I've been properly ill since Thursday (CHRISTMAS!) and in denial about it for a few days before, so I suppose I've been ill for about a week now. I don't get sick often, and as Steve, or my late mother would tell you, I'm no picnic when I'm in this state. I'm needy, pathetic and a bit smelly. But nonetheless I am also, in these dark times, introspective. Here are six of the most important things I've learned through this recent bout of festive flu.
1. Smelling stuff is important. I haven't been able to smell my food for days, making everything I put in my mouth nothing but flavourless textures. Do you know how gross a banana feels in your mouth if you can't taste it? I hope you never will. My poor husband has had to put up with my toxic mouth-breathing and my apprehension to shower because fever. Poor man. I can't smell me, but he can.
2. Sick is better with people. The last time I was this ill was 2003 and it was Christmas once again (WTF, Santa?!) I was all alone in my London flat with a fever of 104 and all of the shops were closed, so I had no medication to ease the bone-crushing pain of flu. After a couple of hellish days solo, one of my flatmates returned home to find me under a pile of blankets, nearly comatose and threw me in a cold bath. Thank you, Kristo, you may have saved my life. Anyway, this time I have a wonderful, doting husband who helps me make soup and unwrap my presents. Who makes frowny faces with me when the thermometer still reads 39 degrees and who doesn't roll his eyes every time I whimper or steal the remote. I really hope I don't get him sick, but if I do, I'll for sure be a worthy sick companion for him. It's the least I can do.
3. My body and brain are not friends. My brain is all, "let's do this IT'S CHRISTMAS!" But my body is like, "I hate Christmas and I hate you." I thought my body and brain were tight, I thought they were in sync and buddies. I was so wrong. I now have no idea who I can trust.
4. Using the internet while ill is not advised. These past few days I've either been compelled to spend stupid money on shit I don't need to make myself feel better that won't actually make me feel better (Prada handbag.) Or obsessively looking at Facebook to see what a great time all my friends are having on their holidays while I'm sequestered to my sofa. I'm having FOMO (fear of missing out) so severe it's escalated to POME (panic of missing everything) and it's really fucking with me. It's not that I don't want my friends to be having the best time. I really do, but I'd like some fun too, please and I'm not finding it at the bottom of all these boxes of tissues.
5. I am not sexy when I'm sick. I legit tried to do a Monica to Steve the other night. I tried to seduce him with my runny nose, hacking cough and incredibly sore body. He almost fell for it too, poor bugger. I've been trying to do it every day since and now he just laughs in my face. Who knows what lasting effect this will have on my self-esteem.
6. I have great friends and family. From my incredible hubby rebuffing my sexual advances to my friends sending me silly messages and TV recommendations it all helps. And although the hubby is making me watch a space film with a talking raccoon right now, I'll take this over the icy loneliness of 2003 any day.
Moral of the story: Sick sucks, but navigating it's tricky and often unpredictable terrain is best done with company.
Saturday 27 December 2014
Tuesday 23 December 2014
Goodbye to Gram
It's been three weeks since my last post and I've missed this.
I went away with my fabulous husband to visit my family and best friend in Massachusetts and then to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary in NYC. That trip was all I'd wanted and more. Third row tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch with a surprise signing of programs by the cast afterwards, The Christmas Spectacular at Radio City with the Rockettes and of course a lot of time spent shopping, drinking and just being with my wonderful spouse.
However this time spent in America was bittersweet. I heard the news that my seemingly invincible Grandmother had taken ill on Thanksgiving Day. She had been suffering with pneumonia and was struggling to breathe, so into the hospital she went where the news was bleak. The woman who'd survived for three years with a tumor on her lung with no further discomfort was in pain. The woman who to me, since I was little would live forever, it turns out wouldn't.
I believe that there is something that guides us through life. Whether it's a higher power, or a past life dictating our current decisions or pure instinct, I don't know, but I know it's there because it has guided me into and through some of the most important decisions of my life, that at the time seem totally benign. When I decided that we wouldn't go home for Christmas this year I had no idea that decision would enable me to see my Grandmother again. When I insisted that we spend our anniversary in New York and not Budapest I was unaware that would mean I could say goodbye.
My aunt is a rock. A solid, stoic, petite hunk of geode that remains unmoved despite hurricanes, avalanches and many a shit situation. She is the cornerstone of my family and to be able to sit with her while decisions were made and questions were asked was a privilege. I'm not very active in my family. To be honest, the closeness freaks me out and I don't really understand it. I love them all fiercely, but I just don't know how to get involved, to not feel like I'm watching myself pretending to belong.
Gram was being looked after at the Jewish Health Care Center in Worcester, Massachusetts, which to me was the ultimate irony considering she was a staunch Catholic and was not too thrilled when my mom converted to Judaism to marry my dad. Her little hand-carved nativity sat on her bedside table next to her Christmas tree and no one seemed to mind. It's a beautiful place and the care that they gave to my Gram was exceptional. As I watched her work with the OTs there it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would see her.
