Rain and feeling better
Christ, I'm bored. On drugs and bored. I'm waiting on MSN for people to show up, and I'm actually pretty blissed out on painkillers and B vitamins (best not to ask)...
My nameless demon of a health problem has a name. And not just 'hypoglycemia' either. Fortunately. Since hypoglycemia is treated with dietary changes, Big Pharma runs modern medicine, and if Big Pharma can't sell you a(n expensive, only half-effective, habit-forming, side effect-ridden, potentially useless) drug to 'manage' (note I did not say 'cure', cured people don't become lifelong pharmaceutical customers) your condition, doctors basically couldn't give a shit. 'Hypoglycemia' won't exist until... and fuck it, I don't feel like ranting much. I don't think this sort of thing is news to anyone who's ever had anything short of the Big Things That Kill You (cancer, heart disease, etc) that can still make $$$$ for some corporation off your suffering. So that shit will be treated. Plus, western medicine is just better at dealing with shit that will KILL YOU outright, nice and fast.
Anyway, I also shouldn't get too rantified here because my Nameless Health Problem (dysglycemia- unstable blood sugar) is responding nicely to megadoses of various B vitamins and an amino acid named glutamine. All of which are pretty damn cheap. At least in comparison to the cocktail of vicodin, codeine, wellbutrin and synthetic diabetes drugs Evil Doctor said he's generally advised to foist on people like me, who come in with these nameless health demons.
"Wanna be an oxycontin addict inside of of a year?" he said to me, waving a handful of Glaxo Smithe Klein brochures.
"uh...no?" I said. "Would my blood sugar be any less fucked?"
"Nope, it would be more fucked by the diabetes drugs since you're a hypoglycemic, but that's what I'm supposed to give you. But at least you'd be taking six hundred bucks worth of painkillers and be addicted to the SSRI, even though it would do fuck all for you." he said cheerfully. "And you'd make a giant corporation a bit richer until you developed type 2 diabetes and died of blood sugar shock or something, and isn't that what really matters?"
I can still picture his absolute deadpan delivery. He really was the best doctor I've ever had in my life. And the dude IS (or at least claimed to be) a Crowley fanboy and a 'luciferian.'
"Not a satanist. Two different things." he emphasized.
"So what do I doooo?" I whined.
"Go see a naturopath, mademoiselle."
So I did and I'm getting better. Whee.
And I actually kind of AM getting better, I think. My blood sugar is significantly less fucked than it was. And beeeelieve me, it was fucked BEYOND any amount of fresh fruit/veggie diet (which I adore anyway) and fresh air and exercise (which I also dig pretty hard). It needed more than that. Thank you, B vitamins. You guys rule.
And I'm living on Pender Island, BC.. which is one of the handful of bigger islands in the archipeligo chain of about 500 floating between mainland BC and Vancouver Island. It's raining today. I have a beautiful place to live in, with ravens and jackpines and butterflies and icy daisies (and these strangely geometric perriwinkle flowers that have started to sprout up everywhere, towhees and barn owls and DEER, five million deer (and fauns! With spots.) And broken clamshells around arbutus trees and interidal pools full of little hot-raspberry colored crabs and neon orange sea cucumbers and christmas sea anemones (and jellyfish, and otters and yeah.... NATURE! IN YOUR FACE~)
Including about 0834092389384 spiders. Lots of spiders here. They live in my house. I let 'em, they live here. Nature lives here, I just visit.
So I guess I feel better?
I'm going to have to figure out some kind of online-mediated social life, which is something that people with chronic health problems generally do anyway. We're sick and flaky because of it, but we can usually manage to chat online. It's easy to just go collapse into bed if, say, one's blood sugar hits the ceiling like a possessed pachinko ball and shatters the windows with the sonic boom as it shoots through the floor. One can just step off the shattered tile and broken glass and GO TO EFFING BED.
...which is nice. And easier than trying to get a cab while so dizzy you can't see straight.
Though maybe that won't happen to me anymore? Go b vitamins.
So I should actually get into facebook and blogging or something. And I guess I'll look into that. I'll have to clean all the Naruto stuff off my LJ, since online stuff is becoming transparent. This gmail buzz thing taught me that everything is going towards social networking and your online identity fusing with your IRL name. Which is fine... but I feel for anyone who's family doesn't know they write hot stories about Dean and Sam totally getting it on.
Which, actually, is something I regret I was too sick to really get into, slashfic. I guess now, when I write hott porn, it'll be my creator-owned series. Not like I'd care much if people knew I wrote hott feministy porn anyway. Hell, I'm more likely to draw it anyway.
Drawing's going great. I applied to a few animation programs, including this snotty one at Sheridan college, which is (I guess), Canada's version of Digipen (with the same attitude in spades.) Got into all of them with rave reviews. Which was a real headtrip because I'm so used to being brainwashed by the shitty comments of about three people back when I was 22 years old, who told me that I sucked at drawing. So therefore! Obviously~... I would always and and forevermore sucksucksuck at drawing, right? Turns out no.
Not that I wanna be an animator anyway. I decided I'd rather make arty graphic novels and paint.
