upward.All of this to teach myself not to hang on the last number, but to follow the trends.
Ten years in, I'm not doing too badly.
09 November 2007
Friday en français : sans abri?
Non, je ne suis pas dans la rue, sans domicile. Mais je suis dehors mon bureau avec deux tiers de mon personnel, et ça ne fait pas mon affaire. Pas du tout.
Qu'est-ce qui est arrivé? Voici l'histoire en format court…
Mon organisme communautaire occupe des locaux dans le sous-sol d'un immeuble historique de la Ville. Les autres étages logent plusieurs autres organismes sida et/ou LGBTQ.
En 2005, nous avons signalé à la Ville une bosse dans le mur de notre bureau. Deux ans plus tard, ils répondent en visitant les lieux et en enlevant le plâtre afin de mieux voir le problème. Ils prennent deux autres jours pour déterminer quoi faire. Ensuite, ils arrivent à l'immeuble pour annoncer que tout le monde a deux heures pour quitter les lieux.
Deux ans, deux jours, deux heures.
Si seulement la résolution aurait pris deux minutes…
Qu'est-ce qui est arrivé? Voici l'histoire en format court…
Mon organisme communautaire occupe des locaux dans le sous-sol d'un immeuble historique de la Ville. Les autres étages logent plusieurs autres organismes sida et/ou LGBTQ.
En 2005, nous avons signalé à la Ville une bosse dans le mur de notre bureau. Deux ans plus tard, ils répondent en visitant les lieux et en enlevant le plâtre afin de mieux voir le problème. Ils prennent deux autres jours pour déterminer quoi faire. Ensuite, ils arrivent à l'immeuble pour annoncer que tout le monde a deux heures pour quitter les lieux.
Deux ans, deux jours, deux heures.
Si seulement la résolution aurait pris deux minutes…
02 November 2007
Friday en français : la déception de la réussite
C'était en écoutant mes messages téléphoniques hier soir, suite à une longue journée de travail, que j'ai appris que j'avais enfin gagné mon point. Un message en provenance du camelot qui depuis longtemps me livre quotidiennement un journal non voulu, avec un numéro pour lui rappeler. Je lui ai rappelé et il m'a expliqué qu'il les livrait à mon voisin (ce qui n'explique pas que le voisin n'en voulait pas, et les déplaçait devant ma porte à tous les jours).
Le camelot étant plus raisonnable que j'aurais soupçonné (ayant une image de quelqu'un qui me livrait les journaux pour m'agacer), il a accepté l'explication et il m'a promis de ne plus livrer ce journal. Avec ça, le problème est résolu et il n'y avait pas de journal ce matin.
Pourquoi donc la déception?
Premièrement, je me suis trouvé dans une situation qui m'a amené à annuler mon abonnement au journal anglophone les fins de semaine, ce que j'ai aimé.
Deuxièmement, peut-être avec plus d'importance pour moi, la résolution a mis fin à ma planification d'action directe pour adresser la situation. Depuis plus d'une semaine, je garde les journaux non voulus et j'avais l'intention de me rendre aux bureaux du journal que je ne voulais pas pour « livrer » ce que je ne voulais pas recevoir. Il ne me reste plus de raison à continuer avec ce plan — en effet, il est contre-indiqué — et je n'aurais jamais la satisfaction de l'avoir fait.
Mardi prochain je sortirai dans mon sac de recyclage tout ce qui reste de mon projet de manifestation.
Le camelot étant plus raisonnable que j'aurais soupçonné (ayant une image de quelqu'un qui me livrait les journaux pour m'agacer), il a accepté l'explication et il m'a promis de ne plus livrer ce journal. Avec ça, le problème est résolu et il n'y avait pas de journal ce matin.
Pourquoi donc la déception?
Premièrement, je me suis trouvé dans une situation qui m'a amené à annuler mon abonnement au journal anglophone les fins de semaine, ce que j'ai aimé.
Deuxièmement, peut-être avec plus d'importance pour moi, la résolution a mis fin à ma planification d'action directe pour adresser la situation. Depuis plus d'une semaine, je garde les journaux non voulus et j'avais l'intention de me rendre aux bureaux du journal que je ne voulais pas pour « livrer » ce que je ne voulais pas recevoir. Il ne me reste plus de raison à continuer avec ce plan — en effet, il est contre-indiqué — et je n'aurais jamais la satisfaction de l'avoir fait.
Mardi prochain je sortirai dans mon sac de recyclage tout ce qui reste de mon projet de manifestation.
26 October 2007
Stylin' Friday: Lipodystrophy, Part II
I have been struggling with changes to my body shape over the last two to three years. So here I'm going to mix some explanatory prose with a small series of limericks to talk about some of the impacts that this has had on me. And then, if you read the previous post, I will finally get to the crowing.
At a certain time about two years before I was finally diagnosed, I very suddenly lost about twenty pounds. At the time, I welcomed it and attributed it to my having become much more active by joining a gay and lesbian country dancing club, which I adored and went to at every possible moment. In retrospect, this was probably the moment at which my immune system really starting losing the battle against HIV. Flash forward to the diagnosis I sometimes refer to as 'zero to AIDS' in a few short minutes: I developed PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia), an AIDS related opportunistic infection, and then I got tested for HIV, already knowing what the outcome would be. But I've talked about that in a previous post.
In the early years of being treated, I did gain back the twenty pounds I had lost earlier, but that where I stayed. I felt like I could pretty much eat what I wanted and either the virus or the treatments would take care of the excess. This brings us to our first limerick:
For years, it was 'eat what you want'
The virus risks making you gaunt
So indulge while you're here
But watch your back, dear
The habits will come back to haunt
Then I started to notice the hump growing on my back. I made a few changes in my life, like quitting smoking to get better control of my health, but I also gave in to the pain in my hands and feet from psoriatic arthritis and participated less in my beloved country dancing. I also got older (I guess I couldn't really stop that one from sneaking up on me!). I refer to this as a perfect storm of factors — aging (and consequent changes in metabolism), inactivity (sometimes due to pain), quitting smoking (also apparently with impacts on metabolism) and a legacy of taking the same HIV meds very diligently over a period of seven and a half years (at least two of these associated with certain metabolic impacts) — and this perfect storm led to some very rapid weight gain. Limerick number two, maybe?
Quit smoking, ate less…but not great
And put on a whole bunch of weight
Arthritis and AIDS
Made for less active days
Plus maybe a small dash of fate?
I gained what for me was such a nightmarish amount of weight that I have now been thoroughly converted to expressing my weight in kilograms rather than pounds, as it sounds a little less extreme, at least for someone raised on pounds. ;-) To situate this, I used to refer to the 200 pound mark as my 'nightmare weight' and even made sure that my doctor, weighing me once at 199.75 pounds, did not round up when he wrote in my chart! Now that benchmark seems like a distant and happy dream time.
All of this has had a lot of impact on my life. I have had to buy new clothes and new kinds of clothes. Shirts with collars that are not meant to be tucked in: the collars actually help disguise the hump like no t-shirt ever could (and forget about something like a tank top — no more of those for me!) and the mumu approach (untucked shirt, oddly often with tropical patterns) at least makes me feel a little less bulgy, even if it is not fooling anyone else. Physical discomfort at every turn.
The worst part, however, is what I get from other people. I stopped going to my country dancing club after a couple of comments (different people, different occasions) about my weight that I cannot even imagine myself saying to someone. I wrote about that here. I had enough self esteem on those couple of occasions to strike back with comments like: "I can't believe you feel like you can say that to me" and "You're not so thin yourself" but I quickly soured on turning my leisure-time activities into a campaign for tolerance. Leading inevitably to our third limerick:
I've had to buy tons of new clothes
To cover the body that grows
But despite the new style
I just cannot smile
When the comments I get are like those
I became so depressed about my body shape and my isolation (is it self-imposed when going out leads to painful experiences?), that I had a period of extreme depression this summer. I couldn't string together five words without crying. By chance, one of my worst days fell on a day of a visit to my doctor.
Now, I have had various experiences with undiagnosed depression through my life. Like most kids growing up gay or lesbian, especially those of my age, I had to struggle with coming to terms with my sexual orientation and with the ridicule or harassment of my peers. I spent a lot of time in high school considering suicide, but not talking about it lest I have to talk about my underlying struggle. I have also always had a poor body image, even while I am confident in my intellectual and professional self-image. Having HIV doesn't help, and I'm sure that my new HIV meds (or at least one of them) probably shouldn't be taken by someone with a background of depression (pronounced central nervous system side-effects). When I heard tell of a study which suggested that even this 'new to me' medication (I had chosen it about two and a half years ago for its lack of association to metabolic complications) might be associated with certain metabolic complications, I really felt like stopping my meds. "A little wasting might do me some good," I thought. (I wouldn't charge ahead with some notion of stopping my meds without taking care to ensure that I wouldn't develop a resistance to them in the process of stopping.)
