Since Diabetes has entered our lives, our days have become very structured and very different. We have lost a lot of spontaneity. We thought we would share what it is like to have Diabetes. We also thought it would be interesting to see what it is like from our different perspectives.

Christi's Perspective (CP)
6:45am Hoist myself out of a very comfortable sleep. Colin (our ten-year-old) is going to day camp this week and he needs to be up at school by 8am. He is not going to like getting up early. I have my coffee and get dressed. I get Colin up and ready. James and Maggie are still sleeping.

7:30am I test James' blood sugar while he is sleeping to see if he will be okay while I take Colin up to school. James' blood sugar is high, so he should be okay for a little bit.

James' Perspective (JP)
7:45am Having a really good dream, Mom wakes me up to test me. I want to go back to bed. I'm irritated that I have to go downstairs to eat. Having a hard time staying awake while I'm eating breakfast.

(CP)
8:10am I get back from dropping off Colin (yay!) and James is up and waiting to eat. I draw up James' two shots. I make sure there aren't any air bubbles. I double check the dosage. I measure out his cereal. I give him his shots in his bottom and then he goes to eat. He always eats all of his breakfast. Thankfully I don't have to bug him about finishing it.

(JP)
8:15am I brush my teeth and comb my hair. Don't want to get dressed yet. Mom is bugging me to make my bed.

8:41am We are working on this blog and I'm tired because I was up really late last night.

9:45am Going to Grandmas to hang out and play Club Penguin on her laptop.

(CP)
9:30am I drop off James at Grandmas. I tell her that James needs to test at 10:00am and eat. Maggie and I go home so that I can work on the wedding dress I am making for a Labor Day wedding.

(JP)
10:00am Buzzer on oven goes off. I turn it off and I tell Grandma it is time to test me. I get out my meter and get my poker ready. My number is 339 (yikes) and I tell Grandma that I can have 1 carb for a snack. I tell her I want 3 icees. I get to eat them while I am still on the computer.

11:30am Grandma and I go to Walgreens to pick up milk and then she takes me home.

12:00n Lunchtime. My job is to make lunch for everyone. I'm really hungry and I don't know what to eat. I have to test my blood sugar. Mom gets my shot ready. Mom and Maggie (my sister) want taquitos, but I don't. I decide on pizza bites. I can have 7 of them. I also have some grapes and cheeze its and milk. I really want Diet A & W, but Mom makes me have milk.

(CP)
12n Grandma brings James and 2 gallons of milk home for us (since we are going through a gallon a day! Do they make more fuel efficient kids?) James can't get his act together. He is yelling at me and his sister. He is very grumpy. Slamming the doors on the microwave and the refrigerator. I help test him, and sure enough, he is high, which explains why he can't focus and why he is ticked off. I am ticked myself, because I tell him that feeling bad is not a reason for bad behavior. Of course, I'm yelling this at him, because he wouldn't listen to me when I was talking calmly. He then settles down as I take over his chore of making lunch.

1:00pm I tell James that he needs some time alone and he is sent to his room to read.

(JP)
1:00pm I'm in trouble for goofing off while making lunch, so I'm in my room reading a Star Wars book on Boba Fett. I think the book is good.

2:00pm Mom takes me over to my friend's house. We played.

(CP)
2:00pm I drop off James at his friends, only to find out that these two kids had arranged this play date without the other mother's consent. But it all turns out okay, since she is home and they are not going anywhere. I drop him off while he is going a couple of blocks away to help his friend go get his bike. I tell James to take his kit to the deck. I'm secretly worried that he will go low while they are walking the 3 or 4 blocks to retrieve the bike. I'm hoping they will be back by 3, so that James can test and snack. So, when I get home, I call the other mother to let her know what is going on, remind her that he needs to test and snack at 3pm. She tells me that she is setting the buzzer on the oven and all is taken care of. I'm so lucky that she is a nurse and that she gets all this mandatory testing and snacking. I relax now that I know she is informed and on task. I am also lucky that other parents are willing to take on the burden of making sure my kid is okay while at their house.

(JP)
3:00pm My friend's mom reminds me to test. I go to their kitchen and get my kit to test. I feel fine, but my meter says I am low (5 , so I eat 4 tablets and a snack from the bottom of my bag. My friend got himself a snack at the same time. We go get another friend and play hide and go sneak, basketball, and we set up mini golf in his basement with blocks.

5:00pm. Mom is here to pick me up. I am having a good time playing mini golf and I don't want to leave. Mom tells me that I am going boating tonight, so I need to come home to eat and get ready. That is a surprise and I am stoked.

(CP)
5:00pm I stop by the farm stand to pick up some sweet corn for dinner. James will need a vegetable with carbs in it tonight. I pick up Colin from a friend's house and then I go to pick up James at his friend's house. James does not listen to me when I tell him it is time to go. Once outside though, he gets excited when I tell him he is going boating tonight.

5:45pm Dinner is almost ready. The chicken is fried and the corn is done. Salads are ready. Milk is poured. I go downstairs to test James' blood sugar. He is low again. I return upstairs for 3 tablets and take them to James. At least I won't have to draw up a shot. I call everyone for dinner.

(JP)
6:00pm Our friends that own the boat come over for dinner. We are having fried chicken, corn on the cob, bread, and milk. Mom tested me while I was watching tv and I was low again. So she gave me tablets before dinner. I don't need a shot! The boat's battery needs charging, so we have to get that done.

(CP)
6:30pm I get showered and changed for a night out with my girlfriends. I pack a cooler for my husband and the kids so that they will have something for 8pm snacktime and in case James goes low again. I pray a little prayer that my husband and James will remember to test and snack. I have to have a lot of faith that James will be okay when I am not with him.

(JP)
7:00pm We get to the lake and the engine doesn't start. We had to paddle back in and charge the battery up more. Then it finally started. We finally went tubing. It was awesome! We went really fast and caught some air. Once it was like 10 feet high!

8:30pm We take the boat out of the water. I know it is time to test, so I test myself while they take the boat out of the water. I was 269 (high again). I had some cheeze its. I shared them with my friend.

9:00pm We came home and had strawberry ice cream. Dad tested me again and he gave me a shot since I was still high. We watched tv for a while, then Dad made me take a shower. I was worried that I was taking a shower after my shot. My mom once told me I shouldn't do this.

