Birthday Thoughts

I recently turned the big sixty-five, and there is possibly no other anniversary more important for a resident of the United States. As an official elderly person, I realize I have plenty left to say, but it isn’t “get off my lawn!” or even “today’s music is terrible.” No, there are too many topics of far greater substance. Some of them are personal, some are collective.

My overall sentiment is that I have exceeded my expiration date. There is a certain degree of envy for those who have already passed, and thereby relieved of continued suffering, which includes watching others suffer, species going extinct, the brutality of imperialism, White Christian Nationalism, global capitalism, religious wars and terrorism, and climate change. I would rather not continue bearing witness, thank you.

If I do not find a way out of my current town of residence, surrounded by people mostly older than I am, more sickly, arguably more unhappy, and clinging desperately to “the good old days,” and a culture that no longer serves us well, then I will surely die sooner rather than later. I thrive when surrounded by younger generations with energy and creativity. Few people here have any respect for the natural world.

Turning the magic age of Medicare eligibility is not the reward you might imagine, either. One of the shocking revelations is that Medicare is definitely NOT free healthcare. Parts A and B cost me about $200 per month. Friends have told me that they have that taken out of their Social Security benefits. Because they raised the official retirement age to sixty-seven, I am not yet receiving that income. I would be left with little after the Medicare payment anyway.

Oh, and I still have to find a “Medigap” plan, through a private insurance provider, to cover what Medicare does not. Naturally, that still won’t cover dental, vision, or hearing. I did secure prescription drug coverage, but will I meet the deductible?

What concerns me most is my mental health. At best, I am not nearly as productive as I should be. I loathe writing, now. It isn’t that I don’t have something to say. I simply don’t have the energy and desire to execute the keystrokes to put it down. I may go back to longhand and then transcribe it, like I used to do.

My mental state does not even entertain the idea of engaging with anyone in my community, in person. I see my in-laws on the regular, for dinner out almost every Saturday. I attend meetings or events of the local artist group my partner belongs to, maybe three or four times a year. That’s it, pretty much. Oh, the homecoming game at my partner’s high school.

The most awful notion, right now, is the idea that I need to put my life in danger in defense of vulnerable people, at a time when I am the most vulnerable myself. I’m the physically weakest I have ever been, have even shrunken in stature. I do take long walks regularly, and perform a handful of upper body exercises twice per week, but that is not enough. The rage that once fueled me to protest vigorously, has subsided greatly, though my partner might tell you otherwise. I feel ashamed of my physical cowardice, when I could not be more aligned with those who need protection.

Finances are yet another worry. Overseas travel is highly unlikely. I regret terribly that I did not visit other countries when I was younger. I have been neglectful of too many friends here in the states because I cannot be everywhere at once.

The funny thing is, I can easily envision a better world for everyone, for every species, in fact. It involves the abandonment of global capitalism, corporate control of infrastructure, pursuit of continued colonialism and empire, and instead embracing a borderless landscape. We need a “ruralopolis,” a seamless network of smaller cities, with agricultural corridors in an otherwise sparsely developed environment. International commerce would be a rare, but guaranteed treat. Currency would be something nearly intangible, almost unnecessary. We would reach consensus quickly concerning what we truly need and want. Most of those items would not be products.

Am I optimistic? No, not currently, but apparently I do have hope, and that vision, to keep me going. I do, after all, want to live long enough to see the Indigenous take back control of what is rightfully theirs.

One Thirty Over Eighty

It took a little longer than average, but I am officially old now. My physician finally prescribed high blood pressure medication. As one ages, blood vessels naturally become a little stiffer, but I dare say there is more to it than that. There are other factors at play, some of them beyond our control.

Image does not equal endorsement of the device pictured.

My good vascular health is the product of circumstances that not everyone is fortunate to have. Good genetics. Opportunities for physical exercise in terms of time and location. Financial privilege that allowed me to withdraw from the corporate workforce earlier than usual. Fewer pressures from external sources means lower pressure on my internal organs. That is what a modest inheritance can do for you, but there should be more avenues for escaping the rat race.

U.S. manufacturing is booming, if you count stress as a product.

My doctor would still like me to be on a low sodium diet, and less sugar and fat couldn’t hurt, either. Sorry, doc, but I’m not going to sacrifice the few things that still give me comfort and delight. Do you know how difficult that is to do, anyway? My partner cooks recipes passed down from generation after generation, and I guarantee you that salt content was not a consideration. If anything, such dishes may have originally met with “could use more salt” criticism.

Diet might be the least impactful element anyway. U.S. manufacturing is booming, if you count stress as a product. We are programmed by our culture to be living machines of productivity and consumerism, with precious little reward for either. We are hardly recognized as having any value outside of an economic definition. This is unhealthy, to put it mildly.