My doctor did all the probing for suicidal tendencies with which I am all too familiar from having worked in community-based social service agencies for the last 17 years. Did I have a plan? I kept thinking that if I really had a plan that I was at all serious about carrying out, I wouldn't be talking about it with him. Mostly, I want to be careful to maintain the validity of my life insurance so that my family will derive some financial benefit from their investment in me over the years. I also don't want to hurt them, so it makes the whole suicide thing a bit problematic (especially as I have no doubts about their love and support). Stopping my meds, however, would cause me a slower death from AIDS, which we could all be expecting anyway. (But I have moved on from those thoughts for now.)
At least this time I had some other options. A psychologist I could start seeing, covered by medicare, to help me work through some of these issues. And despite the fact that this post has become inordinately long, I keep promising to crow, and that's the part that's coming up (alas, no limerick!), so I continue.
I made a deal with the psychologist to help me overcome my inertia to start exercising again, and I think it is working well. There are a couple of elements: a pre- and post-exercise diary to record my thoughts and moods surrounding doing the exercises, and a series of photos I will take (only once a week, front and side) to follow my progress over the coming months and years. I am realistic about this process taking a long time and won't be discouraged when this week's photos show no difference from last week's. But I am crowing about the fact that I have managed to do my home exercise routine for four of the last seven days (had a bit of trouble adding it to my mornings on work days, but I did manage to do that yesterday, so there is hope).
I started slowly and did plenty of stretching and I will build up to what I expect from myself over time. But I am doing something and that is worth crowing about.
PS: It took me a long time to come up with a new style for Stylin' Fridays, so I have decided to make a structural change that will also bring me back to a promise from my original post. From now on Fridays will become Fridays en français to help me exercise another part of my brain. Let's see if it will start next week!
At a certain time about two years before I was finally diagnosed, I very suddenly lost about twenty pounds. At the time, I welcomed it and attributed it to my having become much more active by joining a gay and lesbian country dancing club, which I adored and went to at every possible moment. In retrospect, this was probably the moment at which my immune system really starting losing the battle against HIV. Flash forward to the diagnosis I sometimes refer to as 'zero to AIDS' in a few short minutes: I developed PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia), an AIDS related opportunistic infection, and then I got tested for HIV, already knowing what the outcome would be. But I've talked about that in a previous post.
In the early years of being treated, I did gain back the twenty pounds I had lost earlier, but that where I stayed. I felt like I could pretty much eat what I wanted and either the virus or the treatments would take care of the excess. This brings us to our first limerick:
For years, it was 'eat what you want'
The virus risks making you gaunt
So indulge while you're here
But watch your back, dear
The habits will come back to haunt
Then I started to notice the hump growing on my back. I made a few changes in my life, like quitting smoking to get better control of my health, but I also gave in to the pain in my hands and feet from psoriatic arthritis and participated less in my beloved country dancing. I also got older (I guess I couldn't really stop that one from sneaking up on me!). I refer to this as a perfect storm of factors — aging (and consequent changes in metabolism), inactivity (sometimes due to pain), quitting smoking (also apparently with impacts on metabolism) and a legacy of taking the same HIV meds very diligently over a period of seven and a half years (at least two of these associated with certain metabolic impacts) — and this perfect storm led to some very rapid weight gain. Limerick number two, maybe?
Quit smoking, ate less…but not great
And put on a whole bunch of weight
Arthritis and AIDS
Made for less active days
Plus maybe a small dash of fate?
I gained what for me was such a nightmarish amount of weight that I have now been thoroughly converted to expressing my weight in kilograms rather than pounds, as it sounds a little less extreme, at least for someone raised on pounds. ;-) To situate this, I used to refer to the 200 pound mark as my 'nightmare weight' and even made sure that my doctor, weighing me once at 199.75 pounds, did not round up when he wrote in my chart! Now that benchmark seems like a distant and happy dream time.
All of this has had a lot of impact on my life. I have had to buy new clothes and new kinds of clothes. Shirts with collars that are not meant to be tucked in: the collars actually help disguise the hump like no t-shirt ever could (and forget about something like a tank top — no more of those for me!) and the mumu approach (untucked shirt, oddly often with tropical patterns) at least makes me feel a little less bulgy, even if it is not fooling anyone else. Physical discomfort at every turn.
The worst part, however, is what I get from other people. I stopped going to my country dancing club after a couple of comments (different people, different occasions) about my weight that I cannot even imagine myself saying to someone. I wrote about that here. I had enough self esteem on those couple of occasions to strike back with comments like: "I can't believe you feel like you can say that to me" and "You're not so thin yourself" but I quickly soured on turning my leisure-time activities into a campaign for tolerance. Leading inevitably to our third limerick:
I've had to buy tons of new clothes
To cover the body that grows
But despite the new style
I just cannot smile
When the comments I get are like those
I became so depressed about my body shape and my isolation (is it self-imposed when going out leads to painful experiences?), that I had a period of extreme depression this summer. I couldn't string together five words without crying. By chance, one of my worst days fell on a day of a visit to my doctor.
Now, I have had various experiences with undiagnosed depression through my life. Like most kids growing up gay or lesbian, especially those of my age, I had to struggle with coming to terms with my sexual orientation and with the ridicule or harassment of my peers. I spent a lot of time in high school considering suicide, but not talking about it lest I have to talk about my underlying struggle. I have also always had a poor body image, even while I am confident in my intellectual and professional self-image. Having HIV doesn't help, and I'm sure that my new HIV meds (or at least one of them) probably shouldn't be taken by someone with a background of depression (pronounced central nervous system side-effects). When I heard tell of a study which suggested that even this 'new to me' medication (I had chosen it about two and a half years ago for its lack of association to metabolic complications) might be associated with certain metabolic complications, I really felt like stopping my meds. "A little wasting might do me some good," I thought. (I wouldn't charge ahead with some notion of stopping my meds without taking care to ensure that I wouldn't develop a resistance to them in the process of stopping.)
My doctor did all the probing for suicidal tendencies with which I am all too familiar from having worked in community-based social service agencies for the last 17 years. Did I have a plan? I kept thinking that if I really had a plan that I was at all serious about carrying out, I wouldn't be talking about it with him. Mostly, I want to be careful to maintain the validity of my life insurance so that my family will derive some financial benefit from their investment in me over the years. I also don't want to hurt them, so it makes the whole suicide thing a bit problematic (especially as I have no doubts about their love and support). Stopping my meds, however, would cause me a slower death from AIDS, which we could all be expecting anyway. (But I have moved on from those thoughts for now.)
At least this time I had some other options. A psychologist I could start seeing, covered by medicare, to help me work through some of these issues. And despite the fact that this post has become inordinately long, I keep promising to crow, and that's the part that's coming up (alas, no limerick!), so I continue.
I made a deal with the psychologist to help me overcome my inertia to start exercising again, and I think it is working well. There are a couple of elements: a pre- and post-exercise diary to record my thoughts and moods surrounding doing the exercises, and a series of photos I will take (only once a week, front and side) to follow my progress over the coming months and years. I am realistic about this process taking a long time and won't be discouraged when this week's photos show no difference from last week's. But I am crowing about the fact that I have managed to do my home exercise routine for four of the last seven days (had a bit of trouble adding it to my mornings on work days, but I did manage to do that yesterday, so there is hope).
I started slowly and did plenty of stretching and I will build up to what I expect from myself over time. But I am doing something and that is worth crowing about.
PS: It took me a long time to come up with a new style for Stylin' Fridays, so I have decided to make a structural change that will also bring me back to a promise from my original post. From now on Fridays will become Fridays en français to help me exercise another part of my brain. Let's see if it will start next week!
22 October 2007
Ranting and Crowing
Okay, let's start with the ranting, if only to end on a more positive note.
I get home delivery of a local newspaper on Saturday and Sunday only. You might think that would be pretty simple. Not so fast! Actually, because I am getting an English paper, but I live in a more French part of town, my paper has made an arrangement with one of the French papers to do its delivery here while the english carrers deliver the French paper in a more English part of town.
So imagine my frustration when neither of my two weekend papers got delivered a few weeks ago. In thier place, copies of the French paper (and because I am a bit of a snob, this wouldn't be the one that I would get if I were regularly reading a French paper). I phoned to report my delivery problem each of the two days I was supposed to get the paper, and received a credit for it. Then on the Monday and Tuesday following, I was finding both the English and French papers on my porch (remember that I don't want the English one on weekdays and I never want this French one). So I called again to complain and the English one stopped, but the French one continued for another week. The next weekend, I got half of my English paper (none of the weekend features that actually motivate me to buy it) and ... a French paper. A few days later, I finally managed to get that French paper stopped.
That was until this week. French paper Thursday. French paper Friday. French paper and half of the English paper (again!) Saturday. French paper and my whole Saturday and Sunday English papers Sunday. I feel like I might have to buy some carbon offsets just to compensate for the forest that is being destroyed to deliver papers I don't even want!
