The Fears That Stalk Us

 The last couple of years have further cemented my suspicions about what people are willing to do when they are fearful and refuse to either ask or entertain questions that refute that fear.

We ask how the atrocities of war can happen, where whole societies can look the other way as groups of people are singled out for ostracization, imprisonment, and even extermination. We have our answer: fear and control. Most people, it would seem, will abandon their morality if they feel justified through fear and a sense of authority. The people who, in the last couple years, self-righteously declared that anyone who didn't comply with the arbitrary rules of covid should be ostracized from society and refused medical treatment are the same people who would justify sending Jews and other undesirables to prison camps because they were supposedly a blight on society. Yet those people had the gall to call us, the non-conformers, Nazis.

I can't un-know and un-see what I've learned and seen since 2020. I can't look at people the same way that I did before. 

I did have inklings before 2020, of course, because I have asked uncomfortable questions. I know that people, by and large, refuse to question accepted knowledge. You might study and research a topic that contradicts something that "everyone knows," and you might have very good reason to question it, but most people (having done exactly zero research on the subject) will immediately poo-poo your questions and shut down any discussion. They won't want to hear what you've learned or what you're thinking. They will call you names for asking the question. They will laugh at you. 

When I served a mission, I created a name for this. I called it "the fear of being sold something you didn't want to buy." There is this irrational fear we have that somehow, someone will talk us into believing or buying something that we don't agree with; and somehow, we will have no control over this process, and we'll just wake up one day and realize we're stuck against our will and can't get out. 

It sounds silly when you name it and describe it (how would you be completely unaware of the process until it was too late to question it?), but naming and describing a fear is how you overcome it. Until you name it and describe it, it lurks like a demon in the shadowy places of your heart, causing nebulous anxiety and worry. An unnamed fear is a truly frightening thing. A named fear is a tamed fear. But to name a fear, you must face it and examine it thoroughly, and that can seem like a daunting process. Most of us are not interested in doing that work even though the more you face and name your fears, the easier it gets.

Once you name this fear, you can comfortably have conversations with people who are presenting a different viewpoint from yours, learning to understand where the other person is coming from and calmly choosing which points you agree with or disagree with, pondering those points later at your leisure. Only when both participants have tamed this fear is such a conversation possible. When you have faced and named this fear, you can ask questions that challenge the narrative. You have the mental capacity to reject "common knowledge"--or at least to have reservations about it until you have done more study and research to your satisfaction.

There is also a fear of being different, of not being seen to conform to society's standards, of being on the outside. It's a powerful fear. It works to keep most of us compliant with society's rules--which isn't necessarily a bad thing since it can prevent people with a weak moral compass from committing crimes. But when the fear is too strong, people will commit atrocities against each other in order to remain acceptable to the larger group. 

In the last two years, we have seen how fear rules most people. We have seen how seemingly normal, kind people will immediately turn on those who are not complying with the authority that the larger group has accepted as valid. We have seen how people will refuse to ask questions or allow others to ask questions that challenge the accepted authority. We have seen neighbors, friends, and family members cast out the undesirables. 

We have caught a glimpse of what we, as otherwise normal people, are willing to do to others we don't agree with or who are not toeing the line. And it is truly frightening. 

Does fear rule you?

Kidney Stones and Influenza for Christmas

 It's been an exciting couple of weeks, but not for the reasons I would have hoped. Still, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, no?

A preface: 

A year-and-a-half ago, when we were driving to Indiana to visit my MIL and FIL, I had an incident of pain so bad that I actually shed some tears and asked Husband to call an ambulance, which I had never done before (or since). We were literally in the middle of nowhere, and, if you recall the story, I ended up opting out of the two-hour ambulance ride to a hospital back the way we'd come in favor of just being miserable in the car with my family for the two hours it would take to get to our next destination, only to happily have the pain dissipate about ten minutes later as quickly and mysteriously as it began, never to recur again.

Until December 13 of this year (da da DAAAH!).

This time, I started suspecting a kidney stone based on the pain that wrapped around my left torso just under my rib cage. After a couple hours of serious discomfort, the pain dissipated again. I got influenza the next day, which added insult to injury; and to go along with the fever, aches, and chills, I also had the persistent sensation of urgently needing to pee but not being able to. I cannot describe to you how annoying that is.