11:00pm I don't want to go to bed. I want to stay up later and watch more tv on Disney Channel. Dad said to turn the tv off and get to bed.

As I read over this post, which I hope did not bore you to death, I have noticed a few things. A few things that would go away if there were a cure for Diabetes.

1. I don't have faith that James will be safe with people other than myself. Thus, I have become a control freak (which I am not sure will ever go completely away).

2. Many of James' behavior problems directly relate to his blood sugars being out of whack.

3. James has to be really responsible even though he is only 8 years old. He can't always count on the adults around him to make sure he is okay.

So getting rid of Diabetes in our life would drastically change our daily routine for the better. Maybe I wouldn't have to stock up on snacks so much! Would you help us find a cure for Diabetes? If you are interested in donating, please go to JDRF's website.

Thanks again for all your prayers and donations.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:35 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 Thus, I have become a control freak (which I am not sure will ever go completely away). Whatchyoutalkin'aboutWillis? You've always had a strong control freak streak. Do I need to remind you about the times when we had to clean our room and the threats of bodily harm you used to level at me? James' diabetes just brings it out more. Heh. {insert ducking and running here}

Posted by: Kathy at July 31, 2007 03:48 PM (5z8Md)

2 Baldie's getting really brave isn't she? Heh. Actually, I read this whole post nodding my head and clucking with sympathy. My (please GOD) short-lived experience with gestational diabetes (where YOUR LIFE revolves around what you ate, when, and when you're next going to eat) helped me to understand completely what frustration you both must feel. Bless you, cutie pie James, I hope the JDRF hurries up! Lots of love, Margi *who is running like hell from Kathy, now*

Posted by: Margi at July 31, 2007 10:45 PM (66God)

3 Run, Forrest, RUN! Heheheheheheh. Baldie's getting brave? Chica, you've got no idea.

Posted by: Kathy at August 01, 2007 08:09 AM (5z8Md)

4 Have you ever read Dr Bernstein's book on diabetes? He developed the disease when he was 12, back in the '40s, when you had to sterilize needles and do all that work. Now he's in his 70's and says that as far as he knows, he is the only diabetic diagnosed in 1946 who is still alive. I bought the book for my adult son who didn't develop this horrible disorder until he was grown. He was ill, but we didn't know what was wrong. His sugar tested at 600 -- there's clue. Amazing that he was still walking around. It also should have been a clue that he was 6'3" and weighed 139 lbs... He had no insurance so he wouldn't let them hospitalize him. Instead, he stayed in the ER until they got his #s down in the low 300s, and then took a referral to a good endocrinologist to work on getting it down further. He read Dr.B's book, and says when he follows it he knows exactly what his #s will be. When he doesn't, there are the fluctuations you describe. Dr. Bernstein's method is hard, but it works. Most of the foods you describe are verboten...his is not a diet for the faint of heart, but it promotes health and longevity. Even at his age, he has no peripheral nerve damage. None. ...interestingly, when *I* go on that diet, I lose weight and feel wonderful. I'm not in the least diabetic, not even close. But I think Dr. Bernstein's way of eating works for anybody whose endocrine system is out of whack. BTW, he was originally an engineer. He got frustrated with the ADA's ideas about diet because his #s jumped around and he never felt well. So he went to medical school to learn what he could. And now, even in his 70's, he has a full time medical practice devoted to diabetics. Reading the intro to his book was inspiring. You can find it online if you google his name. If you buy into his ideas, just start them very very slowly. Change is painful. If anyone in your family is overweight, they would benefit too. Believe me!

Posted by: Dymphna at August 01, 2007 11:45 AM (Njon8)

5 on Baldie's bravada, I will not lower myself to that childish behavior. Because, of course, I was always right anyway. on the Bernstein book, it sounds very interesting. and I think I have heard of him. My husband is an engineer and the lack of stats makes him crazy. He would love to have James on the continuous glucose monitor because it would give us hundreds of numbers instead of 6-8. Is Dr. Bernstein's "diet" close to Atkins? When we once mentioned James eating more of an Atkins based diet, the doctors freaked out and wouldn't let us. I think it is just because all they know is carb to insulin ratios. So, my thinking is less carbs in, less insulin, less jumping around. Anyway, I will check out that book. thanks for the tip.

Posted by: Christi at August 01, 2007 12:46 PM (w7r8p)

6 My boyfriend has type 1 diabetes. He's 53 and has had it since he was 10. Even though he's had it that long, he still gets some severe lows. I joke (with gritted teeth) that he forgets he's diabetic. So I can really understand your fears about your son's sugars getting out of whack when you're not around to monitor him. You may already know this, but honey is one of the best things for bringing someone out of a low. It works faster than orange juice or the tablets. We carry honey sticks everywhere we go. They are straws filled with honey that you can get at farmers markets and natural food stores and the like. Also, you mentioned that when your son gets older, he probably won't want to use a lunch box to carry around all his supplies. I highly recommend getting a messenger bag. That's what my boyfriend carries, and it's perfect for stashing food, blood testers, etc. We don't leave home without it. Big hugs to you and your family! Let's hope they find a cure soon!!

Posted by: DogsDontPurr at August 01, 2007 05:32 PM (U44Ew)

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Well, it's that time of year again! Time for the Walk to Cure Diabetes! All week long we will be guestblogging here on the Cake Eater Chronicles to raise money to find a cure for Type I Diabetes.

I am Kathy's sister, Christi, in Omaha, Nebraska (the ol' homestead). My 8 year old son, James, has Type I (or juvenile) Diabetes. He was diagnosed right after he turned 3 years old on April 5th, 2002. We immediately went through 16 hours of survival training. This included how to test James' blood sugar, how to draw up and give insulin shots, and the quick and dirty education on nutrition.

The first 3 months after diagnosis were some of the worst months of our lives. There was so much tension in our house. So much blame. So much pain. We never thought we would get out of that phase, but eventually we did. Other families experience the very same troubling 3 months.

Now, Diabetes is just a regular part of our lives. Our regular life is somewhat different from other families though.

