Song Challenge Day 5: A Song That Needs to be Played Loud

It's time for day 5, "A song that needs to be played loud." 

I'll be honest, there are a lot of songs I crank the volume up for, but I think I need to go with this one: 

Yes, I know that's the cleaned-up version, so here's the original. 

Ok. So.

I know, I'm pretty white. I'm in no way saying I'm a "g" or anything like that. I know I am entirely removed from every single thing Fiddy is rapping about, here, and I have no intention of ever setting foot in a "club" for the rest of my life.

But.

Come on.

This song absolutely SLAPS, as the kids say, seventeen years after its release. Seriously, what dance/party playlist would be complete without this song, even nowadays? That's right, none. 

That hook, that beat. You know you love it.

Having never been to "da club" before, I still assert this is one of the best club songs ever.

Change my mind.

Keep tapping your toes and nodding your head.

Song Challenge Day 4: A Song That Reminds You of Someone You'd Rather Forget

Time for Day 4 of the Song Challenge, "A song that reminds you of someone you'd rather forget."

I'm going with this one:

If you've been following this blog for a while, or know me in person, you know who this song is about- I wrote about our breakup before.

Gomez sings about a man who started out wonderful, but whose narcissism took over her world, whose behavior trained her to put his needs before hers at all times. A man who had a somewhat carnal need to cause her pain, who would sabotage things she cared about simply because she cared about them. A man that kept holding her back and tearing her down.

And she sings about herself, a woman who tried. A woman whose idealism kept her hanging on, only causing her more pain. But who eventually lets go and realizes she's none of the things he made her think. That she's worth more.

Funny enough, the only part that's off is the, "In two months you replaced us," bit- in actuality, I found someone new in about two months, and he's the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

I left that ex out of self-preservation. But getting away from his toxicity has helped me gain a new perspective about myself, and started me on a journey with more self-love than I've ever felt for myself before. I still struggle with my self-image, but knowing I did my best but still made the best choice I could, helps me lean in a positive direction. 

Still, I don't really like thinking of him, if for no other reason than I've moved on and am in an astronomically better relationship, and dwelling on my abuser can lead to some pretty low lows. Thinking of him frequently takes me to dark places, so I try not to.  

Day 3: A Song That Reminds You of Summer

Time for Day 3, "A song that reminds you of summer."

Y'all are probably going to make fun of me, but this song makes me think of summer when I hear it:

While it gained a resurgence in popularity thanks to and is mostly associated with the film Shrek, the music video features clips from the criminally underrated/under-appreciated Mystery Men, in which it featured heavily, and is meant to imply the band is interacting with the film's stars. 

This song came out relatively close to when summer vacation starts for kids. At home, while my mom was running errands or taking my siblings to specialists, I'd put VH1 on in the background as I did chores, and this song must have played every gorram hour that summer following its release. It completely dominated my summer vacation. 

And the video itself, with its bright lighting and primary colors, invokes summer.

Honestly, I don't have a whole lot more to say about it. It's still a good song, despite what haters say, and the memes that center around it are just delightful (this is one of my favorites, being somewhat of a music snob)- and the band is cool with them, even!

Really, I think the people ragging on "All Star" just hate happiness.

Song Challenge Day 2: A Song With a Number in the Title

Time for Day 2: "A song you like with a number in the title."

Easy pick, this one was:

I first heard this song in the movie Fly Away Home, of all places. I loved that movie- I watched it every time it was on TV. I even bought a copy of it when I was in college, although somewhere along the way it got lost.

A year after the movie came out (so in 1997), my grandmother passed away from lung cancer. It wasn't a long, drawn-out battle, either- she was diagnosed in October and passed a few days after my birthday in March. (Happy birthday to me, right? Some sort of fucked up cosmic joke, and to this day, it's a reason I'm often reluctant to give a shit about making it another year.) It was sudden, nigh traumatic- in the blink of an eye, she went from teaching me about the pork and beans plant to herself being a vegetable, and then...

Losing her was the beginning of the lifetime of hardship I've endured. While I've had some brief moments of respite, it continues to be difficult, and beyond your everyday annoyances- deaths, suicides, abuse, couch surfing, health scares of my own (most of it I haven't even bothered to bring up here)- yadda, yadda, yadda. There is a reason I call this blog American Dramady, after all. In my lowest moments, I lament how life won't give me a fucking break. I try to come out swinging, and do my best to laugh, but it can be difficult. So sometimes I find irrational things from which to draw strength when I can.