I got over the flu--except for this pesky cough that is hanging on for dear life--and then had yet another kidney stone attack on Tuesday of this week. This one was really bad. It felt like I was in the beginning stage of active labor. The pressure was unbelievable, and if I had actually been pregnant, I would have birthed a child every time I had to cough, which was frequently. 

By this point, I realized that I could use pain killers to manage the pain, which is what I did for the hours and hours that this attack lasted, and which made it barely tolerable, because I was NOT going to the hospital if I didn't have to. I imagined the hours-long, deeply uncomfortable wait in the ER, the prodding and pushing and "Does this hurt?," the tests that would probably not reveal anything of significance, and, finally, the instructions to go back home and take pain medications and then make an appointment with my doctor for a follow-up. Followed by the hefty bill. No, thank you. 

At some point in the night I had finally dozed off in exhaustion, and when I woke up at 5am, I realized my kidney was no longer killing me. You know how the cessation of severe pain is such an intensely blissful relief that you feel so very grateful for everything you've ever been blessed with? If you know, you know. 

I had attempted to make a doctor appointment after the first kidney stone last week, but the receptionist was stupid and sent me to the voicemail box of a doctor's coordinator not in my insurance network and that couldn't help me. I had the flu pretty bad by that point, so I kept putting off calling back because I didn't feel well. This week, though, I tried again. The stupid receptionist tried to fob me off and tell me that there were no available appointments until January, but I mentioned kidneys and stones, and she magically found an appointment for me. I just went to that appointment last night, and the doctor wants me to have a CT scan of my entire abdomen. He's a little concerned. I, however, am not currently having any kidney stone symptoms, which is lovely.

Meanwhile, there is good news:

I got my new set of hormone pellets, and the higher dose of testosterone seems to be doing something. I am sleeping better and have more energy. 

While I was sick, I decided to use the time to also overcome my diet cola addiction. I went cold turkey rather than taper it down. The withdrawal headaches were impressive, but I'm now a week free of all soda/pop/Coke. I am drinking a lot more water, and I'm chugging down warm lemon water to try and eliminate future kidney stones. I am well aware that drinking soda might have contributed to my having kidney stones. I am grateful I was able to use the unpleasantness of last week to kick the habit. I now associate soda with pain and suffering, and the temptation to drink it is gone.

My kids, sons-in-law, parents, and siblings are coming over for Christmas. I'm setting up a baked potato bar with chili, and everyone has instructions to bring a snack to share. It will be casual and fun.

The Humor of the Youngsters

Joseph showed this to me, obviously hoping for an epic reaction. Apparently, this is the epitome of Gen Z humor, and, according to the glowing comments, this is laugh-until-you-cry funny for people of a certain age.

I don't get it, for I am old. I mean, I get why it's supposed to be funny (to a certain extent), but it just doesn't really tickle my funny bone into side-splitting gales of laughter.

Humor is definitely generational. I remember trying to explain Gen X humor and terms to an older male adult when I was about 17 or 18 and being confused as to why he was confused. 

I am he. He is I.

The Bare News

 I just counted, and I have seven drafts that I have started and abandoned since my last entry--mostly because I re-read the drafts and found them utterly boring. 

There's been lots of news, though I obviously feel I haven't conveyed it very well, so I'll just list some things that have been happening:

Full House

Siân, Nathan, and their boys successfully moved in at the end of October, and we've all been getting used to living in the same space. I love having my grandsons here. I love getting a warm and excited "Good morning, Nanna!" from Tyler every morning when I head downstairs. I love Nicholas's huge personality in his little body and how we've become good friends now that he's comfortable with me. 

Jealous Canine

The dog is really jealous. Every time I talk to or hold Nicholas, Marmite is right there stuffing his nose into my hands to get me to pet him and pay attention to him. I've had Tyler give Marmite treats and throw his toy for him, and Marmite is slowly warming up to his competition, though he is still unsure of his new position in the pack and has been extra clingy. Marmite has always been convinced he's just another person, so this has been confusing for him. He's so much like a fuzzy, jealous toddler that it makes me laugh. 