On a side note, I have left the French papers in front of my neighbours' door, just in case they actually ordered them or wanted them. They have been stepping over them to get into their apartment, but leaving them there! I shall have to pick them up to put them in the recycling Tuesday morning.
Now I'm so worked up again that I will have to leave the crowing for another time. Good thing I'm taking all that high blood pressure medication! ;-)
I get home delivery of a local newspaper on Saturday and Sunday only. You might think that would be pretty simple. Not so fast! Actually, because I am getting an English paper, but I live in a more French part of town, my paper has made an arrangement with one of the French papers to do its delivery here while the english carrers deliver the French paper in a more English part of town.
So imagine my frustration when neither of my two weekend papers got delivered a few weeks ago. In thier place, copies of the French paper (and because I am a bit of a snob, this wouldn't be the one that I would get if I were regularly reading a French paper). I phoned to report my delivery problem each of the two days I was supposed to get the paper, and received a credit for it. Then on the Monday and Tuesday following, I was finding both the English and French papers on my porch (remember that I don't want the English one on weekdays and I never want this French one). So I called again to complain and the English one stopped, but the French one continued for another week. The next weekend, I got half of my English paper (none of the weekend features that actually motivate me to buy it) and ... a French paper. A few days later, I finally managed to get that French paper stopped.
That was until this week. French paper Thursday. French paper Friday. French paper and half of the English paper (again!) Saturday. French paper and my whole Saturday and Sunday English papers Sunday. I feel like I might have to buy some carbon offsets just to compensate for the forest that is being destroyed to deliver papers I don't even want!
On a side note, I have left the French papers in front of my neighbours' door, just in case they actually ordered them or wanted them. They have been stepping over them to get into their apartment, but leaving them there! I shall have to pick them up to put them in the recycling Tuesday morning.
Now I'm so worked up again that I will have to leave the crowing for another time. Good thing I'm taking all that high blood pressure medication! ;-)
10 October 2007
Why are the Sensitive Policing Blogs?
It remains quite fascinating to me that someone out there seems to be patrolling and systematically objecting to the content of a number of blogs that I enjoy reading. Take that as commentary on the things I like to read, but I would think that there are enough other distractions on the internet for one to be able to just go somehwere else rather than flagging content as objectionable and forcing it into hiding behind a warning screen.
One of the blogs I have listed on the right side of my page, The Great Cock Hunt, is so well hidden away that clicking on the 'I understand and I wish to continue' button will not even get you in.
In a fit of pique, I tried my own policing activities, searching for intolerant Christian blogs (I don't object to all Christians, just the intolerant ones who wish to foist their faith on us all) and clicking on the 'Flag Blog' button. Turnabout is fair play, no?
I doubt that I had any impact, and I was not committed enough to record the addresses and go back to see. But if you find yourself with time on your hands, may I suggest an entertaining pastime?...
One of the blogs I have listed on the right side of my page, The Great Cock Hunt, is so well hidden away that clicking on the 'I understand and I wish to continue' button will not even get you in.
In a fit of pique, I tried my own policing activities, searching for intolerant Christian blogs (I don't object to all Christians, just the intolerant ones who wish to foist their faith on us all) and clicking on the 'Flag Blog' button. Turnabout is fair play, no?
I doubt that I had any impact, and I was not committed enough to record the addresses and go back to see. But if you find yourself with time on your hands, may I suggest an entertaining pastime?...
29 September 2007
Anticipation (a pickle story and a life lesson?)
Does it feel a bit like I'm turning this into a food blog? I'm sure I'll get back to whining and complaining about the rest of my life, or — better yet — laughing at the foibles of others, but I'm feeling very upbeat right now about my cooking creations, so I'm sharing them.
I went to my local open-air market the other day and spied some lovely fresh dill being sold in big bunches and about three or four feet tall. I always feel like I see the dill too early in the season for the stuff you might want to use it with, so this was a fabulous coincidence: right product at the right time. I stocked up on that and pickling cucumbers, zucchini, hot peppers, etc. and had a couple of occasions making pickles.
Two views of the ingredients:
(sneaking up on them)
(aerial view)
And two views of the products:
(sneaking up on them)
(labelled view)
So why is this post called 'anticipation'? Because as smug as I feel about how they all sealed and look good (at least to me), I have to wait a few weeks before they will be ready to taste. I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before the people responsible for the bread-cheating machine (derisive commentary on the technology) will invent some kind of instant pickle kit to give people the illusion of having made their own pickles, ready in minutes.
This all reminds me of a book one of my sisters was reading about the French surveyors charting where the equator passes through South America. I'm sure I'll get the facts wrong, but the sense of it is similar.
One of the surveyors was arranging to meet his wife, who he hadn't seen in years. He caught wind of news, however, that if he crossed the border into Brazil he risked being arrested because of a conflict between Brazil and France and suspicion about what he was actually doing. So he stopped where he was and sent the boat ahead to rendez-vous with his wife. She was delayed, so the boat waited at the rendez-vous point for TWO YEARS. With other similar delays, they were finally reunited, having been apart for several years, but each waiting patiently for the conditions to align themselves to bring them back together.
Can you imagine, in our own time, anyone waiting outside a cinema for longer than a half-hour for the friend who was supposed to be her/his movie companion?
Our instant gratification culture lacks patience.
I went to my local open-air market the other day and spied some lovely fresh dill being sold in big bunches and about three or four feet tall. I always feel like I see the dill too early in the season for the stuff you might want to use it with, so this was a fabulous coincidence: right product at the right time. I stocked up on that and pickling cucumbers, zucchini, hot peppers, etc. and had a couple of occasions making pickles.
Two views of the ingredients:
(sneaking up on them)
(aerial view)
And two views of the products:
(sneaking up on them)
(labelled view)So why is this post called 'anticipation'? Because as smug as I feel about how they all sealed and look good (at least to me), I have to wait a few weeks before they will be ready to taste. I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before the people responsible for the bread-cheating machine (derisive commentary on the technology) will invent some kind of instant pickle kit to give people the illusion of having made their own pickles, ready in minutes.
This all reminds me of a book one of my sisters was reading about the French surveyors charting where the equator passes through South America. I'm sure I'll get the facts wrong, but the sense of it is similar.
One of the surveyors was arranging to meet his wife, who he hadn't seen in years. He caught wind of news, however, that if he crossed the border into Brazil he risked being arrested because of a conflict between Brazil and France and suspicion about what he was actually doing. So he stopped where he was and sent the boat ahead to rendez-vous with his wife. She was delayed, so the boat waited at the rendez-vous point for TWO YEARS. With other similar delays, they were finally reunited, having been apart for several years, but each waiting patiently for the conditions to align themselves to bring them back together.
Can you imagine, in our own time, anyone waiting outside a cinema for longer than a half-hour for the friend who was supposed to be her/his movie companion?
Our instant gratification culture lacks patience.
19 September 2007
Après ça, le déluge
At last, the final benefit (well, probably not the final benefit) of my lovely new fridge.
I dug out the ice cream maker that I bought from a former colleague many years ago when she was moving and I have had the metal cylinder in the freezer for weeks, just waiting for me to get around to making my first ice cream. Here is the product of my labour. sprinkled with a few raspberries that were in my fridge, having see somewhat better days (but still tasty).
Now I feel downright accomplished and will have to start sharing more of my cooking (and food preparing more generally) here.
I was seriously concerned that this first ice cream might not work out. I wasn't sure just how long to cook it; I put it into the fridge still a bit warm; I left it there way too long (actually went out to see a play and came back after it had been in the fridge for four hours rather than the recommended one!). But yum! The results were worth all the risk-taking.
I dug out the ice cream maker that I bought from a former colleague many years ago when she was moving and I have had the metal cylinder in the freezer for weeks, just waiting for me to get around to making my first ice cream. Here is the product of my labour. sprinkled with a few raspberries that were in my fridge, having see somewhat better days (but still tasty).
Now I feel downright accomplished and will have to start sharing more of my cooking (and food preparing more generally) here.I was seriously concerned that this first ice cream might not work out. I wasn't sure just how long to cook it; I put it into the fridge still a bit warm; I left it there way too long (actually went out to see a play and came back after it had been in the fridge for four hours rather than the recommended one!). But yum! The results were worth all the risk-taking.
16 September 2007
Walking with the Hump
So today was Ça Marche, our annual AIDS fundraising walk.
I'm happy to say that everything, or almost everything, was perfect for it: bright and sunny; cool yet not cold; a reasonable turnout; and the Farha Foundation (organizers of Ça Marche) did a really good job of having a diversity of entertainment along the way, snacks, beverages and even bubbles at a surprising number of spots (is it possible to gain weight while walking 7 km? I think it might be!) and even swag for those of us who had raised a certain amount of money.