The singer is saying goodbye to someone they love dearly. But saying they won't be gone forever. Maybe it's entirely psychosomatic, but I think I created this unspoken promise from her- the promise that she'd still be there, here, present. So I almost immediately related this song to my grandma once she was gone. And to this day, whenever I play it, I can feel her fingers scratching my scalp to comfort me (it was literally the only thing that could calm me down when I was little). I can smell her perfume. I can hear her laugh. I can hear her do that thing where she starts saying one of my siblings' names and switches to mine halfway through, something that never ceased to make me giggle. I see her working in the garden, the flowers we planted together, the butterfly she once got to land on her finger. I can smell her cooking, and I think of corned beef hash and scrambled eggs, of vanilla ice cream topped with canned peaches (I can't eat those combinations, to this day).

And I know she's there. And somehow, it's not that cheesy, "You'll be in my heart, always," kind of way. It feels tangible, again, however irrational it may be. And even though I often start sobbing (like I am now, 'natch!), it's cleansing. Grandma never told me not to cry- she didn't like seeing me sad or in pain, but she never told me to "stop crying." She knew me enough to know that if I was crying, it was because I needed it. I'd do that thing little kids do where their breath starts to heave as they're blubbering, and she'd curl me up in her arms and say it's ok, let it out, as she stroked my head, and I knew I was safe. And I'd feel better a lot faster when she did that. The release when I play "10000 Miles" is the same.

The soothing mood of the song is a lot like her presence. I think that had a lot to do with why I assigned this song to her memory. I only ever saw her angry once, and it had nothing to do with me- other than that, she was just this calm, steady, constant presence.

Until she wasn't.

And the hint of sadness weaved throughout this song echoes the pain I still feel at her loss. Twenty-three years later, and it still feels fresh. Her death cut too deep for any song I equate with her to be cheerful- I can't force myself to laugh over losing her. I can laugh when recalling specific moments, but that's not the same thing.

I know I'm high-strung/emotional/whatever. And yeah, I'm sentimental a-eff. There are much less healthy coping mechanisms, though, right? 

So even though it may appear this song makes me sad, it actually gives me comfort and strength. And even as I wipe away tears, I feel better. I don't listen to it often, deliberately- it's kind of like a trump card for me, along with watching The Last Unicorn, something I save for when things are really hard so as not to dilute its effectiveness. And I think it's no coincidence that the same grandma that is the basis for The Last Unicorn being a source of comfort is the one I'm talking about here, as well.

It's hard for me to find sanctuary. In this song, I do. 

I promise, tomorrow's won't be as sad. ;p

Song Challenge Day 1: A Song with a Color in the Title

So because of this pandemic, I've been home for over a month at this point. I've been trying to find different ways to occupy myself so as to not go stir-crazy or get too depressed, so I thought I would take this song challenge thing a friend on Facebook is doing and expand on it a little each day here. 

I know I'm starting in the middle of the month, so I'll just do all 31. Not that anyone will really care all that much, but it will be something for me to do aside from watching TV (I'm currently in season 3 of Star Trek: Voyager) or playing video games (Bloodborne and the Resi 3 remake, a topic about which I hope to rant at some point soon, too, if I can just figure out how to say what I want).

So, day 1 is "A song with a color in the title." Here's my choice:

I think the meaning behind this song often gets lost in the upbeat tempo and catchy hooks- but when you listen to the lyrics, it's not just about missing someone or something you took for granted. It's about conservation and enviornmentalism. 

"Hey farmer, farmer/ Put away the DDT now/ Give me spots on my apples/ But leave me the birds and the bees/ Please."

You can be kind of snarky about it and say she's singing about sex, and I'm sure she deliberately chose that lyric in order to facilitate multiple meanings. But a different interpretation is she's telling a farmer to quit using pesticides on apples so it doesn't destroy the environment.

This song is fifty years old. And how are we doing?

Welp.

-We have ten years before the entire global ecosystem collapses, with losses of coasts and islands due to sea levels rising as a result of ice caps melting, all coral reefs dying, water scarcity, crop failures...

-Oh, those ice caps are likely to so depleted that there will be no ice during summer seasons within thirty years. 

-Most of the ecosystems in our oceans my collapse within this decade. 

-And we're totally not prepared for what could happen if we don't improve our policies and repair the damage, since we aren't doing enough to stave off catastrophe.

It's a damned shame.

Now I know anybody interested in reading what I have to say is already on board with this, but it's just infuriating because my generation and those after me are inheriting this almost literal trash fire from our parents and grandparents- and they're fine with it! They'll be dead, so they don't give a shit.

I know I could do better- I could probably use less water when doing dishes, taking showers,etc., but there's still the fact that one person's contribution is negligible when compared to the biggest polluting companies in the world- so much so that the top eight produce more pollution than that caused by every person in the U.S. combined. 

But the raw molecules are only part of the story. Between the narrative sold to us by consumerism and society, and the increasing neoliberalism rampant in our political structures (the emphasis on the individual), we're stuck in a system where we think we have choices, but we don't, and we think our choices will make a difference, but their impact will only be marginal at best (assuming everyone makes the right ones together).