Dave, the parakeet, remains unfazed and has, instead, welcomed the addition to our flock.

New Grandchild on the Way

Siân is pregnant! After three miscarriages, she's now into her second trimester with this baby, which is exciting and hopeful. She's nauseated most of the time, and it's nice that I can help her out with the little boys when I'm at home, though she doesn't complain much about how icky she feels. Husband and I try not to insert ourselves into their family dynamic in a way that steps on Nathan's duties and privileges as a father, but we help where we can. Nathan is a great husband and father, and it's so wonderful to see our oldest daughter so happy with her little family.  

Siân in due towards the end of May, which will fit in nicely with the ending of the school year, as I will be around more to help with the two older boys. At this point, we do not know the sex of the new baby, but I know he or she will be both whip smart and exceedingly cute (not that I am biased or anything).

Mutated Cancer

We just had some very bad news about my mother-in-law's ongoing battle with ovarian cancer: a new, fast-growing, chemo-resistant tumor has emerged around her intestine, which began pressing on her left kidney, facilitating a trip to the ER as the pain from a restricted ureter became excruciating. That's when MIL's oncologist found the tumor, which they originally thought was scar tissue from her recent surgery; scar tissue does not, however, triple in size over the course of a few months. 

MIL now has a stent, which has relieved the pain from her kidney, but her prognosis is not good. The tumor is terminal, but MIL delivered the news in an admirably calm manner on a recent emergency family Zoom call. She will start a new, exceedingly caustic chemo drug on Monday and will have to repeat it every 28 days until either she is emotionally done with the treatments or the tumor overwhelms the treatment. It is highly unlikely that the chemo will shrink or remove the tumor, and surgery is not an option. The best they are hoping for is to slow or stop the growth at this point, and to say she has even a year left is very ambitious. 

Her children were all very sad at this news, of course, but they are also supportive of whatever decision she chooses to make in order to maintain the quality of life she desires. After nearly losing her last Christmas, they have appreciated every moment of the time they've had with her over the past year. I think my SIL expressed what we all were thinking: "Mum, you need to do what's best for you. We will be okay. Don't try to be brave and strong by enduring a treatment that may be worse than the disease itself. You get to choose your quality of life, whatever that means." 

Trip to England

This new prognosis led to a plan for MIL and FIL and all their children to meet up in England one last time. To this end, Husband and I just bought tickets to England for a week in January. One of my brothers-in-law booked a 15-person AirBnB somewhere in Wiltshire called Mews Cottage (so British!), and that's where we will be staying. MIL and FIL are very excited about it, though I am worried about how MIL will be feeling on such a long and arduous journey for someone in her condition. Still, she is looking forward to being able to see all of her children together for possibly the last time (even Husband's older brother will be there, the one who estranged himself from the family for a couple decades and is now talking to us again) as well as to be able to visit her sister and some close friends in England. Tomorrow, I will need to start the process of getting a new passport.

That's the bare news with a little of my commentary. It's dry, but I'm only occasionally funny in print, as you might well know, gentle reader.

What Is Science?

I've probably said this before, and I may bore you by repeating myself, gentle reader, but I am again struck by the memory of my introduction to fifth grade after I moved to Northern Minnesota.

In Idaho, my young, female teachers were idealistic and inventive: they allowed me to explore my passions as long as I completed my regular work. When I wrote plays in fourth grade (when I was about nine years old), my teacher allowed me to cast my plays and rehearse them during school time in order to perform them for the class. Because I was an avid reader (thanks, Mom!), I was allowed into the "big kids'" section of the library in third grade because that was where the books were shelved that were at my reading level. I wrote stories and invented games and had a wonderful time at school -- so much so that I was very upset if my mother ever made me stay home if I got sick. And I loved learning. I loved school because I could fill up my brain with new information that was taught in a creative, dynamic way that was perfect for my age. I wasn't any smarter than most of my classmates, I just loved to learn and was encouraged to express the things I learned in creative ways, and that made school enjoyable and fulfilling for me.