Yes, I did attain Star Walker status again, raising (as of this morning) $2,195 by mail and via the internet (which is almost the same in U.S. dollars these days!). That's a bit shy of my goal and my last year's total, but I also know that I have some more donations coming to me by mail and on the event web site. If anyone reading this wants to add to that, click here to donate and I shall be most eternally grateful! ;-)
Not only does every dollar go to help support the many programs of my organization, AIDS Community Care Montreal, but it might help me in my personal challenge to groups within the organization. You see, each year, I challenge any group of 8 people to raise more than I do alone and I will make a cake for the group. Last year, two cakes! This year, I might be risking as many as four (which is good news about the efforts of these other teams, and I am happy to do it…but let's not make it easy for them!) The fun part was the inventiveness of their online team names, like the one by the ACCM Board: A Chocolate Cake, Monteith! (Which, if you are swifter than I was when I first saw it, also spells out the acronym of the organization, ACCM).
So now I'm home, taking a bit of time to nurse my feet back to relative health, and getting ready to make pickles! Yay! (But that's another entry, isn't it?!)
I'm happy to say that everything, or almost everything, was perfect for it: bright and sunny; cool yet not cold; a reasonable turnout; and the Farha Foundation (organizers of Ça Marche) did a really good job of having a diversity of entertainment along the way, snacks, beverages and even bubbles at a surprising number of spots (is it possible to gain weight while walking 7 km? I think it might be!) and even swag for those of us who had raised a certain amount of money.
Yes, I did attain Star Walker status again, raising (as of this morning) $2,195 by mail and via the internet (which is almost the same in U.S. dollars these days!). That's a bit shy of my goal and my last year's total, but I also know that I have some more donations coming to me by mail and on the event web site. If anyone reading this wants to add to that, click here to donate and I shall be most eternally grateful! ;-)Not only does every dollar go to help support the many programs of my organization, AIDS Community Care Montreal, but it might help me in my personal challenge to groups within the organization. You see, each year, I challenge any group of 8 people to raise more than I do alone and I will make a cake for the group. Last year, two cakes! This year, I might be risking as many as four (which is good news about the efforts of these other teams, and I am happy to do it…but let's not make it easy for them!) The fun part was the inventiveness of their online team names, like the one by the ACCM Board: A Chocolate Cake, Monteith! (Which, if you are swifter than I was when I first saw it, also spells out the acronym of the organization, ACCM).
So now I'm home, taking a bit of time to nurse my feet back to relative health, and getting ready to make pickles! Yay! (But that's another entry, isn't it?!)
25 August 2007
Why do I feel like Chicken Little?
Okay, so it isn't the sky, but the street which is falling. Or in danger of falling. For anyone who might be wondering just what I am talking about, you can read the actual news story here.
It's just the latest chapter in the history of our crumbling infrastructure, but an extreme example of hundreds of stores and offices closed indefinitely, along with the central portion of the green line of the Métro, because some leaking water has betrayed the existence of a giant crack in the slab of concrete supporting a block of the street above a Métro access tunnel.
Let's step back and look at this from the beginning.
That's too far! The crack you see there is the river around our lovely island, the only thing protecting us from the great hordes of the 450 area code around us! No, to focus in on the affected area, you have to get a lot closer.
all of which will fall inward, collapsing into the McGill Métro station
I do have a suggestion to alter our infamously inscrutable parking signs, replacing this
with something more like this
I'm sure that we're all quite glad that all of that 'infrastructure' money (federal-provincial-municipal funding program) of the last couple of decades was spent on such useful items as hockey and canoe museums instead of on ensuring that half the water we purify doesn't leak into the ground and our streets don't collapse!
At least we don't have flaming balloons falling from the sky and igniting our trailer parks! (The trailer parks are all in the 450 anyway!)
It's just the latest chapter in the history of our crumbling infrastructure, but an extreme example of hundreds of stores and offices closed indefinitely, along with the central portion of the green line of the Métro, because some leaking water has betrayed the existence of a giant crack in the slab of concrete supporting a block of the street above a Métro access tunnel.
Let's step back and look at this from the beginning.
That's too far! The crack you see there is the river around our lovely island, the only thing protecting us from the great hordes of the 450 area code around us! No, to focus in on the affected area, you have to get a lot closer.Here is the same area, seen in panorama from street level:
Yes, this is downtown, next to the store the old timers in the city still refer to as Morgan's (we have a habit in Montréal of calling things by their old names, like we want to confuse the tourists), and next to the big office tower built next to the Anglican Christ Church Cathedral. The old timers among us will again recall some tidbits of history regarding the church and the building of the tower beside it and the mall beneath it.
First, the church has a kooky monument next to it which, as it turns out, is the former steeple. It seems the church was built on a swamp and the original steeple was too tall and too heavy for the land below to support, so it started leaning. They removed it, replaced it with an aluminum replica that was much lighter, and placed the original steeple on the ground next to the church to make people ask questions.
When the giant construction project was underway, passers-by were treated to this sight:
Not only did they excavate under the historical church to build the mall below, but in the process discovered a rare species of salamander in the historical swamp that halted construction for many months while the little creatures were painstakingly relocated. The other part of the construction story is the fine business sense of the church leaders: the whole project is part of an emphyteutic lease, meaning that ownership of the lucrative mall and office tower in this prime downtown spot will revert to the church at the end of the 99-year period of the lease.
Of course, this might seem less than brilliant at this moment with the area evacuated indefinitely!
These are the fears:
that our traditional attention to street quality
will lead to a larger type of collapse
bringing down not only the gleaming office tower behind the church
but also Morgan's (The Bay for anyone who has arrived in Montréal since the mid-1970's)
all of which will fall inward, collapsing into the McGill Métro station
I do have a suggestion to alter our infamously inscrutable parking signs, replacing this
with something more like this
I'm sure that we're all quite glad that all of that 'infrastructure' money (federal-provincial-municipal funding program) of the last couple of decades was spent on such useful items as hockey and canoe museums instead of on ensuring that half the water we purify doesn't leak into the ground and our streets don't collapse!
At least we don't have flaming balloons falling from the sky and igniting our trailer parks! (The trailer parks are all in the 450 anyway!)
12 August 2007
Palmiers!
If you ever wondered just how tropical it might feel in Montréal on a summer day, with heat and humidity in great abundance, your wonder just might take a beating from this summer's folly of installing palm trees as sidewalk plants in our Gay Village.
It isn't that it doesn't get, as I have already said, hot and humid enough in the city during the summer months. In fact, I have marvelled for years that people move their distinctly tropical houseplants outside to their balconies and stairwells for several months with nothing but positive results. The folly might have been in the timing.
At the beginning of May, my sister was visiting me from Australia. Within days of our taking this picture in Québec City:
(yes, that would be snow upon which she is standing, albeit the very last of the snow to be found there), crews were installing the large palm trees on the four corners of Amherst and Ste-Catherine in the Village:
(Remember this second one, as I have an August photo of the same tree a bit later.)
We flew off to British Columbia to surprise my middle sister for her belated 50th birthday and while we were there the overnight temperatures in Montréal descended to about 3°C. Now I am no horticultural expert, especially with respect to palms, but I suspect that this was somewhat less than ideal for our large sidewalk decorations.
It isn't that it doesn't get, as I have already said, hot and humid enough in the city during the summer months. In fact, I have marvelled for years that people move their distinctly tropical houseplants outside to their balconies and stairwells for several months with nothing but positive results. The folly might have been in the timing.
At the beginning of May, my sister was visiting me from Australia. Within days of our taking this picture in Québec City:
(yes, that would be snow upon which she is standing, albeit the very last of the snow to be found there), crews were installing the large palm trees on the four corners of Amherst and Ste-Catherine in the Village:
(Remember this second one, as I have an August photo of the same tree a bit later.)We flew off to British Columbia to surprise my middle sister for her belated 50th birthday and while we were there the overnight temperatures in Montréal descended to about 3°C. Now I am no horticultural expert, especially with respect to palms, but I suspect that this was somewhat less than ideal for our large sidewalk decorations.
This is the worst result, and would be even scarier if it were not for the large green tree behind it that actually belongs in this climate:
And remember that second palm pictured above in May? Here it is now, still looking a little less than lush after weeks of hot and humid weather:
Now, lest we think I am just an evil critic of my neighbourhood's decorating decisions, let me point out that they also installed dozens of much more manageably-sized palms in large boxes and pots along the commercial streets of the neighbourhood. While some of those seem to be involved in life-and-death struggles with their companion plants:
and:
...others look very balanced and quite lovely:
See?! I ended on a positive note! ;-)
And remember that second palm pictured above in May? Here it is now, still looking a little less than lush after weeks of hot and humid weather:
Now, lest we think I am just an evil critic of my neighbourhood's decorating decisions, let me point out that they also installed dozens of much more manageably-sized palms in large boxes and pots along the commercial streets of the neighbourhood. While some of those seem to be involved in life-and-death struggles with their companion plants:
and:
...others look very balanced and quite lovely:
See?! I ended on a positive note! ;-)07 August 2007
Getting Underway!
Here we go again!