But this is a lie.

In truth, these companies have known as early as five years before Joni Mitchell wrote "Big Yellow Taxi" that they would destroy the environment. And instead of changing course, turning themselves into renewable sources of energy, they doubled down and bought government leaders- Congresspeople, governors, mayors, presidents. They secure funding and tax breaks, they block policies that would go so far as to require them to (literally) clean up their act even just a fraction of a percent a year. They fund erroneous research via "thinktanks" they front, all the while putting forth a false pretense of being "clean" and "caring" about our environment and the world in which we live. Current marketing campaigns with sweeping shots of solar panels and an exaggerated presentation of their "push" for alternative energy like the video on this page abound.

Interestingly, in that video, they emphasize how they've spent $16.5B on this research since 2000. But, given the lowest their annual revenue has been since then was $205.251B, one would think that if they really cared as much as they did, they would be spending a lot more on alternatives and efficiency- as it stands, $16.5B over twenty years isn't much at all for a company that huge.

And yet, they've convinced us that we are the ones at fault, for our own daily practices. It's our fault for driving so much, let alone how their cohorts block public transit and oil companies contributed to the fall of the first wave of electric cars by GM in the '90s. It's our fault for using traditional energy, yet they make no effort to create affordable solar or wind options for anyone aside from the 1%. It's our fault for using gorram plastic straws (and plastic in general), even though the alternatives are still more expensive and sometimes don't quite cut it.

The only way things are going to improve is if fundamental shifts in how our society functions and operates occur. Mass transit needs to become the primary means of transportation in every community. Renewable energy for the home needs to not only be made affordable for the middle-class, but flat-out provided to the working poor. Plastic alternatives need to be less expensive. Fossil fuel companies' current sources of revenue, i.e. fossil fuels, need to become obsolete. Tesla can't be the only company making fully electric cars.

Big changes. And we're nowhere near any of them right now.

So, "Big Yellow Taxi." Every time I hear it, whether it's the original or that ubiquitous cover by the Counting Crows and Vanessa Carleton, I tap my toes while also kind of having a slight tantrum in my head. Because fifty years ago, one of the greatest singer-songwriters of the last century warned us about what we're doing to our planet. And we haven't really listened.

We won't really know what we've got until it's gone, and by then, it will be too late.

Happy Friday?

A Big Fat Problem

Story Time:

On the 2oth, right in the middle of this Covid-19 pandemic, my throat started to hurt. I brushed my teeth three times that day and used mouthwash after every time I ate something, but the morning of the 21st, I realized I needed to get in touch with a doctor somehow because I was likely coming down with strep throat- swallowing was more difficult than normal, and when I was talking to my cats (I do this, so what?), I noticed I was swallowing a lot more than usual, something that happens when I have strep. I tried to avoid going into a clinic, since I know they're bogged down and stuff, but since my primary care office was closed (it was a Saturday), I had to go to an urgent care clinic. I've been to this location probably seven or eight times at this point, and the clinic itself is lovely, but I did feel bad taking up their time during all of this chaos. Still, I chose this location specifically because they'd have record of a lot of my past bouts with strep and, hopefully, that would expedite the process.

The nurse and I were joking around (I always try to be fun with healthcare professionals) when she was getting my temperature and doing my throat swab for the strep test, and when I told her my history with strep and the exact prescriptions and dosages I was hoping to get from the doctor to alleviate my symptoms, she was impressed. "Wow, you know exactly what you need! You'll be out of here and feeling better in no time!"

She was also impressed with how I handled the throat swab- "Dang, I can tell you've done this plenty of times before, you didn't even flinch!" 

Her confidence in the care I was about to receive had me in a pretty good mood when she left the room with my throat culture sample, and I felt relieved.

Then the doctor came in, and her first words were, "The test came back negative, so you just have a sore throat." She was terse and rather than make eye contact, she was looking me up and down,  lingering on my stomach a lot.

"I was expecting that, but let's send the sample out," I said, trying to be cheery. "Pretty much every time it goes to the lab after being negative in the office, the lab calls me back and says they got a positive result. It's in my chart, if you want to take a look."

"If you insist, we can send it out." Another pause to look me up and down. "Let's check your breath." She spent a long time on this, which I understand, given breathing problems is a big part of Covid-19. When she felt my neck, her fingers barely touched my skin, and it came across more as for show than any sincere effort to find out if anything is actually swollen. When she looked in my throat, it was for less than a second, and she immediately turned her back to me and said, "You don't have spots, so you don't have strep."

"Again, that doesn't surprise me, but I've had positive lab results without spots plenty of times before, so in my experience, that doesn't rule it out. It's all there in my chart, if you'd look at it really quick. If you'd just prescribe me an antibiotic now, I can avoid having to go back to the pharmacy once the lab results come back. The less I have to go out during all this, the better, right?"