For example:

We have to eat at the exact same time every day, so that James can stay on an even keel. That means that James cannot sleep past 7:45a.m. He HAS to wake up and eat at that time every day. Not so easy, now that he is getting a little older and would REALLY like to sleep in.

We have to test James' blood sugars at least 6 times a day. So, no matter what is going on at 7:45am, 10am, 12n, 3pm, 6pm, and 8pm, all the action stops so that we can test James. Better have those supplies handy. Which leads to:

James must always carry his testing and insulin and snack supplies with him. He has a handy dandy Darth Vader lunch box that does the trick right now. Although he is lobbying for a nice new round baseball one for the new school year. I wonder what will happen when he hits junior high and carrying around a lunchbox won't be so cool. I guess we will deal with that new challenge when it happens.

We always have to carry extra food with us no matter where we go. One of the side effects of insulin shots is that you need to have a regular input of food to balance the input of insulin. When you are getting long acting insulin in shots, you can't just change your mind about eating. Eating can become a chore instead of a joy. So, when we are at baseball games for example, I look like overprepared psycho mom with the small cooler with enough snacks and drinks to cover any emergency!

So, enough with the "woe is me" scenario. We like to focus on the positive, it just isn't all that easy.

Since Kathy has been so nice to let us hijack her blog for our good cause, we have tried to make this as interesting as possible. So, James and I made a short video for you. We hope you enjoy it.

How's that for high tech???? Since James is getting older, I wanted him to be a part of this fundraiser and of course, video is more his speed. All week long we will have new clips for you to enjoy. If you click on "menu" in the video box and look at the related links, the one that is titled "JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes" is a great promo clip that Kevin Kline does for JDRF. Very inspirational.

The Omaha Walk to Cure Diabetes is on Saturday, August 11th. Our team, James' Jaywalkers, is attempting to raise $5,500 this year. Last year we almost raised $5,000! We have great friends, families, and of course all of you out there that we don't know, who are so generous. We so appreciate the sacrifices you make to help find a cure for this disease.

You can click on this link to make a donation online: http://walk.jdrf.org/walker.cfm?id=86710340

Later this week, we will have more information on the kind of research JDRF is working on, along with what advances look promising. We will also explain why James is not on the pump (yet).

So, we'll see you on Tuesday for another compelling episode of, "As the Shots Continue."

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:45 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I realize we don't have the best of relationships, you and I, dear Hollywood, but really, I swear on this one you won't get screwed on the deal and might honestly conclude that you came out with the better end of the bargain. Are you ready for it? Ok, here goes.

Ahem.

Please, please, please hire Sigourney Weaver to act in something so she doesn't have to demean herself with these pitiful DirecTV commercials.

It's great that she has a sense of humor about herself and the character that brought her worldwide fame, but really. The schtick behind these commercials instantly went straight to hell the minute DirecTV hired El Slutta herself, Pam Anderson, to be in one. Signourney is better than this. Hire her.

I mean, honestly, it's not like she sucks.

Posted by: Kathy at 07:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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So, I finished Deathly Hallows late last night.

While I can't say that La Rowling's latest work has been great for my health---seeing as how I haven't gone to bed any earlier than two the past several nights and I kinda need my rest. I can say, however, that I---the woman who has recently let her inner hypochondriac fully off the leash, much to the dismay and annoyance of many an oncology nurse---don't really give a shit. Health be damned; I needed to know what happened. Dr. Academic's going to have throw me a bone on this one.

I am not going to discuss anything in the book. Sorry. I'll save that for later, when everyone's through it. I'm afraid of ruining it for anyone by dropping the least little tidbit, and there are so many tidbits it's only by supreme force of will that I'm able to hold back. Last week, I thought La Rowling was being overly fussy and unrealistic when she complained about early reviews. This week, I'm completely on her side. So, lest I give up the ghost by rambling on too long, I will simply say this: Deathly Hallows, the final chapter in what is, ultimately, a set of kiddie books that I refused to read for many years, has turned out to be one of the most satisfying reading experiences I've ever had in my long and varied career of reading fiction.

Brava, La Rowling. Brava.

Posted by: Kathy at 08:51 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I don't think it's a surprise to any of you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, that I'm not a huge fan of the band Queen. Any fondness I might have had for them when I was younger was ruthlessly quashed by the repeated playing of "We Will Rock You" at skating parties in my youth (It's hard to clap your hands and skate at the same time. At least it is for some people. They kept wiping out and I couldn't maneuver around their crash sites quickly enough.) and at every televised sporting event during the late eighties and throughout the nineties. While I will admit it's better for sporting event entertainment than, say, "Whoop, There It Is," it is no "Welcome to the Jungle." I will confess a fondness for "Bohemian Rhapsody" but only within the context of "Wayne's World." So, while I am not a fan, I nonetheless think it very cool that Queen's lead guitarist, Brian May, is finally going to submit his long discarded doctoral dissertation in astrophysics to the Imperial College London in the next few weeks.

{...}The 60-year-old guitarist and songwriter said he plans to submit his thesis, "Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud," to supervisors at Imperial College London within the next two weeks.

May was an astrophysics student at Imperial College when Queen, which included Freddie Mercury and Roger Taylor, was formed in 1970. He dropped his doctorate as the glam rock band became successful.

{...}May told the British Broadcasting Corp. that he had always wanted to complete his degree.

"It was unfinished business," he said. "I didn't want an honorary Ph.D. I wanted the real thing that I worked for."

Impressive. Much, much, more impressive than "We Will Rock You" in my opinion.

And will allow for a much longer lasting legacy, too, than Rock God status.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:00 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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And we thought it was a big improvement when we got boosted to 56K!

Posted by: Kathy at 08:25 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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...is everyone else as relieved as I am that the baldie photo of meself has decided to go hide in the archives?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Posted by: Kathy at 07:53 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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So, my nephew and godson decided to enter the Omaha World-Herald's "Harry Potter Lookalike" Contest. He didn't win, but he did get his picture in the paper.

Go here, click on the gallery and he's the sixth one down on the right.

I've been told that that even he doesn't think he really looks like Harry Potter, but rather thought he had an advantage to press (with his spectacles and haircut) and entered simply for the cash prize.

Which he was going to use to buy "Deathly Hallows" today, but I'm sure his parents will oblige him.