I'm finally getting my annual drive for sponsorship for AIDS walk underway. This year our walk, called Ça Marche, will take place on an auspicious day for me. (Hint: my mother spent this day in the hospital some thirty-seventeen years ago and about ten days later a very official document bearing my name was issued. But let's not speculate on what that day might be.) ;-)
Ça Marche is one of the most important events in which I participate each year. Since my own diagnosis with HIV almost ten years ago, I have had a very personal introduction to the importance of HIV-specific services in our community and to the tragic consequences of a society that thinks that HIV/AIDS is something that is happening somewhere else, or to someone else.
Ça Marche gives me the opportunity to do something concrete about both of those things — raise money to help support the necessary services in my own community, and get out on the streets with other like-minded people to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS right here in Montréal.
I also get to challenge people in my own organization: any team of 8 people able to better my personal total earns a cake baked by me. I wouldn't mind baking a bunch of them, but I would like that to mean that everybody raised lots of money, not that I lowered the bar!
If you would like to sponsor me for Ça Marche, here is the link that I have somehow not figured out how to add to the template element at the right of the page.
Every dollar counts, and it makes my walking 7 km on arthritic feet worthwhile!
I'm finally getting my annual drive for sponsorship for AIDS walk underway. This year our walk, called Ça Marche, will take place on an auspicious day for me. (Hint: my mother spent this day in the hospital some thirty-seventeen years ago and about ten days later a very official document bearing my name was issued. But let's not speculate on what that day might be.) ;-)
Ça Marche is one of the most important events in which I participate each year. Since my own diagnosis with HIV almost ten years ago, I have had a very personal introduction to the importance of HIV-specific services in our community and to the tragic consequences of a society that thinks that HIV/AIDS is something that is happening somewhere else, or to someone else.
Ça Marche gives me the opportunity to do something concrete about both of those things — raise money to help support the necessary services in my own community, and get out on the streets with other like-minded people to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS right here in Montréal.
I also get to challenge people in my own organization: any team of 8 people able to better my personal total earns a cake baked by me. I wouldn't mind baking a bunch of them, but I would like that to mean that everybody raised lots of money, not that I lowered the bar!
If you would like to sponsor me for Ça Marche, here is the link that I have somehow not figured out how to add to the template element at the right of the page.
Every dollar counts, and it makes my walking 7 km on arthritic feet worthwhile!
28 July 2007
Proud, Not Proud
In honour of Montréal's gay pride weekend, I thought I would participate by making a little list of what makes me proud and not proud of myself and my community.
I am proud that Montréal has an explicitly inclusive pride, without messages denouncing those who dare to differ from mainstream society — drag queens and the leather community. There is no big endorsement of the 'We're the normal gays' message here.
I am not proud of the youth- and beauty-centricity that still very much dominates the community.
I am proud of the creativity that typifies the community and all of the things that we do.
I am not proud of the poverty and the disparity that often makes this creativity a necessity from day to day.
I am proud of the dedication of the hundreds of people who give of themselves to volunteer in our many community organizations.
I am not proud that much of the rest of our community seems to have lost its interest in and appetite for health messages, including HIV prevention messages.
I am proud that our community rallied to maintain the community aspects of our pride: community day, where the street is filled with the many health and social organizations who work all year to better the lives of all our community members, and the parade, where we show the rest of our society the diversity in our part of the community.
I am not proud that the community aspects were not central to the interests of the previous organizers, who made the very rushed rallying necessary by announcing their own withdrawal from the task mere months ago.
I am proud that I am able to live my life openly as a gay man in this city, with little fear of victimization by the majority.
I am not proud of the ever-present stigma related to being HIV-positive, even in the gay community (although this is less prevalent in our community).
On a personal level, I am proud that I spent several hours volunteering for my own organization setting up and taking down the kiosk that we had up today.
I am not proud that this was the limit of my participation. I am not feeling particularly like a part of my community these days, due to a few of those people mentioned in the previous post.
If I were to tip the balance here, I would add that I am not proud that I have come to the point of seeing myself through those judging eyes. There are only so many times that one can be slapped in the face before deciding not to present the face for slapping.
I am proud that Montréal has an explicitly inclusive pride, without messages denouncing those who dare to differ from mainstream society — drag queens and the leather community. There is no big endorsement of the 'We're the normal gays' message here.
I am not proud of the youth- and beauty-centricity that still very much dominates the community.
I am proud of the creativity that typifies the community and all of the things that we do.
I am not proud of the poverty and the disparity that often makes this creativity a necessity from day to day.
I am proud of the dedication of the hundreds of people who give of themselves to volunteer in our many community organizations.
I am not proud that much of the rest of our community seems to have lost its interest in and appetite for health messages, including HIV prevention messages.
I am proud that our community rallied to maintain the community aspects of our pride: community day, where the street is filled with the many health and social organizations who work all year to better the lives of all our community members, and the parade, where we show the rest of our society the diversity in our part of the community.
I am not proud that the community aspects were not central to the interests of the previous organizers, who made the very rushed rallying necessary by announcing their own withdrawal from the task mere months ago.
I am proud that I am able to live my life openly as a gay man in this city, with little fear of victimization by the majority.
I am not proud of the ever-present stigma related to being HIV-positive, even in the gay community (although this is less prevalent in our community).
On a personal level, I am proud that I spent several hours volunteering for my own organization setting up and taking down the kiosk that we had up today.
I am not proud that this was the limit of my participation. I am not feeling particularly like a part of my community these days, due to a few of those people mentioned in the previous post.
If I were to tip the balance here, I would add that I am not proud that I have come to the point of seeing myself through those judging eyes. There are only so many times that one can be slapped in the face before deciding not to present the face for slapping.
27 July 2007
Mal élevés
I'm sure this will seem a bit of a mood swing from my previous entry, but I'm here to rant today. And I have struggled with trying to find a new style to fit this into my 'Stylin' Fridays' theme, but that has only led to the two week delay in continuing with my health discussion.
So today's topic is the reactions I have had to deal with to the changes in my body shape after almost a decade of anti-retroviral treatment. Don't get me wrong: I do think that there are other elements to be taken into consideration. I have aged and my metabolism has slowed. I quit smoking (even though I don't think I compensated by eating, I hear there is a metabolic impact of quitting smoking as well). I am less active. This last one is complex in itself. I often come home from work and am so exhausted that I just fall asleep, but I know (even from experience) that if I could integrate regular exercise into my life this would eventually give me more energy. I also have psoriatic arthritis in my hands and feet, which can make a number of traditional exercise activities too difficult. Before suggesting anything like a gym or a pool, I would recommend reading what follows.
"You've gained weight." This is what I got a couple of times at the gay and lesbian country dance club I used to go to. I did manage to counter with "I can't believe that you think you can say that to someone" on one occasion, but even if that made the person feel bad about himself, it didn't make me feel any better. As this wasn't the kind of experience I wanted to have in my leisure activities, I just stopped going. Of course, I have come up with a much snappier comeback since: "Do you think I don't have a mirror, or are you just trying to make me feel good?"
"You must be in love…someone has been feeding you." This one soured my experience of visitors' day at Camp Positive, a summer camp in the country for people living with HIV.
"Well that (pointing at my stomach) is not from the drugs." This from a woman who has been a big activist with the Comité Lipo-Action!, our group advocating for coverage of reparatory treatments for lipodystrophy, or, to be more accurate, for facial lipoatrophy, as they don't seem to be thinking very much about anything other than the (facial) cheeks.
This last one is particularly galling. Here is a group which began with a cry of "Our doctors aren't listening to us!" and has pursued a battle to repair the damage that various anti-retroviral medications have done to their faces. Why? 'Because it is making HIV visible again, we are becoming identifiable by our faces.'
Pardon me if I am much less concerned about revealing my HIV status, as I have done so on any number of occasions in almost every form of media available. I actually do respect every person's right to disclose or not disclose her/his status. But I also remember the things my mother told me growing up about how to talk to people and how to treat them. Do you at one moment decry the lack of understanding you are getting from medical professionals and then turn around and deny the experiences of others? Do you say things to people that cannot possibly have any effect other than to make them feel bad?
Not where I come from.
So today's topic is the reactions I have had to deal with to the changes in my body shape after almost a decade of anti-retroviral treatment. Don't get me wrong: I do think that there are other elements to be taken into consideration. I have aged and my metabolism has slowed. I quit smoking (even though I don't think I compensated by eating, I hear there is a metabolic impact of quitting smoking as well). I am less active. This last one is complex in itself. I often come home from work and am so exhausted that I just fall asleep, but I know (even from experience) that if I could integrate regular exercise into my life this would eventually give me more energy. I also have psoriatic arthritis in my hands and feet, which can make a number of traditional exercise activities too difficult. Before suggesting anything like a gym or a pool, I would recommend reading what follows.