She looked great. She always looked great: head to toe color coordination, a ring on each finger and her hair shiny and soft. You couldn't help but be impressed with how Gram always put herself together. We talked a little and nurses and doctors came in and out. Steve had a bad cold, so he stayed away. We snuck her brownies and talked about nothing, but we both knew, we all knew that these conversations would be the last we'd have.
Gram died last Tuesday with my aunt by her side. She departed this earth after 95 years of being in very good health and in very good spirits. She said she was ready and I believed her, though I'm not sure I'll ever be ready and I know that we were sure not ready for her to go. Selfishly I always expected her to be there for Christmas. Everyone else I've lost has died so young, so Gram was a lovely reminder that it doesn't always happen that way. But we do all go and although I'm so grateful for the time we have, I will always want more.
I've been told her service was beautiful and that she got everything that she wanted, which she was able to dictate. How few people must get to do that? My gorgeous and heroic cousin wrote and gave the eulogy and Gram was celebrated. I wasn't able to get back and I'm glad for that. I want to remember her as she was; beautiful, smiling, deaf as a post, but very happy. If there is an afterlife she'll have joined her grandson, her daughter and the love of her life. She'll be in very good company.
Love you , Gram
I went away with my fabulous husband to visit my family and best friend in Massachusetts and then to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary in NYC. That trip was all I'd wanted and more. Third row tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch with a surprise signing of programs by the cast afterwards, The Christmas Spectacular at Radio City with the Rockettes and of course a lot of time spent shopping, drinking and just being with my wonderful spouse.
However this time spent in America was bittersweet. I heard the news that my seemingly invincible Grandmother had taken ill on Thanksgiving Day. She had been suffering with pneumonia and was struggling to breathe, so into the hospital she went where the news was bleak. The woman who'd survived for three years with a tumor on her lung with no further discomfort was in pain. The woman who to me, since I was little would live forever, it turns out wouldn't.
I believe that there is something that guides us through life. Whether it's a higher power, or a past life dictating our current decisions or pure instinct, I don't know, but I know it's there because it has guided me into and through some of the most important decisions of my life, that at the time seem totally benign. When I decided that we wouldn't go home for Christmas this year I had no idea that decision would enable me to see my Grandmother again. When I insisted that we spend our anniversary in New York and not Budapest I was unaware that would mean I could say goodbye.
My aunt is a rock. A solid, stoic, petite hunk of geode that remains unmoved despite hurricanes, avalanches and many a shit situation. She is the cornerstone of my family and to be able to sit with her while decisions were made and questions were asked was a privilege. I'm not very active in my family. To be honest, the closeness freaks me out and I don't really understand it. I love them all fiercely, but I just don't know how to get involved, to not feel like I'm watching myself pretending to belong.
Gram was being looked after at the Jewish Health Care Center in Worcester, Massachusetts, which to me was the ultimate irony considering she was a staunch Catholic and was not too thrilled when my mom converted to Judaism to marry my dad. Her little hand-carved nativity sat on her bedside table next to her Christmas tree and no one seemed to mind. It's a beautiful place and the care that they gave to my Gram was exceptional. As I watched her work with the OTs there it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would see her.
She looked great. She always looked great: head to toe color coordination, a ring on each finger and her hair shiny and soft. You couldn't help but be impressed with how Gram always put herself together. We talked a little and nurses and doctors came in and out. Steve had a bad cold, so he stayed away. We snuck her brownies and talked about nothing, but we both knew, we all knew that these conversations would be the last we'd have.
Gram died last Tuesday with my aunt by her side. She departed this earth after 95 years of being in very good health and in very good spirits. She said she was ready and I believed her, though I'm not sure I'll ever be ready and I know that we were sure not ready for her to go. Selfishly I always expected her to be there for Christmas. Everyone else I've lost has died so young, so Gram was a lovely reminder that it doesn't always happen that way. But we do all go and although I'm so grateful for the time we have, I will always want more.
I've been told her service was beautiful and that she got everything that she wanted, which she was able to dictate. How few people must get to do that? My gorgeous and heroic cousin wrote and gave the eulogy and Gram was celebrated. I wasn't able to get back and I'm glad for that. I want to remember her as she was; beautiful, smiling, deaf as a post, but very happy. If there is an afterlife she'll have joined her grandson, her daughter and the love of her life. She'll be in very good company.
Love you , Gram
Monday 1 December 2014
A raped man is not lucky.
It's become such a frequent occurrence that I write about rape that I'm bloody terrified at what the hell is going on in the world that I have so much to write about. In fact, between my posts on rape I have hardly any time to write about anything else.
I'm going to make this quick because I believe I have made myself perfectly clear on this topic many times before. However, I feel that if I don't lend my voice to this conversation it would be hypocritical.
I believe Shia LaBeouf when he says he was raped. I believe him because I choose to always support a victim who comes forward. I fully believe men can be raped and I do not think that it is not rape without penetration. I also believe Shia LaBeouf is not mentally well or stable, but this does not undermine or minimize his experience as a victim.
Too often we seek to excuse the assailant by blaming the victim: he's crazy, he was drunk, he was teasing me. Sound familiar? Probably not. Change the pronoun and I bet it does. Shia was participating in an art instillation, he was not something to be played with. He was acting, as he is paid to do, but this time he was not on film, he was human art.