Posted by: Kathy at 08:07 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Because I can...

Top 100 Star Wars lines improved by replacing a word with “pants”.

I find your lack of pants disturbing.

You are unwise to lower your pants.

Chewie and me got into a lot of pants more heavily guarded than this.

Phew! And I thought pants smelled bad... on ... the outside...!

The Force is strong in my pants.

Your pants, you will not need them.

You came in those pants? You're braver than I thought.

I cannot teach him. The boy has no pants.

In his pants you will find a new definition of pain and suffering

Governor Tarkin. I should have expected to find you holding Vader's pants.

I think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your pants.

Pull up! All pants pull up!

I've just made a deal that will keep the Empire out of our pants forever

A disturbance in the pants. I have not felt this since near my old master...

Alderan is peaceful, we have no pants!

I sense the conflict within you. Let go of your pants!

These aren't the pants you're looking for.

That blast came from the pants! That thing's operational!

He has no time for smugglers who drop their pants first sign of Imperials

The pants will be down in moments, sir, you can begin your landing

Looks like someone's beginning to take an interest in your pants.

Lock the door. And hope they don't have pants.

Your pants can deceive you, don't trust them

"I want them alive. No pants." -Vader

Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your pants.

I am altering the pants. Pray that I don't alter them any further

Away with your pants, I mean you no harm!

Great, Chewie, great. Always thinking with your pants.

The Pants are what gives a Jedi his power

"Don't do that, my pants are dirty." "My pants are dirty, too."

Luke, help me take these pants off. -(dying) Darth Vader

I'm taking Captain Solo ... and his pants

Search your pants, you know it to be true.

Han'll have those pants down - we've gotta give him more time!

Look at the size of those pants!

We've got to get a reading on those pants, Up or Down.

You are part of the rebel alliance, and a traitor. Take her pants!

General Tarkin, I thought I recognized your foul pants...

I'm not in this for your revolution, I'm in it for the pants

There's no mystical energy field that controls my pants

Tell that to Jabba. If you're lucky he might only take your pants.

The emperor asks the impossible. I need more pants.

The pants can have a strong influence on weak minds

Will somebody please get this walking carpet out of my pants!

Curse my metal pants.

I only hope that when the pants are analyzed a weakness can be found

Judge me by my pants, do you?

Search your pants, Luke. You know it's true.

So long ago, when all we had was our love. No politics, no plotting, no pants.

Your father wanted you to have pants when you were old enough

He is most displeased with your apparent lack of pants

I don't think the Empire had wookiees in mind when they designed pants

It appears you are to be the main course at a banquet in my pants

You can waste time with your pants when your chores are done.

I seek an audience with your greatness to bargain for Solo's pants

Jabba please take these pants as a token of friendship

"I happen to like nice pants."

Commander, tear this ship apart until you've found those pants!

I felt a great disturbance in the Pants.

Yeah, well droids aren't known for ripping pants off when they lose!

Don't try to frighten us with your sorcererÂ’s pants, Lord Vader.

Though I never thought I would be smuggling pants.

Take care of your pants, Han. I guess that's what you're best at, isn't it.

Luke help me take my pants off...

"Slimey? My pants this is." -Yoda

Rear pants down... Argh!!!

Remember your failure in the pants.

See through pants, we can.

"Great pants kid! Don't get cocky!"

Be mindful of your pants Anakin. They'll betray you.

Have you been in many pants?

I used to bulls eye womp rats in my pants back home.

In my experience, there is no such thing as pants.

Only now...in my pants...do you understand.

Put Captain Solo in the cargo pants.

We have no choice, our pants can't repel firepower of that magnitude.

Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your pants.

The more you tighten your pants, the more star systems will slip through...

The pants are down! Commence attack on the Death Star's main reactor.

Yahoo! You're all clear kid. Now let's blow these pants and go home!

"Pants, Luke, Pants!"

"Evacuate?! In our pants of triumph?"

"You know of the rebellion?" "That's how we came to be in your pants sir"

15!?! We can almost buy our own pants for that!

A tremor in the Pants. The last time I felt it was in the presence of my old
master...

At Last, we will have our pants.

Commander, tear these pants apart until you've found those plans.

Leia: I love pants. Han: I know.

No I don't think he likes pants at all. No I don't like pants either

Search your pants Luke

This little one's not worth the effort. Come, let me get you some pants.

Your pants can deceive you, Luke.

Chewie, pants won't help me!

Emperor: You have paid the price for your lack of pants!

I sense a great disturbance in the pants.

I've got a bad feeling in my pants about this.

No more pants. I'm not going that way

She must have hidden the pants in the escape pod

That's funny... the pants don't look as bad from out here.

The pants go off in this direction

Threepio: It's against my programming to wear pants.

Yeah, I just got a funny feeling. Like I'm never gonna see my pants again.

You have taken your first step into larger pants.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:12 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I'm having a hard time trying to suss out just what I don't like about this bit from this morning's Bleat.

{...}There was a creepy old man at the park the other day, my wife told me. Dressed in a ragged suit, carrying his possessions in a plastic shopping bag from a store that has no local outlets anywhere in the neighborhood. Disheveled. He wandered over to the swimming pool and watched the kids. Then he left and wandered away and came back and watched the kids some more. Then he went into the community center, where the kids play unattended sometimes; one of the neighborhood dads followed him, then followed him outside and took him aside for a chat. The fellow said he was homeless, heard about a new shelter in the area, and wanted to live in the neighborhood.

Now. You could say that thereÂ’s nothing wrong with a fifty-something guy with a grey beard and a raincoat and no fixed address wandering around a playground looking at the kids in their bathing suits, and that itÂ’s unfair to deny a fellow the simple human pleasure of watching kids enjoy themselves just because he happens to be homeless.

I donÂ’t care.

First of all, there arenÂ’t any shelters in this area. Second, I donÂ’t care. Third, itÂ’s possible heÂ’s homeless because he spent a lot of time in prison for kiddie-diddling. Fourth, you donÂ’t get to look like the fellow who shows up to collect the Hellraiser cube and hang around the kiddie pool. Good bye.{...}

Aha! By Jove I've got it: it's the whiff of NIMBY flying off it at a speed that would make a French cheesemonger bow with admiration at just how quickly the land speed record for nose crinkling was shattered.