"Well I think you just have a sore throat, so I'm not giving you an antibiotic." She folded her arms across her chest while turning back to me to stare at my stomach again, and she pointedly made no effort to move towards the computer to look at my records.

"Ok, well, if you look at my history, you'll see how often the rapid tests are negative and the lab ones are positive, so are you sure we can't just be proactive here?"

Looking me up and down again, still not at the computer, "You don't have strep. You have no fever, no spots, your lymph nodes are barely swollen. You just have nasal drip or something." She shook her head back and forth really quickly a few times to emphasize her frustration.

"Look, it's true, I get nasal drip, but this is beyond that, I can feel it. I know what my body's trying to tell me, I have some sort of infection. Maybe not even strep, but a sinus infection, at least, since they often start out like this, too. Please, just look at my chart and you'll see this happens to me all the time."

She rolled her eyes, unfolded her arms, and stepped to the computer. I let out a little sigh of relief, which she heard and gave me side-eye for. Then a second or two later, "Well I see here you have seasonal allergies, it's probably just that."

"Atually, my allergen hasn't even been pollinating-"

"I'm going to re-prescribe your antihistamines to stop the drip, since it's obvious this is just your allergies acting up, and I'm going to give you a spray to numb your throat." Lazer eyes.

"I'll take the allergy meds, since I can always use more of those, but my allergies aren't what's causing this, I know it, so I don't really NEED-need them right now. And ma'am, I'm going to have to say no to the spray. Those don't do anything to reduce swelling and only hide inflammation, not get rid of it. I want something to actually stop the swelling and inflammation, and if you're not willing to give me an antibiotic, can I at least get a steroid to do that for me? Prednisone has always worked to actually end the symptoms, especially when paired with Amoxicillin or something." (Amoxicillin is a fairly strong antibiotic; Prednisone is a steroid.)

"I'm not giving you Amoxicillin, but I can give you Prednisone if you don't want a spray."

"Ok, thank you."

"I'll go put that in and be right back."

The door closed exponentially louder behind her than it had the nurse.

It wasn't until I was home with my Prednisone that I realized it was the weakest dosage I've ever received. And since I wasn't even very congested at that point, and no, my allergies were not acting up, the allergy meds did nothing. The lab results did come back negative, but that weak steroid dosage wasn't strong enough to even reduce, let alone eliminate, the swelling.  So here I am, six days later, and I feel worse. My throat is more swollen, I have some spots on my throat now, the inflammation has spread to a larger area, and I'm pretty sure I have at least a bad sinus infection, if not also strep, because now I am congested and I've had a constant sinus headache since yesterday morning, plus that kind of mildly foggy feeling that accompanies either strep or sinusitis. There was even a little blood in the gunk I coughed up this morning (something I'll get to in a second). 

Exposition Time: 
I mentioned before that strep is a Thing I deal with a lot, but didn't go into the nitty-gritty as to why. There's a sort of long history that's catching up to me, now that I live in a place with grass, so if you don't mind....

When I was a kid, I got various throat infections a lot, likely due to my crappy sinuses. I've had nasal drip pretty much my entire life, to some extent, and it comes as no surprise that this leads to inflammation or worse in my throat. In particular, I came down with strep throat a few times a year, without fail, but for this, that, and the other reasons, my tonsils were never removed. So, every infection led to more scar tissue and damage on my tonsils. By this, I mean that while a healthy tonsil looks more like a golf ball, mine look more like peach pits now- lots of deep crevices and literal holes in which anything going down my throat (nasal drip or otherwise) can get stuck. Add to this the recent revelation from an ENT that my tonsils never shrank, it's pretty easy to understand how a small sinus issue can turn into a big throat one- I have abnormally large tonsils, each with their own networks of Grand Canyons in which bacteria can fester and multiply. And unfortunately, there's only so much that a good oral hygiene regimen can do for me to reduce the gunk- it helps, but it can't prevent infections entirely. My tonsils are just too messed up and there's just too much drip for that. I cough up a glob of mucus every morning (and during the day, if I need to) and use alcohol-free mouthwash to kill bacteria, but I can't get everything out of my tonsils all the time. I take expectorants like Mucinex to thin the stuff out a lot, too, but that only does so much, as well.

I'm also severely allergic to grass. So much so that multiple allergists have said if it gets any worse, I would need to carry a rescue inhaler- and I've never had anything resembling asthma in my life. Now, this wasn't a huge problem for me when I was growing up, since I lived in Las Vegas, where it's just, y'know, dirt. But once college happened and I moved to greener areas, my sinuses got exponentially worse, and I was diagnosed (again, multiple times) with varying forms of chronic sinusitis/sinus infections as a result of constant exposure to grass pollen. So, my sinuses are making more mucus now, which means more gunk is sliding down my throat, which means more gunk is getting stuck in those crevices, which means more throat infections. For the past three years, I've had strep on average about a half-dozen times- each. Not overall, each. Each year.