So yeah, better. Pretty sure I'm getting better. I hope it's not a random blood sugar mirage. And I feel better tomorrow, too.
My nameless demon of a health problem has a name. And not just 'hypoglycemia' either. Fortunately. Since hypoglycemia is treated with dietary changes, Big Pharma runs modern medicine, and if Big Pharma can't sell you a(n expensive, only half-effective, habit-forming, side effect-ridden, potentially useless) drug to 'manage' (note I did not say 'cure', cured people don't become lifelong pharmaceutical customers) your condition, doctors basically couldn't give a shit. 'Hypoglycemia' won't exist until... and fuck it, I don't feel like ranting much. I don't think this sort of thing is news to anyone who's ever had anything short of the Big Things That Kill You (cancer, heart disease, etc) that can still make $$$$ for some corporation off your suffering. So that shit will be treated. Plus, western medicine is just better at dealing with shit that will KILL YOU outright, nice and fast.
Anyway, I also shouldn't get too rantified here because my Nameless Health Problem (dysglycemia- unstable blood sugar) is responding nicely to megadoses of various B vitamins and an amino acid named glutamine. All of which are pretty damn cheap. At least in comparison to the cocktail of vicodin, codeine, wellbutrin and synthetic diabetes drugs Evil Doctor said he's generally advised to foist on people like me, who come in with these nameless health demons.
"Wanna be an oxycontin addict inside of of a year?" he said to me, waving a handful of Glaxo Smithe Klein brochures.
"uh...no?" I said. "Would my blood sugar be any less fucked?"
"Nope, it would be more fucked by the diabetes drugs since you're a hypoglycemic, but that's what I'm supposed to give you. But at least you'd be taking six hundred bucks worth of painkillers and be addicted to the SSRI, even though it would do fuck all for you." he said cheerfully. "And you'd make a giant corporation a bit richer until you developed type 2 diabetes and died of blood sugar shock or something, and isn't that what really matters?"
I can still picture his absolute deadpan delivery. He really was the best doctor I've ever had in my life. And the dude IS (or at least claimed to be) a Crowley fanboy and a 'luciferian.'
"Not a satanist. Two different things." he emphasized.
"So what do I doooo?" I whined.
"Go see a naturopath, mademoiselle."
So I did and I'm getting better. Whee.
And I actually kind of AM getting better, I think. My blood sugar is significantly less fucked than it was. And beeeelieve me, it was fucked BEYOND any amount of fresh fruit/veggie diet (which I adore anyway) and fresh air and exercise (which I also dig pretty hard). It needed more than that. Thank you, B vitamins. You guys rule.
And I'm living on Pender Island, BC.. which is one of the handful of bigger islands in the archipeligo chain of about 500 floating between mainland BC and Vancouver Island. It's raining today. I have a beautiful place to live in, with ravens and jackpines and butterflies and icy daisies (and these strangely geometric perriwinkle flowers that have started to sprout up everywhere, towhees and barn owls and DEER, five million deer (and fauns! With spots.) And broken clamshells around arbutus trees and interidal pools full of little hot-raspberry colored crabs and neon orange sea cucumbers and christmas sea anemones (and jellyfish, and otters and yeah.... NATURE! IN YOUR FACE~)
Including about 0834092389384 spiders. Lots of spiders here. They live in my house. I let 'em, they live here. Nature lives here, I just visit.
So I guess I feel better?
I'm going to have to figure out some kind of online-mediated social life, which is something that people with chronic health problems generally do anyway. We're sick and flaky because of it, but we can usually manage to chat online. It's easy to just go collapse into bed if, say, one's blood sugar hits the ceiling like a possessed pachinko ball and shatters the windows with the sonic boom as it shoots through the floor. One can just step off the shattered tile and broken glass and GO TO EFFING BED.
...which is nice. And easier than trying to get a cab while so dizzy you can't see straight.
Though maybe that won't happen to me anymore? Go b vitamins.
So I should actually get into facebook and blogging or something. And I guess I'll look into that. I'll have to clean all the Naruto stuff off my LJ, since online stuff is becoming transparent. This gmail buzz thing taught me that everything is going towards social networking and your online identity fusing with your IRL name. Which is fine... but I feel for anyone who's family doesn't know they write hot stories about Dean and Sam totally getting it on.
Which, actually, is something I regret I was too sick to really get into, slashfic. I guess now, when I write hott porn, it'll be my creator-owned series. Not like I'd care much if people knew I wrote hott feministy porn anyway. Hell, I'm more likely to draw it anyway.
Drawing's going great. I applied to a few animation programs, including this snotty one at Sheridan college, which is (I guess), Canada's version of Digipen (with the same attitude in spades.) Got into all of them with rave reviews. Which was a real headtrip because I'm so used to being brainwashed by the shitty comments of about three people back when I was 22 years old, who told me that I sucked at drawing. So therefore! Obviously~... I would always and and forevermore sucksucksuck at drawing, right? Turns out no.
Not that I wanna be an animator anyway. I decided I'd rather make arty graphic novels and paint.
So yeah, better. Pretty sure I'm getting better. I hope it's not a random blood sugar mirage. And I feel better tomorrow, too.