[Above photo: Winterberries (?) by Jordan Pond with The Bubbles in the background. I see why a chorus girl might have a stage name of “Bubbles”. ]
25 December 2022
My Headline of the Week is the following from the (Singapore) Straits Times: “Rapists Over 50 Shouldn’t Be Spared Caning.” I’ll let you parse that but it does highlight how differently we generally view the rights of women versus how they are considered in that economic wunderland.
As the temperature drops (12F this AM) and the days lengthen (8 hours 56 minutes today, here), the warmth of the holiday season settles on many of us. It warms me to read of the Ukrainian civilians in Kherson successfully coordinating their expulsive efforts of the Russian military with EU and US national intelligence services. They courageously risked their lives to visit violence and death upon their invaders. It will, of course, deform them to some extent, killing others even if it is The Enemy. I feel for the young, untrained and poorly equipped Russian conscripts. They must be stopped but most of them would likely be much happier at home, having a meal by the fire with their families and girlfriends/boyfriends. Even killing someone who is immediately trying to kill me would change me for life in ways I wouldn’t like. We are victims of ourselves and, especially, of those more powerful than us.
Modern medicine, if done well, is amazing. My brother, Chas, whisked me to the Maine Medical Center outpatient surgery on Friday. Despite a power outage, which I would have missed if I had blinked since the generator came online instantly, I was in and out quickly. Since it was a re-repair, the surgeon had to open my groin. As the slight burn of Versed tickled my vein, I tried to see how long I could talk. Pretty quickly my words, and resolve, slurred and I had a nice nap. Chas brought me home and fed me a meal, spending the night. Susan, his wife, contributed a wonderful vegetable soup, apple crisp, and seasoned, roasted pecans. Now, two days later, I have little discomfort. I’ve only taken Tylenol twice and the Oxycodone has gone unused. Nausea, constipation (the great enemy of hernia healing, I learned), and feeling stupid—-why wouldn’t I want that?
I did have opiates when ill in 1970. Poki and I had been knocking about in northern Guatemala, camping in hammocks on a tiny island in the middle of Lake Peten Itza in anticipation of visiting Tikal. I developed what I thought was a strep throat. We went to a pharmacy and I purchased injectable penicillin, since I couldn’t swallow. When I tried to find a private corner to inject it, people thought I was a heroin addict and refused me. The pain worsened and in 2 days I lost 20# since it was hot, I couldn’t eat or drink anything, and I had to spit out my saliva.
We took a motorized canoe across the lake to the regional clinic. The young doctor, probably freshly minted and reluctantly banished to the provinces for national service, examined me and promptly prescribed erythromycin capsules the size of soccer balls. He wasn’t paying attention to my primary complaint, since my Spanish was pretty good. Meanwhile, back at the restroom, Poki was surrounded by dirty bedpans and heard the girls in the adjacent room at the autoclave, re-sterilizing needles and syringes: “Oh, I dropped this one on the floor.” “Don’t worry, just wrap it up.” Poki rushed back to tell me not to get an injection.
To finish the story, we caught the next plane from Flores to Guatemala City and, from there, a prompt flight to San Francisco. In the air I composed menus of dinners I wanted to have when I could again swallow. Somehow roast pork with applesauce and roasted new potatoes with buttered peas topped the list: familiar food from my childhood. It was straight to the ED at Stanford and I was hospitalized for a week or so on iv’s while they determined that I had a primary coxsackie virus pharyngitis.
At bedtime each night I was given a shot of Talwin, a synthetic opiate. Wow! I glowed from the tips of my toes to the split ends of my hair and felt more free of care than I ever had. I looked forward to the evening and those shots. They scared me, as well, since they made me feel better than anything—good sex excluded. I could reproduce those feelings at will 2 or 3 years later. I get why 106,000 people died of [largely fentanyl] overdoses last year. I recall when the Federal estimate of heroin addicts was less than 10,000. The Sacklers et al surely changed that. At the same time, alcoholics numbered more than 10 million and were implicated in 30,000 fatal car accidents per year. Alcohol was legal and heroin possession would land you up the river. Better lobbyists, I guess.
But this is a post on Christmas day! To interrupt my solitude, my friend, Polly, has invited me to zip to Cape Elizabeth for a meal with her daughter’s family and then zip back. [Her other daughter’s boyfriend, who supervises the guards at Walpole State Prison and who I like a lot, had the prisoners make me a personalized license plate.] Since my incision knits better if I am horizontal, it will be a quick meal.
Speaking of a meal, I tied two broom handles together and added a carved shim so I could lean out my 2nd story window and hang a cage with suet and seeds in it on a branch. It has survived 40mph wind gusts and is unreachable by squirrels but I have yet to see a bird nibbling. Wrong season?
I am grateful for my life, as complex as it sometimes is. I’m happy to be the owner of a warm, attractive, and pleasant place to live rather than one of the intruders entering my basement to exit the cold. Crunchy peanut butter seems to be their fentanyl and I’ve now caught 8 mice.
Thankfully Congress is on recess and the Washington hullabaloo is settling down to simply serious forensics for now. It was amazing to read an article on battlefield tactics in the Times today. Our restraint at direct involvement of US troops, even when they seemed necessary, has been a terrific call. Things are looking up here, except for all the groomers and commies and lascivious math primers in Florida!
I hope you have a lovely day.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 