Me, trying to sleep on the couch to
elevate my head and reduce the sinus pressure

Due to the nature of the infection, strep isn't the kind of thing I can anticipate and schedule an appointment in advance for (at least no more than twenty-four hours), nor are sinus infections. And since I work hourly and have hardly any sick time (the state of Washington mandates it for everyone, but it's reeeeeeeally slow in accruing), the best I can do is bounce around urgent care clinics. And thus I have never seen the same doctor twice for throat issues. This is why I've made a concerted effort over the last year to go to the same one every time, so that they'd have an ongoing record of all of this crap to use as a reference. But, even though I've been there a bunch of times, for whatever reason, I still keep seeing a different doctor every visit.

The first few times (in the past couple years) I was diagnosed with strep, I waited until the symptoms were all-consuming before seeing a doctor, until the fever and full-body aches and being unable to swallow or talk was making me basically non-functional and "look like death" (according to a boss that sent me home on one such occasion). So, understandably, the rapid strep tests done in the office those times came back positive, and I was immediately prescribed steroids to reduce the swelling and inflammation (once even given a shot right then and there, which was just. MAGICAL.) and antibiotics to get rid of the infection. But I'm a grown-ass woman, and I know my body. So I've become pretty damn adept at telling when it's starting to fester, and now I go the moment I start suspecting it's happening. I don't think it's a coincidence, then, that I haven't had a positive in-office rapid test result in two years.

But.

Only twice did the result once my sample was sent to the lab (something you can request if you think it was a false negative, or if there are symptoms pointing to strep but the original test was negative) remain negative. In other words, I've become good enough at detecting when my body is coming down with strep that I get into the doctor before it's severe enough for the quick test to show it, but once they let it grow in a Petrie dish, my samples come back positive. And those two times it didn't come back positive, I was still diagnosed with a sinus infection, so I was still on the right track. 

And this, friends, is where it gets hairy. 

Because in all these times (at least a dozen at this point) that the rapid test came back negative, there's been a pretty even split between doctors that took me seriously and doctors that didn't. This has led to a direct correlation between how seriously I'm taken and how quickly I feel better. And I think a major contributing factor is

BECAUSE I'M FAT, I'M FAT, COME ON,
YA KNOW!

I'm overweight; it just is what it is. And I genuinely believe this is impacting the quality of care I've been receiving. 

It's a known fact that there are myriad biases in medicine. Gender, race, and general heuristics/shortcuts  can impact how a doctor interprets symptoms and how well they actually listen to their patients, as well as influence the steps the doctor decides are necessary. There is a reason black women are more than twice as likely to die giving birth than their white counterparts.  

And unfortunately, weight is another basis for discrimination in the doctor's office. Life-threatening issues unrelated to weight get ignored in favor of diagnoses more easily linked to obesity; discussions, no matter where they start, always get looped back to how losing weight will fix the problem; overweight patients don't even get the chance to explain what they're going through before doctors assume their only problem is their size. This leads to not only inadequate care, but also frequently results in disengagement with and avoidance of the healthcare system on the part of overweight and obese patients. 

So in light of this, think about that interaction I described with the doctor at the urgent care. While sure, I have no doubt she was at least partly frustrated because some crazy lady insisted she had strep during a global pandemic and oh! look! the rapid test was negative; her body language and the way she kept looking me up and down (especially the lingering on my stomach) left no room for doubt in my mind that my weight was a huge factor in her treatment of me. She made hardly any effort to really check to see how swollen my throat actually was and wanted to prescribe me something that has nothing to do with swelling (the spray), even though I was there because my throat was swollen and I was having a harder time swallowing and talking than normal. She was visibly annoyed at my insistence she simply look at my medical history. She would not listen when I tried to explain to her why I was certain I had some sort of infection. She prescribed me allergy medicine I explicitly told her I did not need, and gave me a super low dosage for the one thing I asked for that she was willing to give, the Prednisone. And even though she insisted it was allergies, she never even bothered to ask me what I'm allergic to, even cut me off when I tried to tell her. 

She's not the first doctor to insist all I had was just a "sore throat." She isn't even the first to prescribe me a numbing spray, which is why I knew it wouldn't work and put my foot down with her. Other doctors, even if they admitted my lymph nodes were swollen, have fallen back on my allergies and nasal drip and said all I needed was to numb my tonsils and it will pass. Never mind the fact that, again, sprays like that don't reduce swelling or stop inflammation- they literally just numb the area, hiding the symptoms, not ending them. Twice, when I was feeling sicker than I did with this most recent doctor and thus didn't have the energy to fight the doctors on those occasions over the spray, I called my pharmacy as I was leaving and told them not to bother with it. Both of those times, I got a phone call two days later saying my lab result was a positive strep test. THEN I went to the pharmacy, to get my antibiotic. Both those times, it was around two weeks before I felt entirely normal again. 