Look, I've got nothing against Lileks. I really don't. Much admiration for his art is to be found in the archives of this here blog. I'm a fan. But this doesn't sit right, and mainly it's because Lileks and I live in the same general part of town. He may sneeze and I may not be able to say, "God Bless You," over the airshaft, but we're talking the same general vicinity. When he chats about Southwest High School before the portion I chose to excerpt, well, that's the high school I went on about in this post, ere so long ago. Southwest is two blocks over, two blocks up. We may never have crossed paths, but we could have. Many, many times.

And what he wrote up there rankles.

It's like he'd like 98% less urban in his urban-living.

Yes, just in case you weren't aware, urban living means, occasionally, running across someone who doesn't have a home. Or a shower. Or even a plastic bag from a retailer in this section of town. Because God only knows we need the homeless to have plastic bags that denote what section of town they're from.

We're fortunate to live in a part of the Cities where you have urban life, but not a lot of urban troubles. When there's a robbery, which is something that doesn't happen very often, you can be certain that the place that was robbed was on a bus line---or within a block or two of said bus line. Yes, this means, in essence, we have such a low crime rate that we have to bus in the criminals. We have a curfew here in Cake Eater Land, and it does keep the summer evening troubles to a minimum---and you don't see the ACLU out protesting about it. No one has a problem with the local curfew. I have many problems with the way the Province of Minneapolis runs things, but my main beef is that they don't have enough cops to keep the speeders from mowing down people left and right on Cake Eater Avenue (because part of Cake Eater Avenue is in Minneapolis Province). We live in a nice part of town. People take care of their lawns, people know their neighbors, they have block parties, everything's tidy and, in general, it resembles one of those highly annoying VISA commercials that are running all over the dial right now. You know the ones I'm talking about, right? Where life is just one step-ball-chain short of Singin' in the Rain? Where, ultimately, paying by cash or check futzes up the choreography, causes the butterfly to flap his wings and a typhoon emerges, hence slowing everyone else down? So, the message you, a terminal cash junkie who just does NOT want to stick their neighborhood retailer with a 2% fee for the privilege of using a credit card to buy a $0.75 donut, are destined to pull is that you should get with the program and get a VISA, lest you slow down and terminally annoy everyone around you.

The Uncle-Joe-says-you'd-better-use-your-VISA-to-fit-in-with-your-fellow comrades-in-life-ads.

If it wasn't obvious, I hate those VISA commercials---and I hate them with a passion. If I want to pay with cash, I will damn well pay with cash and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I don't care if it slows you down. Or makes you drop your latte. Or brings a little chaos theory into your day. I really don't give a shit. That's your problem; not mine.

Lileks doesn't care about the homeless guy who got off track and who may or may not have had nefarious motives when wandering around the fringes of the kiddie pool. He says it flat out. He doesn't care. The guy's probably a child molester. Why should he care?

But I'll bet you anything Lileks really cares when someone holds him up at the checkout line because they chose to write a check and it's slowing him down.

I don't mean to knock Lileks. Really I don't. I'm sure he's a good person, who's got good intentions. But this sort of issue is endemic to the people who live around here. They want everything urban life has to offer, but they don't want any urban problems, either. Like the occasional robbery. Like the occasional transvestite wandering around the neighborhood. Like the occassional polka-dotted house owned by the wandering transvestite which really brings down the property values. (Seriously, folks.) Or the occasional homeless person, who stinks things up. They don't want any urban in their urban life. And as a justification for their behavior, they make up threats where none actually exist. Like a homeless guy who probably got on the wrong bus, didn't have the fare to get back, and is suddenly a potential child molester. People see threats where there aren't any. And if they don't see any threats, well, they'll make some up to give themselves something to do.

I'm not one of those people who wants more pr0n in Times Square, because, mainly, it's better than the Disneyfication of the place. I'm not a big fan of homeless people, either, but at least I realize if I want an urban life, I'm going to have to have a little urbanity in it---and that may include things I'd rather weren't there. Like homeless people wandering around, making life uncomfortable for those who are gainfully employed. Unlike Lileks, I actually use public transportation. Public transportation is where the homeless people go during the day. It is where they get on in the morning after they've been evicted from their shelter, and where they stay until it's time to go back again, mooching transfers from every single person they come across who isn't connected to an iPod and can actually hear their request. I've been on buses from downtown, in the middle of January no less, where every single, solitary window was open because a homeless person's funk was so particularly horrid that was the only way you could possibly breathe. Lileks is safe in his green Honda Element and I'm sure he's got those neat little minty air fresheners hanging around his rearview mirror in case his car has to pass through the hood and the aroma of micturition is particularly fragrant and wafting that day. Given this, of course he's going to assume the worst of this homeless person by the kiddie pool. Homeless people are not part of his daily milieu. But what is really impressive in all of this is how quickly he managed to go from zero-to-sixty in 3.5 seconds flat when it came to assessing the potential threat this man meant. Furthermore, he doesn't give a rat's ass about it. He should, at the very least, go back over the situation in his head and wonder if there was some need to feel threatened, or if he was just overreacting. Which he probably was. If so, he should feel some shame at his reaction.

But he doesn't care..

He's just a suburbanite living in an urban world because there's just so much more kitsch on offer in the urban world! He's a VISA user in a cash-only line, and pretty soon, just you wait, he'll move out to Eden Prairie or Anoka or Blaine because he just doesn't want to have to wait around for someone to receive their change.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:01 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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So, since I had my reproductive bits and bobs removed back in February,
I've been experiencing the joy and wonder that is menopause. At age thirty-six. Which is about, oh, fifteen years earlier than I should be experiencing said joy and wonder.

As you might imagine, ever since, I've been banging on with my doctors about getting on HRT, or Hormone Replacement Therapy. They haven't wanted me to go on it because, and I quote, "the estrogen could make your endometriosis flare." In some cases, like mine, estrogen acts as poison. It would make sense that they would want to limit the potential damage by very carefully reintroducing the same chemical that gave me cancer. But they held out hope: the minute I got off chemo, I could go on it because it was unlikely the endometriosis would survive the chemo. I've been waiting and waiting. It's been the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. No more hot flashes. No more sleep troubles. No more weeping and wailing. I could get through the ungodliness of chemo just to get to the good stuff.