When we moved to Northern Minnesota, I was turning ten years old and going into the fifth grade. I had spent the summer making friends with the kids in my neighborhood, so at least I wasn't entirely alone when I started a new school, but it turned out that my friends were the only thing that was interesting about school. My grumpy fifth grade teacher, a man who seemed impossibly old to me at the time because he had gray whiskers, immediately squelched any creative aspirations I had. I was no longer allowed to explore beyond the curriculum. All would be done in order and lockstep. No one could stick their head above the crowd. This continued through sixth grade and into junior high. 

School became a prison, and with only a few exceptions, my teachers became my guards. I did the school work, but I went home from school and gave myself an exceptional education in English and American literature, for instance, by reading and pondering the great works on my own, writers like Charles Dickens and George Elliot, whose portrayals of the human condition far outshone much of the stuff on my class reading lists.

My Minnesota public education taught me was that I was not allowed to think for myself. Where my Idaho teachers encouraged me to take what I learned and explore it in my own personal idiom, my Minnesota education told me that I would be taught what to think and would be chastised for thinking beyond that. 

Fortunately, I rebelled. I was lucky. I knew what true freedom tasted like, so even the oppressive "progressive" education of the more liberal school district in Minnesota didn't entirely crush my spirit. The problem is that progressive education like that has crushed many, many peoples' spirits, and I have also found myself more likely to stay silent than argue against obvious fallacies that are taught as gospel truth (more shame be upon me for my cowardice). The appeal to authority these days has people so cowed and unsure of what their own eyes are telling them or the validity of their own experiences that they cannot -- or will not -- have the courage to think for themselves and question the narrative. I do not believe I'm any sort of genius -- far from! -- but I do think that I, and all others, should be taught to have more faith in (and the importance of) our abilities to observe, ponder, hypothesize, and come up with answers about many things in life and try them out to see if they are right. Instead, the popular method of "education" has become to force all people into the correct thought prisons, helpless to step outside of the prison walls for fear of ridicule and gaslighting. We are even taught to ridicule and gaslight our own selves, which is a most heinous crime, for then we can never even desire to be truly free.

The reason I'm on this soapbox today is because of this video, below. 

Those questions haunt me...

Blood Draw

 When I started getting the bills for the blood test and the hormone pellets that have done nothing for me, I had myself a little rant, pacing back and forth and waving medical bills in my fist. Even after the insurance paid their portion, the blood test, the pellets, and the doctor visit together cost us nearly $1000. We have a health savings account, but still! The pellets are not covered by insurance, and they cost a pretty penny all by themselves.

Husband patiently waited for me to calm down (for the record, he wisely never told me to calm down) before stating that he thought that one dose of pellets was not enough to determine if they would work and that he felt it was worth the money to do a second dose. "I just want to find out if it can help this fatigue you've felt for so long," he said.

"That makes me fall in love with him even more!" exclaimed Denise when I told her later, which is a very Denise thing to say and made me laugh. "Me, too!" I agreed.

Today, I had to get my blood drawn in anticipation of my next appointment. I chatted with the phlebotomist as he got my arm ready. 

"Last time, having my blood drawn knocked me out for two days straight," I said. "I forgot to eat all day before coming here, and, afterwards, I was so tired for two days I could barely move. This time I made sure I ate something, and I see you're not filling nearly as many vials."

The phlebotomist was skeptical.

"Even when you donate a pint of blood, it's only 500 mils, which should not be enough to bring on any sort of anemia." He held up one of the tubes and looked condescendingly down his nose. "This is only 80 mils." 

Shut up, Phil. I know how I felt. I have never before had a problem after having blood drawn, so I was not expecting such debilitating fatigue. It was surprising and unpleasant, and it was not all in my head.

"Yeah, well, I have never been able to donate blood," I said lamely. "I was in England at the wrong time."

Phil remained unimpressed. At least I'm not afraid of needles, so I had the satisfaction of not wincing or looking away as 160 mils of my blood swirled into two test tubes. And, as an update, I'm not feeling unusually fatigued five hours later, which is a good sign.

My second appointment with this gynecologist is next week. I am eager for more answers. Hopefully, they will be more forthcoming, given the cost. 