Me, to these doctors

In contrast, when doctors listened to me and understood, even if the lab result took three days to come back as positive, by then I would at least already be feeling a little better, since they had prescribed me much stronger courses of Prednisone- one even scoffed at the idea of a spray when I brought it up with him, asking him why he didn't try that ("Those don't do shit for swelling, as you know!"). Each of those times, I felt fine and was more frustrated I had to stay home for twenty-four hours while the antibiotic kicked in (twenty-four hours is the standard time for an antibiotic to eliminate the possibility of infecting others) because I was feeling mostly normal by the time I even started said antibiotic.

How I felt every time I left these doctor visits

So What?

I would think it's fairly obvious why this upsets me. On a personal level, I'm in pain and feel like crap because that doctor wouldn't listen to me. Because at the very least, if she had given me a stronger course of steroids, my throat wouldn't hurt nearly as much as it does right now. And it also felt super shitty to be so overtly judged and dismissed for my size by someone who is supposed to want to help me, especially when in direct contrast with the positive way the nurse responded to my needs- she seemed totally confident I'd walk out with antibiotics and a steroid, and she verbally praised my knowledge of my body's needs. Going from the nurse to the doctor was a complete 180, and it was emotionally harrowing. 

On a greater level, like I said before, it's common knowledge that this is a Thing, even if it doesn't get, like, huge coverage in the media. And I stand by all my fat brothers and sisters in declaring this unjust. I shouldn't have to say this by now, but there are lots of reasons for people's being overweight, and it's not always lifestyle choices. At one point, my primary care doctor told me I would never be under a size twelve, which is considered "plus-sized," because of my build, genetics, and metabolism. I had been dieting and exercising "like I'm supposed to," according to the cultural zeitgeist, but she told me to stop because I would never get down to a size close to what I wanted (I was hoping for a six or eight), and there was no point in being miserable about my body AND my desire to eat a fucking cheeseburger- I may as well eat the cheeseburger, she said, otherwise I would just be more miserable, plus could actually put myself in danger, since my body is not set up to be that small. And I know this is a factor that often gets glossed over, that some people are just bigger by nature.

Discrimination like this is unkind at best, and dangerous at worst. And I use that word deliberately- discrimination. Because us bigger folks, our rights as patients are being ignored or flat-out denied simply because of how we look. We deal with marginalization in so many other areas of our lives, and having it take place in the area that is meant to keep us living is tragic. We shouldn't avoid care because we're afraid of being judged. We shouldn't get sicker because we're being ignored. We shouldn't die because we weren't taken seriously. Nobody should, for any reason.

Caveat(s):

1) Ok, so I know the timing of this rant is pretty shitty- there's literally a global pandemic on the loose, yeah. And believe me, I am 100% on the side of healthcare workers in the face of this Covid-19 crisis. My heart goes out to them now, and if there was ever a time to make the argument health care workers deserve hazard pay, now is it. 

But. A clinic being busy is no excuse for discriminatory service. I would hope this isn't a controversial statement, but who knows? I can totally see a bunch of death threats coming my way because I'm not supporting our troops healthcare workers right now. But honestly, if they do, it would just prove my point, that people don't give a shit about fat people, and that the biases and prejudices that lead to this uneven care are justified by society as a whole.

2) There's hope for my immediate recovery. I have to jump through some hoops, but provided my throat doesn't swell shut before then and I end up in urgent care once more, I have an appointment with my primary care doctor Monday morning and that aforementioned ENT Tuesday morning. Between the two of them, I should be able to get what I need. It's just shitty it's going to take this many talks/visits to get what I could have had from day one. 

You, right now

I know, and that's kind of the point. I'm lucky I'm going to (eventually) get what I need, and it shouldn't be that way. But it is what it is. Sucks, doesn't it?

Fin.

Abusing is a Choice, and Johnny Made it, Too

Mild Spoilers for Big Little Lies- because let's face it, I think errbody knows the deal with Nicole Kidman's character by now, but just in case you have NO IDEA and just CAN'T be spoiled in the least, you may wanna skip this one, kiddo

In Big Little Lies, season 1, we are witness to the abusive and toxic  relationship between Celeste (played beautifully, heartbreakingly by Nicole Kidman) and her husband Perry (played hauntingly by Alexander Skarsgard (sorry, I legit can't figure out how to do the little doodad over the second "a" in his name :( )). While we can see Celeste getting something out of it, the show tries to make it pretty clear that Perry is the abuser and Celeste is the abused.