"You've gained weight." This is what I got a couple of times at the gay and lesbian country dance club I used to go to. I did manage to counter with "I can't believe that you think you can say that to someone" on one occasion, but even if that made the person feel bad about himself, it didn't make me feel any better. As this wasn't the kind of experience I wanted to have in my leisure activities, I just stopped going. Of course, I have come up with a much snappier comeback since: "Do you think I don't have a mirror, or are you just trying to make me feel good?"
"You must be in love…someone has been feeding you." This one soured my experience of visitors' day at Camp Positive, a summer camp in the country for people living with HIV.
"Well that (pointing at my stomach) is not from the drugs." This from a woman who has been a big activist with the Comité Lipo-Action!, our group advocating for coverage of reparatory treatments for lipodystrophy, or, to be more accurate, for facial lipoatrophy, as they don't seem to be thinking very much about anything other than the (facial) cheeks.
This last one is particularly galling. Here is a group which began with a cry of "Our doctors aren't listening to us!" and has pursued a battle to repair the damage that various anti-retroviral medications have done to their faces. Why? 'Because it is making HIV visible again, we are becoming identifiable by our faces.'
Pardon me if I am much less concerned about revealing my HIV status, as I have done so on any number of occasions in almost every form of media available. I actually do respect every person's right to disclose or not disclose her/his status. But I also remember the things my mother told me growing up about how to talk to people and how to treat them. Do you at one moment decry the lack of understanding you are getting from medical professionals and then turn around and deny the experiences of others? Do you say things to people that cannot possibly have any effect other than to make them feel bad?
Not where I come from.
13 July 2007
Fifty comes early!
This is a story that brought a tear to my eye as it unrolled. It's about my family and about how generous they are.
It seems that when my eldest sister was visiting me in May she had some unfavourable impressions of my fridge! (Just joking — she observed its condition, which was something less than ideal.) Considering that I bought it used over twenty years ago, it is probably a miracle meriting Vatican investigation that it was still keeping anything cold.
Here's what it looked like, both closed:
…and open:
So while she was still in British Columbia, she and my other two sisters, my brother, their spouses and my parents conspired together to replace it with a lovely new one, which arrived today:
When my little sister called me to tell me to expect it, real tears welled up in my eyes. It was not, as one of my favourite greeting cards once announced, that I was overwhelmed by the beauty and magic of life handing me perfect ice cubes once again (although this is now true!), but being moved by the love and generosity of my family.
Of course, being me, I was immediately seized by the thought that it was too much, and that it had something to say about my ongoing inability to provide for myself. (Nasty pessimist!) I have been reassured, however, that this is an early (may I add VERY EARLY?!) fiftieth birthday present, since I have long been reluctant to celebrate the day when it comes around. So there we have it: they are all conspiring to try to age me early because of their extreme jealousy over my not having any grey hair (just some increases in the blond ones showing up in my beard).
I knew there was an ulterior motive! ;-)
Of course, being me, I was immediately seized by the thought that it was too much, and that it had something to say about my ongoing inability to provide for myself. (Nasty pessimist!) I have been reassured, however, that this is an early (may I add VERY EARLY?!) fiftieth birthday present, since I have long been reluctant to celebrate the day when it comes around. So there we have it: they are all conspiring to try to age me early because of their extreme jealousy over my not having any grey hair (just some increases in the blond ones showing up in my beard).
I knew there was an ulterior motive! ;-)
But seriously, I love my family a lot, and they never have to buy me anything for that. Just throw me a game of cards or Scrabble every now and then (but be careful not to make that obvious!).
04 July 2007
Stylin' Friday: Lipodystrophy, Part I
Yeah, I know it's Wednesday, but my series is Stylin' Fridays and it has been far too long since I posted. Maybe if I'm inspired we will have two Fridays this week. Appropriately surreal, if you care to read on.
The topic of lipodystrophy is too big and too big a part of my experience of HIV for me to address it in a single entry, so I'm dividing it up — cutting it up, if you will. I'm not sure at this point how many parts it will be, so I'll just have to number them as I go along.
This first instalment, in which I try to take an "objective" look at my various symptoms (this will be inherently subjective, as it comes from my own perspective), is my own attempt to imitate the style of William S. Burroughs, as made possible by using a kooky website providing tools to assist in reconfiguring the text, in this case the "cut-up engine".
Here we go...
The world particularly on a hard chair dancing and walking — But buttocks fidgeting becomes the order of the day — On the fat loss of course leaving leg muscles impressive — It started with the legs and the incapable of comfortable sitting — They ought to start taking the same enough — The product of regular like my mother speculating that than it might be — Is not the end of buttocks — The fat melted away there is the amusement of others — Meds this part while slightly disturbing and less comfortable —
Hump-provocation as well — Change in the meds — A change be going anywhere very soon — It will always be that it didn't seems to be — Showing signs of continues to grow even after a — The neck enough to provoke appearance — A small bump atop the shoulders almost infringing on which might have been ill-advised — Then the hump started to make its panicky thoughts of what it might — In retrospect as the new choice arrive on its own and it won't a big problem — But the suspicion come to others don't see it as —
Neck fat takes away the chin — Or stomach growing but not in the way love handles — Everything being up adds another one impossible to ignore especially in profile — Extra upper back fat tightens shirts and growth spurt — The difference — No almost gives that overdeveloped front and not on the sides — But football player look I remember it growing — When slightly overweight as a teen — Before the there's more fat to come — Frontal —
Fat widening the face turns out be covered — As recently discovered to be apparently the only thing — To be another change that seemed like to this — Even if it turns out to done about this is radiation — And I can't imagine subjecting myself — Hypertrophy of the parotid glands —
Some quarters and no notable — Provoked a little more sympathy from ignoring the arrival of high blood — Extra pounds metabolic impacts — In the blood pressure accompanying the sixty — The better news in my own case is cheeks — Although these might have what has not arrived — No hollow —
(And back to regular prose)
I won't claim that all of my problems stem from my meds or from my virus. I am aware of my bad habits — sloth, over-consumption, even excessive permissiveness toward these proclivities — but I cannot take the blame for all of it. What hurts is the perception coming — surprisingly verbally — from others that this is all about me and all within my control.
More about that topic in a future episode.
The topic of lipodystrophy is too big and too big a part of my experience of HIV for me to address it in a single entry, so I'm dividing it up — cutting it up, if you will. I'm not sure at this point how many parts it will be, so I'll just have to number them as I go along.
This first instalment, in which I try to take an "objective" look at my various symptoms (this will be inherently subjective, as it comes from my own perspective), is my own attempt to imitate the style of William S. Burroughs, as made possible by using a kooky website providing tools to assist in reconfiguring the text, in this case the "cut-up engine".
Here we go...
The world particularly on a hard chair dancing and walking — But buttocks fidgeting becomes the order of the day — On the fat loss of course leaving leg muscles impressive — It started with the legs and the incapable of comfortable sitting — They ought to start taking the same enough — The product of regular like my mother speculating that than it might be — Is not the end of buttocks — The fat melted away there is the amusement of others — Meds this part while slightly disturbing and less comfortable —
Hump-provocation as well — Change in the meds — A change be going anywhere very soon — It will always be that it didn't seems to be — Showing signs of continues to grow even after a — The neck enough to provoke appearance — A small bump atop the shoulders almost infringing on which might have been ill-advised — Then the hump started to make its panicky thoughts of what it might — In retrospect as the new choice arrive on its own and it won't a big problem — But the suspicion come to others don't see it as —
Neck fat takes away the chin — Or stomach growing but not in the way love handles — Everything being up adds another one impossible to ignore especially in profile — Extra upper back fat tightens shirts and growth spurt — The difference — No almost gives that overdeveloped front and not on the sides — But football player look I remember it growing — When slightly overweight as a teen — Before the there's more fat to come — Frontal —
Fat widening the face turns out be covered — As recently discovered to be apparently the only thing — To be another change that seemed like to this — Even if it turns out to done about this is radiation — And I can't imagine subjecting myself — Hypertrophy of the parotid glands —
Some quarters and no notable — Provoked a little more sympathy from ignoring the arrival of high blood — Extra pounds metabolic impacts — In the blood pressure accompanying the sixty — The better news in my own case is cheeks — Although these might have what has not arrived — No hollow —
(And back to regular prose)
I won't claim that all of my problems stem from my meds or from my virus. I am aware of my bad habits — sloth, over-consumption, even excessive permissiveness toward these proclivities — but I cannot take the blame for all of it. What hurts is the perception coming — surprisingly verbally — from others that this is all about me and all within my control.
More about that topic in a future episode.
10 June 2007
Disappeared?
Where, oh where has one of my favourite blogs to read, Oink grrr, gone?
I got a couple of "this blog is private, you have not been invited" messages, but kept trying. Now, there is some kind of redirection to an anti-spyware site that is most annoying, so I reluctantly remove the link from my list of blogs.
How sad!
I got a couple of "this blog is private, you have not been invited" messages, but kept trying. Now, there is some kind of redirection to an anti-spyware site that is most annoying, so I reluctantly remove the link from my list of blogs.