Fortunately for me, I didn't have to wait that long. When Dr. Academic and I chatted last week, before my last treatment, he brought the subject up and asked if I wanted HRT, saying that he would be highly surprised if the endometriosis would be able to survive four treatments of chemotherapy. Dumbstruck, completely caught off-guard, I emphatically nodded yes. He said, "Ok, we'll get you going."

What did he put me on, my devoted Cake Eater readers? Would it be the bioidentical hormones I'd been reading so much about? Would it be some non-equine hormone variant of premarin? Oooh, ooh, Mistah Kottah? Don't keep me in suspense!

Well, the next question out of his mouth threw me for a loop. "Did Orthotricyclen have a low-dose when you were on it?"

Did Orthotricyclen have a low-dose? Orthotricyclen is the pill, ain't it? He's not actually suggesting.... "Uh, no. Just the regular dose. "

"Did you like it?"

"Well, not really. It was too much, if you get what I'm saying. I broke out all the time and gained weight. A lot of weight. That sort of thing."

He nodded. "Ok, well, that's good to know. This'll keep your skin clear and you shouldn't have the weight issues. Lots of women just take it because they won't break out." He bent down, pulled a pen and his prescription pad out of his pocket and scribbled off a prescription in his quick and highly illegible writing.

The absurdity of it hit me and I had to laugh. "I don't have a reproductive system any more and YOU'RE PUTTING ME ON BIRTH CONTROL?"

He simply grinned. "Low-dose birth control," he clarified, "but, yeah, birth control. Funny how it works out sometimes, eh?"

Heh.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:22 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 487 words, total size 3 kb.

Ovarian cancer sucks.

Ovarian cancer treatment sucks.

But, to be clear, it ain't all bad.

And why isn't it all bad, you ask?

Well, because there's percocet in the world.

That makes up for an awful lot in my book.

The most blessed of molecules.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:34 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 65 words, total size 1 kb.

You, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, have an assignment. It is a simple question of the day, so don't get too worried about pop quizzes and all sorts of other stuff that makes you pit out. It is a very simple question.

Ahem.

Will an iPhone blend?

I think the definitive answer is, ahem, yes.

Heh.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:12 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 58 words, total size 1 kb.

A fanatic about locally sourced ingredients, Guy Bertrand of Le Singe Amoureux prized ortolan above all other delicacies. He was not alone; devotees of the elusive songbird paid handsomely for his multi-course tasting menus.

Yet Bertrand's legacy was ultimately determined not by a menu, but by a newspaper: the April 6, 1962 edition of Le Monde, which carried a front-page review alleging that Bertrand had been passing off ordinary yellowhammers as ortolan. Reaction was swift; reservations were cancelled, Relais and Chateaux launched a formal inquiry, and ortolan mongers cut off his supply.

The chef denied the charges, but the scorn was unrelenting. Finally, he came to believe the accusations, and on August 14, 1962, Guy Bertrand took his own life with an ortolan boning knife.

Four years later, correspondence was discovered revealing the reviewer's vendetta---born of a failed attempt to woo Mme. Bertrand. Subsequent testing of a confiscated ortolan terrine and fricassee revealed the integrity of their ingredients.

In 1966, Bertrand was posthumously awarded the Legion d'Honneur and today the ortolan is more revered than ever.

---swiped, again, from the local French joint.

{Ed. That must have been a painful way to go. Owie.}

Posted by: Kathy at 12:27 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The husband forwards along this very interesting article from Psychology Today entitled, Ten Politically Incorrect Truths About Human Nature.

A small sampling:

{...}Most suicide bombers are Muslim

Suicide missions are not always religiously motivated, but according to Oxford University sociologist Diego Gambetta, editor of Making Sense of Suicide Missions, when religion is involved, the attackers are always Muslim. Why? The surprising answer is that Muslim suicide bombing has nothing to do with Islam or the Quran (except for two lines). It has a lot to do with sex, or, in this case, the absence of sex.

What distinguishes Islam from other major religions is that it tolerates polygyny. By allowing some men to monopolize all women and altogether excluding many men from reproductive opportunities, polygyny creates shortages of available women. If 50 percent of men have two wives each, then the other 50 percent don't get any wives at all.

So polygyny increases competitive pressure on men, especially young men of low status. It therefore increases the likelihood that young men resort to violent means to gain access to mates. By doing so, they have little to lose and much to gain compared with men who already have wives. Across all societies, polygyny makes men violent, increasing crimes such as murder and rape, even after controlling for such obvious factors as economic development, economic inequality, population density, the level of democracy, and political factors in the region.

However, polygyny itself is not a sufficient cause of suicide bombing. Societies in sub-Saharan Africa and the Caribbean are much more polygynous than the Muslim nations in the Middle East and North Africa. And they do have very high levels of violence. Sub-Saharan Africa suffers from a long history of continuous civil wars—but not suicide bombings.

The other key ingredient is the promise of 72 virgins waiting in heaven for any martyr in Islam. The prospect of exclusive access to virgins may not be so appealing to anyone who has even one mate on earth, which strict monogamy virtually guarantees. However, the prospect is quite appealing to anyone who faces the bleak reality on earth of being a complete reproductive loser.

It is the combination of polygyny and the promise of a large harem of virgins in heaven that motivates many young Muslim men to commit suicide bombings. Consistent with this explanation, all studies of suicide bombers indicate that they are significantly younger than not only the Muslim population in general but other (nonsuicidal) members of their own extreme political organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah. And nearly all suicide bombers are single.

It's good to finally have at least some confirmation that most suicide bombers do what they do, partly, to end their sexual frustration issues.

Go read the rest and be enlightened.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:21 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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While I still have eyebrows.

Even though the flash kind of washes them out and you can't really see them, well, I know they're there.

Pretty bitchin' tan/hair line, no? I can't get the top of my pate tanned for love or money. It just won't do what I tell it to do.

It's acting very much like the hair that used to occupy that space. Go figure.

Sigh.

I can't wait for my hair to grow back.