For the #IAMSORRY exhibition in LA's Cohen Gallery, Shia wore a paper bag over his head which read "I'm Not Famous Anymore." For a fee, and after waiting in line, spectators could buy the privilege of siting in a room in total silence with the Transformers actor. Is it art? Is it rape?
I understand the critics when they say that because he didn't protest or try and stop the perpetrator it is difficult to believe that he legitimately felt threatened. But vulnerable women will often behave in a similar way. I believe that someone can be paralyzed by fear and confusion and I know that a body will sometimes respond in a way that suggests pleasure, but is really just a physiological response to stimulation. I understand that it was probably awful for Shia as he sat there, confused and afraid of what was happening to him and unable, for whatever reason to stop it.
I am disappointed with the two other collaborators of the show who have now come forward and said that they "put a stop to it." Why wasn't there more security? Why weren't there cameras watching the installation? There would be if he was actually a piece of art, but he was a person pretending to be art. What's the difference? I can't get near the Mona Lisa without a sideways look from an entitled French security guard and 50 cameras on me, but on this occasion, in this gallery someone was able to touch a man's body without permission for a prolonged period of time. Even once the behavior was acknowledged by the others in the gallery, they allowed the assailant and her escort to leave.
Does it smell fishy? You bet it does, but the reality is that the majority of rape cases are fucking weird and fucking complicated. It's never the guy hiding in a bush with a knife. Despite the tinge of tuna, we need to be open to hearing about Shia's assault and stop saying that it didn't happen. 3% of American men will suffer a rape or attempted rape in their lifetime. (RAINN) Why is it so hard to believe that Shia is one of these?
Piers Morgan has come out and declared that Shia's claims are "an insult to all real rape victims everywhere." Why? Because he didn't stop it or say anything afterward? He sure as hell didn't consent either. The fact is this story is incredibly strange, as has been Mr. LaBeouf's behavior as of late. But this doesn't necessarily discredit him as a victim. It's incredibly rare for a man to come forward and to admit sexual assault because it's too often the case that he will be disbelieved and emasculated for speaking out as Piers is doing to LaBeouf now. Let's stop with the victim blaming irrespective of gender. It shouldn't matter.
I'm going to make this quick because I believe I have made myself perfectly clear on this topic many times before. However, I feel that if I don't lend my voice to this conversation it would be hypocritical.
I believe Shia LaBeouf when he says he was raped. I believe him because I choose to always support a victim who comes forward. I fully believe men can be raped and I do not think that it is not rape without penetration. I also believe Shia LaBeouf is not mentally well or stable, but this does not undermine or minimize his experience as a victim.
Too often we seek to excuse the assailant by blaming the victim: he's crazy, he was drunk, he was teasing me. Sound familiar? Probably not. Change the pronoun and I bet it does. Shia was participating in an art instillation, he was not something to be played with. He was acting, as he is paid to do, but this time he was not on film, he was human art.
For the #IAMSORRY exhibition in LA's Cohen Gallery, Shia wore a paper bag over his head which read "I'm Not Famous Anymore." For a fee, and after waiting in line, spectators could buy the privilege of siting in a room in total silence with the Transformers actor. Is it art? Is it rape?
I understand the critics when they say that because he didn't protest or try and stop the perpetrator it is difficult to believe that he legitimately felt threatened. But vulnerable women will often behave in a similar way. I believe that someone can be paralyzed by fear and confusion and I know that a body will sometimes respond in a way that suggests pleasure, but is really just a physiological response to stimulation. I understand that it was probably awful for Shia as he sat there, confused and afraid of what was happening to him and unable, for whatever reason to stop it.
I am disappointed with the two other collaborators of the show who have now come forward and said that they "put a stop to it." Why wasn't there more security? Why weren't there cameras watching the installation? There would be if he was actually a piece of art, but he was a person pretending to be art. What's the difference? I can't get near the Mona Lisa without a sideways look from an entitled French security guard and 50 cameras on me, but on this occasion, in this gallery someone was able to touch a man's body without permission for a prolonged period of time. Even once the behavior was acknowledged by the others in the gallery, they allowed the assailant and her escort to leave.
Does it smell fishy? You bet it does, but the reality is that the majority of rape cases are fucking weird and fucking complicated. It's never the guy hiding in a bush with a knife. Despite the tinge of tuna, we need to be open to hearing about Shia's assault and stop saying that it didn't happen. 3% of American men will suffer a rape or attempted rape in their lifetime. (RAINN) Why is it so hard to believe that Shia is one of these?
Piers Morgan has come out and declared that Shia's claims are "an insult to all real rape victims everywhere." Why? Because he didn't stop it or say anything afterward? He sure as hell didn't consent either. The fact is this story is incredibly strange, as has been Mr. LaBeouf's behavior as of late. But this doesn't necessarily discredit him as a victim. It's incredibly rare for a man to come forward and to admit sexual assault because it's too often the case that he will be disbelieved and emasculated for speaking out as Piers is doing to LaBeouf now. Let's stop with the victim blaming irrespective of gender. It shouldn't matter.
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