How sad!
25 May 2007
Stylin' Friday: High Maintenance
On my reactions to my HIV and other medical treatments, with a nod (or a very deep bow) to Brian's Haiku Saturdays, which you can find here.
Hereafter a litany of treatment and reactions in series of seventeen haikus…oh, and some prose at the end.
First I get the three:
Start the two nukes and then add
The P.I. later
These meds come with rules
P.I. fasting thrice daily
Drink lots of water
Don't stop taking the
Septra that cured PCP
Take three times per week
CD4 count low
So take Zithromax each week
This is preventive
Take two pills fasting
Get cramps and diarrhoea
Oh yeah, you can eat
Now let us address
Skin problems with prescription
Creams and lotions: five
New problem rears head:
Psoriatic arthritis
Two meds twice daily
Have upset stomach?
One more pill, just once a day
(Swallow handfuls now)
Change the HIV
Meds years later than I should
Three pills once per day
Easier? Maybe
But forget about sleeping
Calmly or all night
Add hypertension
Part product of the first meds
Three more pills to take
Add these together
And consider how much work
It is just to live
No more sleeping in
No forgetting any dose
Reminders all day
How to pay for this
Cost: many hundreds per month
(And that is controlled)
Luckily I live
In Canada, in Québec
Public health care works
All doctor visits,
All medications covered
Long live the RAM-Q*
My sixteen hundred
Dollar expense (just for meds)
Costs seventy-five
(* Régie de l'assurance-maladie du Québec and Régime d'assurance médicaments du Québec)
Just to leave off on a non-haiku note, let me add my appreciation of the science. As entities, I think we can all agree that pharmaceutical companies are motivated by profit, but many of the people in them are driven by other motivations, and these people keep working on improving HIV treatment, diminishing side effects, improving quality of life for people like me. Yes, they remain part of a machine designed to make profits, but I am winning from their work, too. And I don't think it is such a bad thing that we in the developed world pay a bit more for our meds if this can contribute to lower cost and better access for people in the developing world.
My litany of treatment might sound like a nightmare, and I certainly never intended to become, as I like to say, this high-maintenance in my life. There is no denying, however, that my HIV is under control, that my immune system is rebuilding itself (however frustratingly slowly), that I have had no serious infections since recovering from my initial bout of PCP (not the horse tranquilizer, but it packs a wallop anyway!) and that I live reasonably well. I do continue to take way more medications than I had ever pictured myself taking on a daily basis — to the point that I avoid taking one more pill for something like a headache, preferring to lie down and let it pass. I do have daily experiences of side effects (sleeping badly, intermittent diarrhoea) and some longer-term side effects that have had a serious impact on my life (more about that in a subsequent posting). I am lucky enough to live in a community with such a long experience of HIV that I can be open about my status and still find enough solidarity to counteract the negative reactions from others.
Overall, I'm lucky to have been diagnosed in the last half of the 1990s in the northern part of North America, and I am conscious of that good fortune each day. But for those who are not HIV positive, might I suggest that remembering and insisting on a condom every time, and valuing yourself enough to do those things, would be a lot easier.
Hereafter a litany of treatment and reactions in series of seventeen haikus…oh, and some prose at the end.
First I get the three:
Start the two nukes and then add
The P.I. later
These meds come with rules
P.I. fasting thrice daily
Drink lots of water
Don't stop taking the
Septra that cured PCP
Take three times per week
CD4 count low
So take Zithromax each week
This is preventive
Take two pills fasting
Get cramps and diarrhoea
Oh yeah, you can eat
Now let us address
Skin problems with prescription
Creams and lotions: five
New problem rears head:
Psoriatic arthritis
Two meds twice daily
Have upset stomach?
One more pill, just once a day
(Swallow handfuls now)
Change the HIV
Meds years later than I should
Three pills once per day
Easier? Maybe
But forget about sleeping
Calmly or all night
Add hypertension
Part product of the first meds
Three more pills to take
Add these together
And consider how much work
It is just to live
No more sleeping in
No forgetting any dose
Reminders all day
How to pay for this
Cost: many hundreds per month
(And that is controlled)
Luckily I live
In Canada, in Québec
Public health care works
All doctor visits,
All medications covered
Long live the RAM-Q*
My sixteen hundred
Dollar expense (just for meds)
Costs seventy-five
(* Régie de l'assurance-maladie du Québec and Régime d'assurance médicaments du Québec)
Just to leave off on a non-haiku note, let me add my appreciation of the science. As entities, I think we can all agree that pharmaceutical companies are motivated by profit, but many of the people in them are driven by other motivations, and these people keep working on improving HIV treatment, diminishing side effects, improving quality of life for people like me. Yes, they remain part of a machine designed to make profits, but I am winning from their work, too. And I don't think it is such a bad thing that we in the developed world pay a bit more for our meds if this can contribute to lower cost and better access for people in the developing world.
My litany of treatment might sound like a nightmare, and I certainly never intended to become, as I like to say, this high-maintenance in my life. There is no denying, however, that my HIV is under control, that my immune system is rebuilding itself (however frustratingly slowly), that I have had no serious infections since recovering from my initial bout of PCP (not the horse tranquilizer, but it packs a wallop anyway!) and that I live reasonably well. I do continue to take way more medications than I had ever pictured myself taking on a daily basis — to the point that I avoid taking one more pill for something like a headache, preferring to lie down and let it pass. I do have daily experiences of side effects (sleeping badly, intermittent diarrhoea) and some longer-term side effects that have had a serious impact on my life (more about that in a subsequent posting). I am lucky enough to live in a community with such a long experience of HIV that I can be open about my status and still find enough solidarity to counteract the negative reactions from others.
Overall, I'm lucky to have been diagnosed in the last half of the 1990s in the northern part of North America, and I am conscious of that good fortune each day. But for those who are not HIV positive, might I suggest that remembering and insisting on a condom every time, and valuing yourself enough to do those things, would be a lot easier.
24 May 2007
Inflight movies-o-rama!
There's nothing like a long cross-continent flight to help one catch up on the movies. And those lovely newfangled (can we tell I don't travel enough?) seatback screens are very helpful in allowing everyone to select what they want, and even to try to squeeze in more than one selection. I do, however, find the heat they give off to be somewhat alarming: I can just picture sparks flying out and igniting everything around them in the event of an emergency. Then again, as my sister pointed out on our trip to B.C., if there is any kind of emergency, all this stuff about flotation devices and all would only distract us momentarily from our inevitable fate of returning to the earth in tiny pieces. (Life in a plane crash is not like Lost.)
Back to the matter at hand. Going westward, I managed to see two movies, or at least all of one and most of the second. First up was The Painted Veil.
I found this one interesting, especially in light of the fact that I have a friend living and working in China right now (teaching English, not curing diseases). I enjoyed the scenes of pre-revolutionary China, with distrust and conflict with the European colonizers, but the wayward wife seeing the error of her ways and rediscovering her love of her tirelessly valiant husband was a bit tired.
Next up on the westward flight was Partition. This is an intercultural love story set against the backdrop of the senseless post-colonial violence of the Indian subcontinent at the partition of India and Pakistan. I came away more convinced than ever that religion is a force of evil (I think that there are many good religious people, but they would probably be good people anyway) and that religious and cultural violence will do us all in if we can't get past it and be more secular and accepting. I only wish that I had been able to see the end of the film, as I don't really know who died and who lived, or if the fated couple lived happily ever after! (Help me out if you have seen it — the system shut down for landing when all the main characters were in the train station in Pakistan!)
Back to the matter at hand. Going westward, I managed to see two movies, or at least all of one and most of the second. First up was The Painted Veil.
I found this one interesting, especially in light of the fact that I have a friend living and working in China right now (teaching English, not curing diseases). I enjoyed the scenes of pre-revolutionary China, with distrust and conflict with the European colonizers, but the wayward wife seeing the error of her ways and rediscovering her love of her tirelessly valiant husband was a bit tired.
Next up on the westward flight was Partition. This is an intercultural love story set against the backdrop of the senseless post-colonial violence of the Indian subcontinent at the partition of India and Pakistan. I came away more convinced than ever that religion is a force of evil (I think that there are many good religious people, but they would probably be good people anyway) and that religious and cultural violence will do us all in if we can't get past it and be more secular and accepting. I only wish that I had been able to see the end of the film, as I don't really know who died and who lived, or if the fated couple lived happily ever after! (Help me out if you have seen it — the system shut down for landing when all the main characters were in the train station in Pakistan!)
On my eastward flight, I was much more restrained and only attempted one movie. My selection was Children of Men.
I have always been attracted to this sort of not-too-distant future post-apocalyptic theme. There is nothing like a bleak future to draw me into a film. Again with the hatred of 'others' in the film, I am not sure that this isn't our actual future, and I never really understood what actually led to the infertility problem. I also don't understand why our hero didn't just carry his shoes with him when escaping from the kooky revolutionaries with his pregnant charge. I can't imagine navigating a conflict-torn refugee camp in flip-flops!