*Spot the quote and you'll receive a bonus prize. Well, no, you won't, but you can bask in the admiration of your fellow commenters who got it wrong or didn't know it. Which, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is really all the recognition you'll need in a lifetime, no?

Posted by: Kathy at 09:00 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Without further ado, here's what's running around in my head this morning. Ahem.

• It's amazing how everything greens up after a good gullywasher. As Lileks mentioned, we got some rain yesterday. A lot of rain. I would wager the official measurement was close to two inches by the time it was all said and done in the early hours of the evening. Since the temperature had reached a whopping ninety-seven degrees on Saturday, and was already at eighty-three by nine a.m. yesterday, it was a given we were going to get pounded. That's just the way the weather works here in the Midwest: high pressure makes it hot, low pressure will, inevitably, start something with the high pressure, and BOOM goes the thunder and lightning. It will then cool off for a time, and then, because it's the Midwest and we're all about predictability, the whole process will start all over again. The thunderstorms were actually so bad yesterday that the husband, who is not easily spooked by electrically charged skies, unplugged all of the computers, lest they be chicken-fried by a surge of electricity.

  And, yes, for the record, our computers are plugged into surge protectors. Ironically enough, however, our televisions aren't. The husband did not go around unplugging those. Anyone want to make a guess which electrical appliances the husband rates higher on his scale of priorities?

• I've come to the conclusion that ovarian cancer has forced me to make a grand trade: my period for chemo.

  Neither one is a lot of fun, but at least with my period the joy arrived every twenty-eight days, instead of the twenty-one day cycle I'm on with chemo.

  If there is an upside to this trade, it means I no longer have to come up with monthly payola for the Playtex protection racket.

  Why the Justice Department wastes its time with organized crime instead of investigating---and prosecuting---the perpetrators in the Grand Tampon Price Gouging Conspiracy is beyond me. It's an open and shut case and one that will please over half the electorate if taken up. What administration could resist?

  My devoted male Cake Eater readers can stop cringing now. I'm done with talking about tampons for the time being, and given the circumstances, probably forever. Consider yourselves lucky.

• And speaking of what seems are my neverending trials of chemotherapy, I know, because the mailbag tells me so, that some of you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, are wondering how I'm doing with all of this. I'm fine, thank you for asking. I appreciate your concern, but honestly, I'm getting bored with all of this cancer nonsense, so I'm assuming some of you must be, as well. Hence, I've decided to stop bleating so much about it.

  That said, here's a quick update for the people who care. And if you don't, well, skip past this bit---and all the other bits---with my blessing. I understand. Really and truly I do.

  Anyway, I undergo my fifth treatment this coming Friday, the thirteenth. (No one---AND I MEAN NO ONE---should make any cracks about the date lest we tempt fate. I'm trying not to make any prophecies that have even the remotest chance of becoming self-fulfilling in this regard, and I expect you to make the same effort.) The treatments are, indeed, beginning to add up and I don't think I'm looking very much like the poster child for wellness during chemo that Dr. Academic believes me to be. I'm pale under my tan. (I never actually understood that description before. I do now.) I have big dark smudges under my eyes that never seem to go away. In other words, I'm beginning to look like I'm ill. Again. Only this time I've got the added joy of hair loss to accentuate the overall look. I suspect I look quite good in comparison to Dr. Academic's other patients, and which is why he goes on and on about how well I look, but compared to the average, healthy, human being, well, even if I wasn't as bald as an egg, you can definitely tell there's something off.

  I'm feeling pretty good this time around and that's due to a shot of this stuff. Two weeks ago today, two days after my fourth treatment, at Dr. Academic's "request," I went back down to his office to be shot up with this stuff, which is a white cell, or immune system, booster. The thing with chemo is that it kills as much of the good stuff you need to run your body as it does the bad stuff you don't want around. Apparently my white blood cell numbers after treatment three were a cause for concern and Dr. Academic prescribed me the Neulasta because, as he said, it would make me feel better. And it did. It just took a week to kick in. My energy levels are much higher than they were after the third cycle of chemo and I'm feeling pretty healthy on the whole.

  There are just two things that I'm not crazy about with this drug. First, somehow, I managed to contract a cold (in July, no less!) after I received this white cell booster, which makes me suspicious about just how my immune system was boosted. Second, do you have any idea how much this junk costs? Prepare to be shocked. $3100 for one shot---and that's with a thirteen percent discount. Now, I'm as much of a fan of the free market as you're going to find in the general population. I believe there should be market rewards for those who innovate, and it's obvious that Amgen has innovated in this case. Yet, am I alone in thinking that the fact they advertise for chemo patients to "ask their doctor" for this stuff, "right from the start," when it's most likely not needed, is a bit of overkill? I didn't receive it after my fourth treatment---out of a total of six. I suspect I'm not alone in this regard. Oncologists already make good use of this stuff when their patients need it---and anyone who's in the treatment room when the schedulers are doing their thing, and announce to all and sundry that so and so has to come in the next day for a shot of Neulasta, knows the same. There's no reason for Amgen to advertise this stuff in the first place, because, undoubtedly, they're already making money hand over fist, let alone instruct chemotherapy patients to ask for this very expensive injection because, ahem, there's nothing else on the market like it. There's no competitor that I know of. There's no generic equivalent, either. The only reason Amgen is advertising is to boost sales to keep the shareholders happy. That's fine for the time being, I suppose. But if Hillary, or any one of her Democratic cohorts, snaffles up the presidency next year, you can bet that Amgen will be held up as a case study in greed when the issue of universal healthcare is brought up. Because you know it will be if a Democrat becomes president, no matter whom that particular Democrat might be.

  That won't make for such great PR, my fine feathered pharmaceutical friends, and will make the case for socialized medicine, with many, many price controls on things like pharmaceuticals, all the more compelling. Ya might want to think about that before your next ad buy, Amgen.

• Here's an excellent Berry Pie recipe for y'all to try if you can find reasonably priced berries in your local supermarket or farmer's market. Very tasty and it has the Cake Eater Seal of Approval.

  The only thing I will add by way of instruction is to let the berries cool. And when I say cool, I mean "refrigerate for at least an hour after cooking" otherwise you'll end up with some highly edible berry slop in a pie crust.