British Roast Dinner: the Key to My Husband's Heart

 I can make an entire British roast dinner for six people in 90 minutes, but that is as short a time as I can go, given that the roasted potatoes take at least an hour and fifteen minutes to complete. I have a double oven, which helps, and I also use the Instant Pot to cook the meat. 

Want to know how to do it? 

1. Preheat both of your ovens to 450 deg. F and start preparing the roasted potatoes: bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. While it's heating, peel your yellow roasting potatoes (I use 5 lbs of Yukon Gold potatoes) and chop them into large chunks. Rinse and set aside to wait for the water to boil.

2. Get the meat going in your Instant Pot (IP): pat a dry rub of your choice on a 3-lb beef roast after setting the IP to Sauté mode. When the IP is hot, sear each face of the roast for a few minutes before adding two cups beef broth and scraping up the fond. Set the IP to Meat or Manual for 60-70 minutes, depending on the cut of beef you are using (tougher cuts get longer times).

3. When the potato water is boiling, add 1-2 tsp baking soda to the water before carefully ladeling in the chopped yellow potatoes. Give them a stir and let the water come back to the boil before turning the stove down to medium heat.

4. Get your other roasting vegetables ready. For convenience, I usually use two pounds of bagged baby carrots and six or seven young parsnips that I have peeled and cut into pieces of similar size to the baby carrots (if you are using larger parsnips, make sure you cut out the core, as cores in large parsnips are tough and stringy). Toss the veggies with oil as well as salt and pepper, to taste. Set aside.

5. Make Yorkshire pudding batter: season the flour (about 1 1/2 cups or so) with salt and pepper to taste, along with any other herbs and seasonings you like. Mix in two beaten eggs and then add enough milk mixed with water to make a thick but pourable batter, like pancake batter. Beat the batter to remove lumps. Cover and set aside.

6. Check the potatoes to see if they are fork tender. When they are, drain them in a colander and then shake them around to rough up the surfaces. Let them release some steam and dry a bit while you rub some oil on a large backing sheet. Mix the potatoes with more oil and some salt and pepper, to taste. Spread them out on the baking sheet so that pieces are not touching each other. Put them in one of the ovens for 25 minutes.

7. When the IP is done cooking the meat, let it do a natural release for 15 minutes. Check the tenderness of the roast. When it is done to your liking, slice the meat and return to the broth to keep warm.

8. When the roasted potatoes have cooked for 25 minutes, pull them out and turn each piece over. Put them back in the oven for another 25-30 minutes.

9. When the roasted potatoes go into the oven the second time, get your carrots and parsnips onto another backing sheet and into the second oven (or onto the second rack of the oven if you only have one oven). Check their tenderness when the timer goes off for the roasted potatoes.

10. Prepare mashed potatoes: peel and chop mashing potatoes (I usually use 5 pounds of russets). Rinse and put into a big pot, covering them with water, adding salt, and setting on the stove to boil.

11. You can use this time to prepare boxed stuffing and frozen peas. I also make gravy by making a roux with butter and flour and then mixing in the broth from the meat, seasoning to taste, and bringing to a boil to thicken. Keep all of this warm on the stovetop while everything else finishes up.

12. When the roasted potatoes come out of the oven, put them into a bowl to keep warm. Check the carrots and parsnips for tenderness and adjust cooking times as needed. Turn the heat of the empty oven down to 425 deg. F.

13. Pour a little oil into the cups of a six- or twelve-cup muffin tin. Set the tin into the empty oven to heat--about three minutes (you want the oil sizzling hot). When the oil in the muffin tin is hot, pull out the tin, give the Yorkshire pudding batter a stir, and then carefully fill each cup 2/3 of the way full with batter. Put the tin back in the oven for 15 minutes, or until the puddings are puffy and golden brown. 

14. Drain the boiled potatoes, add butter, garlic powder or chopped garlic, cream or sour cream, and salt and pepper. Mash with a potato masher--not an electric mixer!--tasting and adjusting seasonings to your liking. 

15. When the roasted carrots and parsnips are ready, dinner is ready to be served. 

16. Assign someone else to clean up the mess.You did your part.