Then season 2 happens.

And while I can't find any super useful clips online (good job, HBO, you bastards), it complicates this dichotomy more. Because during the course of the second season, Celeste admits to having also hit Perry, and that the abuse made sex with him more exciting and satisfying. In the end, she still proves that this does not make her an unfit mother, and that she did what she had to do to adapt to her situation and survive. Ultimately, she admits some culpability while still maintaining that she lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety for her own safety and the safety of her twin sons.

In other words, the show moves from painting her as 100% a victim to having somewhat of a hand in her situation, while still maintaining she was, overall, a victim. I can't remember all the ways how, but I know between the two seasons, as well as the combination of Celeste's descriptions to others plus the times we're actually shown the violence, it's made clear that Perry used his greater physical strength and size against her by pinning her, lifting her in a way that made her prone and defenseless (by her hair at least once, for example), and/or trapping her in places from which she had no escape (although it backfired in the shower that one time, but it's likely that was a fluke and who knows? a predator like that, he'd probably hit her in the shower before; it's at least not hard to believe, especially given how utterly terrified she is that time he gives her a necklace in there). So even though there are a few times where she stands up for herself and essentially "starts" the fight (which is, of course, messed up- it's not like she deserves to be punched for trying to set a boundary), in the end, he would use tactics that rendered her helpless and overpower her before she even had much chance to physically harm him. Still, even though she accepts and works through the fact that she wasn't 100% innocent, that doesn't mean she deserved what happened, nor that her treatment of Perry is equivalent to how he treated her.

I bring this up because this news about Amber Heard and Johnny Depp reminds me of it. And what's so fucking frustrating about it is from the moment Heard published her op-ed in the New York Times, the idea that she's making it all up has been pretty damn loud. So now that there is audio where she admits some culpability, there's suddenly this huge "Justice for Johnny" campaign that entirely exonerates him from his part in the abuse.

Not even that. It paints him as 100% the victim, as Season 1 Celeste. Like he was entirely innocent and did absolutely nothing to harm Heard.

And I'm over here thinking, "Fuck, did these people all read the same stuff I did before?"

Me, to the whole Internet lately

Because this "free Johnny" stuff ignores that she has photographic evidence of abuse, has corroboration from friends who took her call when she was upset over him getting physical, who came over and saw the aftermath, or called 911 for her because they could hear it happening. 

Also.

Listen to the audio. His language is frequently one of mutual culpability. Lots of "we," lots of "you and I"-ing. And "...physical abuse on each other." And having been afraid of a partner, I know that yes, sometimes a victim will claim some fault in order to placate them during reconciliation- I've been there. But if this is all we have, then conjecture and assuming that's all he's doing is... reckless, at best. 

And yes, it's important to acknowledge that he does talk about leaving... once. One night, out of the eighteen months they were married, plus their time together before nuptials. 

Unfortunately, this isn't a television drama. This is real life. Unlike Celeste and Perry's story, we can't see everything- every fight, every instance of abuse. So we have no way of knowing exactly what happened every time they got physical with each other.

But.

Heard admitting she would "lose it" does not mean Depp never did, too. Heard admitting she hit him doesn't mean Depp never hit her. 

And folks, I've been around abuse. Even if he didn't start it every single time, he always, always had a choice. The fact that he made the right one once doesn't mean he did it every time. 

I've said (or maybe implied, I guess) before, I got out of my abusive relationship probably within a few days of being phyically abused. I was lucky. But when we were still together, I could get pretty nasty when we were fighting.

My ex-boyfriend has a son that, at the time we started dating, he hadn't seen in well over a year. When I left him, he still hadn't- so by then, it had been closer to four years. And as awful as I feel about it, as un-proud I am about it, I used that against him. I would say things like, "Maybe if you got your fucking shit together, I'd finally get to meet the kid you claim you want me to be a mom to!" and, "You think you deserve to see your kid when you act like that?" or even, "He's better off without you."

You, to me

I know. I hate me a little for it, and I always will. I apologized to him as I was leaving, but I'll probably never forgive myself. I lashed out, said things I knew would wound him severely as a result of and in retaliation for the wounds he had given me. In other words, I made the choice to hurt him back.

As I've said before,* being good is a choice. Doing the right thing is just that: An action verb, a gerund**. It's not passive. No one is good, we do as much good as we can. Just being oneself is a process, and all we can do is make it a process focused on doing the "right" thing every time we're given a choice not to.

I bring this up to point out that while I'm more of a Season 2 Celeste, someone that was hurt and maybe did some stupid stuff as a result/way to cope, Heard isn't automatically a Perry- essentially evil, nigh irredeemably so- just because she admits she was also abusive. Mutual abuse is, by its very nature, never one-sided. And it's horrendously, uncomfortably, disturbingly complex. It's not black-and-white, it's all kinds of gray, and not that 50-shades ball-hooey.