  Yes, I learned this the hard way, why do you ask?

• I've been working my way through Simon Winchester's extensive catalog of works over the past several months, when I am capable of giving his writing the attention it deserves. (Anesthesia and chemotherapy not being great supporters of the skills of concentration.) I started with Krakatoa, and I enjoyed it so much, I moved on to The Sun Never Sets, which was published in the 1980's and is now published under the title Outposts: Journeys to the Surviving Relics of the British Empire, which I really do think he should update simply because someone needs to go to St. Helena and see if the schoolkids slide down the railings of that massive staircase still. I moved on to A Crack in the Edge of the World and The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary.

  Now, before I go further, I have to say that I really enjoy the way Winchester writes. He has an engaging style that informs but never condescends. He is never stingy with the information, either, and if he finds an interesting fact in his research, he'll share it with the reader in the footnotes. I've read some criticism that claims he digresses too much. That may be true, but his digressions are never boring, are most likely amusing in some fashion, and even if they don't add anything to the story he's laboring to tell, don't manage to take anything away from it, either. When it comes to his works that deal with natural disasters, like say, Krakatoa he gives you the overall picture of just what is going on with the geology, and he does so in a way that not only will you, the layman, understand, he does it in a way that you, too, can blather on at cocktail parties about plate tectonics and the Wallace Line using his examples. The thing is, your fellow cocktail partygoers will think you interesting if you use Winchester's examples. In the wrong hands, the geologic information his books contain could be very, very dry; in Winchester's, well, it's safe, for the most part. However, there is one book of his that is the exception that proves this rule. It is The Map That Changed the World: William Smith and the Birth of Geology and oy vey is it boring. Perhaps there's just not enough natural disaster in this book to make me want to labor through the portions on geology. I don't know. But I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever, at almost halfway, going to actually get onto the story of William Smith and his map, instead of reading about the seemingly fascinating geology of Oxfordshire and Sussex, England. Bleh.

  I need a volcano to explode. And soon. Otherwise I'm giving up.

• I will be posting a picture of my bald self sometime in the near future. Just as soon as I gin up the courage up actually pose for one. I'm doing this now because my eyebrows are almost non-existent and I would like to do it before they go completely and I look like Mrs. Potato Head without the eyelashes and eyebrows.
• In a related aside, forget the diamonds. Eyebrow pencil really is the bald girl's best friend.

  Although, I will state this much: it's very easy to go too far with the pencil. The line is very easy to cross. (Ha Ha. Get it? I kill myself sometimes.) Some days you look good. Some days you look like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. And it's not always easy to know when you're ready for your close-up, if you take my meaning.

• Steve-O is pretty much right on with his review of Live Free or Die Hard. Except for the fact that he says you shouldn't go see it. You should. Just at matinee prices.

  It's John McClane, for fuck's sake. You have to go see it. Or the terrorists will win.

  That said, I thought it was pretty ridiculous that a fighter pilot would be stupid enough to place his very expensive jet underneath a crumbling freeway. Just. Not. Gonna. Happen. I also though casting this guy as the FBI Director in charge of rounding up hackers, was a HUUUUUUGE mistake, because he, apparently, graduated from the Shatner School of Acting. With honors. Good Christ, the man sucked big, honking boulders he was so bad. And the contrast was made even more obvious because the always excellent Zeljko Ivanek was, somehow, his subordinate and showed him up in every scene, even if he really didn't have all that much to do. Every time Zeljko was onscreen, he did his job and he did it superbly. Yet, his big blue eyes also seemed to be pleading with the audience, "Yes, I know this guy sucks. Yes, I know I should be playing his part. You are correct in assuming I would do a good job with it. Unfortunately, I have a mortgage payment, just like everyone else, so forgive me for taking the work where I can find it. I promise to do better next time."

  I felt badly for Ivanek by the time the movie was over. I felt embarrassed to be a fan of a franchise who wouldn't take the opportunity to drain his immeasurable talents to the last drop for the benefit of all.

  I also thought that most reviewers, including Steve-O, missed the delicious irony of Mac Guy playing a hacker---who never touched a Mac. Heh. At least they got that bit right. It never ceases to piss me off when they show hackers working on Macs. No No NO NO. It doesn't work that way. Least of all because you cannot freakin' right click with a Mac. Sheesh.

And that's it for now, my devoted Cake Eater Readers.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:42 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 2309 words, total size 15 kb.

1 Inside you head appears to be a very interesting and entertaining place to be! ; )

Posted by: Chrissy at July 09, 2007 01:10 PM (6yHgW)

2 And here I thought it was boring.

Posted by: Kathy at July 09, 2007 02:22 PM (COFij)

3 Thanks for the pie recipe! It looks yummy. Love Emeril desserts. We're HUGE Winchester fans here too. Hubby being a rock hound by trade, he of course is besotted with them all, except "The Professor and the Madman"..... but I agree with you about the "The Map that Changed the World", myself.

Posted by: caltechgirl at July 09, 2007 06:42 PM (qPLLC)

4 Damnit! I missed the pie recipe by THATMUCH. My neighbor brought over a bucket full of handpicked raspberries. And I, being the kitchen dweeb that I am, did not think to look for a PIE RECIPE. Oh no. At present, tho, I have some raspberry preserves cooking in the bread machine. Yep. In the bread machine. Is it wrong that I cackled at the Swanson remark? Probably. Heh. AMEN AND GOD BLESS YOU FOR SAYING SO about the Great Tampon Conspirishee. I will NEVER understand, either, why the ones with no applicator are even MORE 'spensive. Go figure. BUT, I will say, however, that it's too difficult and not recommended that you "roll your own," so for now we're stuck with the price gouging. Finally, I cannot f'n believe how much that stuff costs. I can't remember what it was a very dear one to me had to have; it was a blood "booster" in the same vein (hahhahah I kill me) as Neulasta. There's gotta be a way to get that more inexpensively. GOT. TO. BE. The way I understand drug patents is: they have exclusivity for a year (?) and then other drug companies can make generic equivalents. Anyway. You look beautiful and I love you and I'm so glad you're feeling better. In the words of Billy Chrystal: you LOOOK MAHVELOUS. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at July 10, 2007 10:05 AM (p12TW)

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