As profound and in-depth as usual, no? Who needs thumbs up or down when you can just gloss over the plot lines, comment on the outfits and the underlying social problems and be flippant? Roeper and whoever his guest host is this week can just stand aside.
20 May 2007
Back at home in Montréal
I just got back from spending a week and a half with my family, following a week's visit from my Australian sister. I always come away from these visits (in B.C. — my family rarely makes it to Montréal to visit me) very happy with how all of us get along. I have one brother and three sisters and we all manage to find endless ways to amuse each other, to act silly and to play endless games of cards, scrabble, etc., all the while roaring with laughter. I don't think I'll ever understand people who avoid contact with their siblings, or just don't get along.
I had to avoid mentioning the imminent visit of my Australian sister for the last few months, as she was coming here on her (and my) way to surprise my sister in Kamloops, B.C. on the occasion of her 50th birthday. We surprised her on her 40th birthday and we thought that we were pulling it off very well this time, too, with all kinds of twists — having it almost a month after the actual date (after tax month was over) and all kinds of other care we took to keep things secret. My brother-in-law even went to her employer to arrange time off of work for her while we were visiting. And in the aftermath of all this sneakiness, she had some 20-20 hindsight which identified the clues that would have revealed all if she had put them all together at once. Still, it was a great occasion to bring us all together, and to celebrate the sister who brings us all together in so many ways.
Something we all discovered about ourselves is that we DO have a tendency to be right about everything all the time (at least if you listen to us). I'm sure that this is an endless source of frustration to those who have to deal with us … but they will eventually come around, recognizing the error of their ways and doing things our way. The various in-laws have learned to avoid situations where they are highly outnumbered. ;-)
I'm sure I'll have more things to share about the last few weeks, but I'll limit myself here to one story that illustrates the above paragraph, leaving off with a phrase that we all kept repeating, erupting into laughter each time.
A couple of years ago, my Australian sister was in Kamloops in a small store buying postcards. The postcards were 30 cents each or 4 for $1. (I may have this lightly wrong, but it isn't the main focus of the story.) She selected 12 and went to the cash to pay for them. The cashier said that would be $3.60 (I guess the tax was included), and my sister tried to explain that, since they were 4 for $1, they should total $3. "But you have 12, so they are 30 cents each," said the cashier. My sister, getting more frustrated, pointed out that she could buy 4 for $1, go outside, come back and buy 4 more for $1, then do it again and end up paying $3 for the 12.
This led the cashier to the phrase we kept using on each other all through the visit: "Well, you can do it that way if you want."
It's almost painful to be right all the time. ;-)
I had to avoid mentioning the imminent visit of my Australian sister for the last few months, as she was coming here on her (and my) way to surprise my sister in Kamloops, B.C. on the occasion of her 50th birthday. We surprised her on her 40th birthday and we thought that we were pulling it off very well this time, too, with all kinds of twists — having it almost a month after the actual date (after tax month was over) and all kinds of other care we took to keep things secret. My brother-in-law even went to her employer to arrange time off of work for her while we were visiting. And in the aftermath of all this sneakiness, she had some 20-20 hindsight which identified the clues that would have revealed all if she had put them all together at once. Still, it was a great occasion to bring us all together, and to celebrate the sister who brings us all together in so many ways.
Something we all discovered about ourselves is that we DO have a tendency to be right about everything all the time (at least if you listen to us). I'm sure that this is an endless source of frustration to those who have to deal with us … but they will eventually come around, recognizing the error of their ways and doing things our way. The various in-laws have learned to avoid situations where they are highly outnumbered. ;-)
I'm sure I'll have more things to share about the last few weeks, but I'll limit myself here to one story that illustrates the above paragraph, leaving off with a phrase that we all kept repeating, erupting into laughter each time.
A couple of years ago, my Australian sister was in Kamloops in a small store buying postcards. The postcards were 30 cents each or 4 for $1. (I may have this lightly wrong, but it isn't the main focus of the story.) She selected 12 and went to the cash to pay for them. The cashier said that would be $3.60 (I guess the tax was included), and my sister tried to explain that, since they were 4 for $1, they should total $3. "But you have 12, so they are 30 cents each," said the cashier. My sister, getting more frustrated, pointed out that she could buy 4 for $1, go outside, come back and buy 4 more for $1, then do it again and end up paying $3 for the 12.
This led the cashier to the phrase we kept using on each other all through the visit: "Well, you can do it that way if you want."
It's almost painful to be right all the time. ;-)
04 May 2007
Stylin' Friday: On the Source of My Infection
A short look back — or not — on how and when I might have become infected with HIV in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet, complete with iambic pentameter. (If you haven't read Will S's blog, you should try to find it here, here or here). While I am pretty sure they didn't have the interweb back then, I am equally certain that the Bard is splattered all over the virtual world, perhaps even wandering around Second Life looking for characters.
Enough with the prologue, bring on the sonnet!
Whither My AIDS Indeed!
Shall I attempt to pin the blame on you?
You gave me STIs and God knows what
My throat got sore, my penis burned, and ew!
What are those warts a-growing in my butt?
Or maybe it was you, the guy I met
While walking home at 3, and through the snow
I clearly said I didn't want to get
Fucked condomless, but you did not hear "No."
I know there were some other times as well
A few, a handful — all that I regret
But on these things I know I cannot dwell
As angry, sad or spiteful I might get.
The answer is as plain as plain can be:
My energy is better spent on me.
Enough with the prologue, bring on the sonnet!
Whither My AIDS Indeed!
Shall I attempt to pin the blame on you?
You gave me STIs and God knows what
My throat got sore, my penis burned, and ew!
What are those warts a-growing in my butt?
Or maybe it was you, the guy I met
While walking home at 3, and through the snow
I clearly said I didn't want to get
Fucked condomless, but you did not hear "No."
I know there were some other times as well
A few, a handful — all that I regret
But on these things I know I cannot dwell
As angry, sad or spiteful I might get.
The answer is as plain as plain can be:
My energy is better spent on me.
27 April 2007
Stylin' Friday: The Baseline CD4 Count
The follow-up from my diagnosis, in a feeble attempt to imitate the style of Oink Grrr…
As my PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia) surrendered, microbe by microbe, to the constant onslaught of the fairly simple antibiotic, it came time for me to return to the scene of my damsel-in-distress faintness (after the bronchoscopy). When my stalker - er - caring doctor asked me if I would consent to having an actual HIV test, it was almost anticlimactic. What could be easier than having a test for which we were all reasonable sure of the outcome? With no hesitation, I held out my arm for the onslaught of the vampire.
As it takes a while for these things to come back (yes, dear pea-hens*, even when the answer key has been faxed to the whole class, the markers take their time), I returned to the drudgery of my job at the time. I might have whistled while I worked, but I am apparently genetically incapable of emitting that kind of sound.
Going back to the hospital, I got my next surprise. It seems that my CD4 count, which should have been the equivalent of this scene of a beach teeming with walruses…
…looked more like this:
My next instalment will likely be about looking back on where this infection might have come from — or not — and other such philosophical ramblings. Any suggestions on a style?
As my PCP (pneumocystis carinii pneumonia) surrendered, microbe by microbe, to the constant onslaught of the fairly simple antibiotic, it came time for me to return to the scene of my damsel-in-distress faintness (after the bronchoscopy). When my stalker - er - caring doctor asked me if I would consent to having an actual HIV test, it was almost anticlimactic. What could be easier than having a test for which we were all reasonable sure of the outcome? With no hesitation, I held out my arm for the onslaught of the vampire.
As it takes a while for these things to come back (yes, dear pea-hens*, even when the answer key has been faxed to the whole class, the markers take their time), I returned to the drudgery of my job at the time. I might have whistled while I worked, but I am apparently genetically incapable of emitting that kind of sound.
Going back to the hospital, I got my next surprise. It seems that my CD4 count, which should have been the equivalent of this scene of a beach teeming with walruses…
…looked more like this:
My stalker caring doctor tried to explain the situation with some kind of military metaphor (generals and soldiers and such) while my mind wandered to thoughts of how I might politely point out that I had three university degrees and might do better with real medical terms. In the end, it boiled down to my having a baseline CD4 count of 4, which my stalker doctor said meant that I had been infected for at least 10 years, probably more (this was 1997-98). If I had been able to see into the future, I might have named them lumpy, humpy, dumpy and frumpy, but being limited to the here and now (or the there and then), I had no choice but to call in "Nervous Nelly" to work and go home to consume bonbons and daytime television for the rest of the afternoon.
*I did have to come up with my own poultry and my own term of endearment for it, but this does refer to you, the reader.
*I did have to come up with my own poultry and my own term of endearment for it, but this does refer to you, the reader.
My next instalment will likely be about looking back on where this infection might have come from — or not — and other such philosophical ramblings. Any suggestions on a style?
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