Unlike the Entire Internet, I don't find it hard to believe that Heard could have hit Depp but that he also hit her, too. Her admitting culpability does not absolve him from his. Worst case scenario: They're both absolute trash and neither deserves a career anymore because fuck that. But that's just it: BOTH OF THEM. Because if Heard deserves to be "canceled" or whatever for hitting Depp, then the same goes for him. 

And of course, I have no doubt Depp was hurting, too, and not just physically. It's obvious in the recordings (and stands to reason) that he loved her and wanted to make things work. Because another thing about abusive relationships that people tend to gloss over is that someone can, in the best way they're capable of, love the partner they abuse. Yes, it's twisted, it's selfish, it's toxic, but it's still their version of love. And so I do have some sympathy for both, because by golly, I can't imagine how fucked up it would be to have that much extremity involved with the person I love- the guilt, the shame, the anger, but also the joy, the bliss, the passion. But is it so hard to believe that they both chose to hurt one another? At least subconsciously, if not overtly?

Apparently it is!!!!***

Honestly, though, what this whole "free Johnny" crap demonstrates is the deep misogyny embedded in the public reaction to all of this, and the double standards women face when they try to come forward about abuse of any kind. Because like I said, since Heard first came forward, the court of public opinion has basically put her on trial the way victims are treated in real court rooms. Take Taylor Swift's case for example: The opposing attorney was basically just trying to gaslight her the whole time she was on the stand (and how glorious it was that she was not having it) (you may dislike her music, but that's fucking badass, come on). All sorts of shit about how Heard could have left sooner, it wasn't like she didn't have her own money, if he was already abusing her why did she marry him, etc. It's just disgusting.

So now? Now, there's an excuse to just brush her off entirely.

JK Rowling must be wiping her TERFy forehead with relief right now, I tell ya. 

As a slight aside, too- I know from experience that toxicity is never there from the beginning. It seeps in, slowly, gradually, until suddenly you realize you're covered in it and basically this guy:

So this idea that she "should" have got out sooner if he was so bad is hogwash. Saying stuff like "leave the first time he disrespects you" and "the moment he tells you what to wear, get out" is a form of victim-blaming, and it's easy to say from the outside. Nevermind the fact that so much of what makes domestic abuse so difficult to get away from is the unhealthy dependency that gets conditioned into both parties- no, just get out as soon as he's a little mean!

But that's just it: It always starts small, in little ways that are easy to explain and forgive. And when you're in the thick of the relationship, you're seeing the forest and missing the trees. And eventually you're so busy staring at the canopy, you fail to realize that 90% of the trees are actually rotten. And even though maybe you see dying trees in your periphery, you focus like a lazer on the one or two that are still green and beautiful, because it's the only way you can keep going, the only way to justify to yourself the fact that you fell for it. 

And honestly? This could genuinely apply to both Heard and Depp. They're only human. Neither of them was throwing stuff or pulling hair the first week. It started with a nasty remark, maybe a slap or pulled puch that was legitimately meant to be a joke. And as time went on, they both started doing things that were worse, darker, progressively less and less okay, less and less funny. Until POOF! their behavior got so extreme there were bruises and blood. As Depp put it, it was "a crime scene." It evolved into that, though, crept up on both of them.

But to assume it's all made up when Heard is the victim, and then that everything she says is suddenly true as long as it pertains to hurting Depp is downright gross. There's a recording of Heard admitting she hit him, there's also at least one third party that says they witnessed Depp hitting her. 

I want to reiterate that last point- a THIRD PARTY witness has given statements about the abuse inflicted on Heard. Ignoring this while taking that recording at face value is willful hypocrisy. 

I don't give a damn about either of them individually, no more than I would anyone else I don't know- I don't wish them harm, no, but I don't stay up at night worrying if either is ok. But this wave of "free Johnny" stuff, that I care about, and that has literally kept me up at night- because it's another example of a woman's case being nitpicked and torn apart in order to exonerate the man that did her harm. And even if she hit him, he hit her, too (and, according to that friend of Heard's, even ripped some of her gorram hair out). Sure, she should be held accountable- I'm not saying she shouldn't. But so should he. And if you think for one moment that he's innocent now, then just get your head out of your ass, or admit you're a sheep that's too easily duped by misogynistic narratives that are formulated specifically to preserve male hegemony. Please, people just....

*Oh me from a few years ago, admiring Hillary so blindly........... We all make mistakes. Le sigh.

**I fucking love gerunds. About as much as my Oxford commas. 

***Pardon my terrible MS Paint job. A more skilled person would turn it into a gif somehow. I am not that person.