Indeed, we have allowed every aspect of our existence to be framed as monetary transactions. Even your personal health is a commodity. Problems, including those created by business enterprises, are viewed as “opportunities” for additional profit. We have the industrial-legal-medical complex whereby law firms specialize in either defending corporations, or representing individuals who are harmed physically or emotionally by those entities. Not paid a fair wage? No problem. Try the lottery, sports betting, other forms of gambling, and frivolous lawsuits. Apply for another credit card, or take out a loan. You can always use the debt consolidation services later.

When I went in for my annual check-up, a year-and-a-half or so late, the one that resulted in the blood pressure meds, I presented my insurance information first thing. When I departed, I asked the receptionist if I needed to pay anything, and was assured that my insurance would cover it since there was no specific “complaint” that would trigger a co-pay. I did have the on-site lab take blood for testing, since I didn’t know when I could get back to the clinic again….

I don’t think it was even two weeks later that I received a bill for nearly $1,000.00. The invoice also asserted that they had no insurance information on file. Wow. I called the number and, to their credit, reached a representative in a timely manner. He took my insurance information again and told me they would issue another statement once the matter was resolved. Awesome.

I don’t think another two weeks elapsed before I received another bill for over $400, likely related to the lab work since it was from a different division of the hospital. Again, they claimed they had no insurance information. I called again. Pretty certain I got through to the same representative (a comforting East Indian accent), and he took my information once again. So far, fingers crossed, I have not received another bill. Good thing I got those high blood pressure meds before the bill, right?!

I will be turning the magic age next year, and am procrastinating the debacle that is negotiating Medicare. Assuming Medicare still exists going forward. If I have to submit my insurance information multiple times as it is now, what am I in for next? Talk about needless stress, so insurance companies can profit from Part C, or whatever.

I have seen multiple posts to social media suggesting that we should be making personal friends with doctors, so that when the system collapses, we at least stand a fighting chance. I don’t think this is hyperbole, but it is a sad state of affairs. Oh, the diet thing? It really would pay to make friends with farmers, so that when the food supply chain goes south, you can at least eat. Stressed out yet? Yeah, me, too.

I Don't Want to Live Longer!

I know that sounds laughable, or possibly alarming, depending on what direction you tend to react in. Please rest assured, I am not contemplating suicide. I am talking about lifespan extension. We are constantly bombarded with the latest diets, medical treatments, and other offerings designed to extend our lives. I am not necessarily in agreement that this is a good thing.

There is this uneasy feeling that those who promote longer human lives are not really concerned for how that impacts our personal welfare. What do I mean by that? When someone passes, the Gross Domestic Product responds with “Damn it, we lost another consumer!” Forgive my cynicism, but I believe it is warranted. The greatest benefits to longer lives are reaped by excessively affluent and powerful people who get wealthier because we are consuming material goods they produce, for a longer period of time. The same is true of service industries, of course, some of which are dedicated solely to the aged population.

The idea that the only thing we should value in our elders is their purchasing power, should make you angry. You cannot put a price on wisdom, life experience, and familial bonds (provided your family dynamic is a positive one). The marketplace thrives on our isolation, our individualism and, sadly, our naivete. The less we relate to each other in meaningful ways, the more vulnerable we are to exploitation by bad actors in the global marketsphere.

The other aspect of living a longer life is that you are highly likely to witness the continued, if not accelerated, destruction of the natural world. This is unbearable for a great many of us. Why should I want to live longer when it appears the planet is not so inclined? Indeed, more consumerism for a longer period is only going to hasten the extinction of species, the conversion of habitat to agriculture and urbanism, and increase natural resource extraction.

I am exceedingly troubled by the fact that the majority of people do not have time to contemplate what I am talking about in this blog entry. The average life is crammed with daily commuting, appointments, meetings, errands, fast food, caffeine, meetings, and another commute. Once we are back home, we help the kids with their homework, if we do not have our own that we brought from the office. Maybe we manage to sneak in a pleasant distraction like a bath or shower, a television show, social media, a chapter in a book, an alcoholic beverage, or a dose of marijuana. Put that on repeat until the weekend.

We look forward to the day we do not have to work, or at least not have to work for someone else, but fear of financial destitution keeps us toiling away. Ironically, a global pandemic made it glaringly obvious that our psychological health has been in sick bay for a long, long time. Still, we are not managing to harness our collective power as laborers and consumers to fully revolt.

The government is not helping with its constant talk of raising the retirement age, and doing away with Social Security, Medicare, and other resources we earn during our laboring lifespan.

The question remains: Exactly what do I get out of a longer life? More years as a greeter for a big box store? More time to passively exist? More debt? More opportunities to vote for candidates that are serving those powerful and wealthy elites instead of me, and others like me? More time to forget what I know, what I’ve learned, and the people I have met? More time to watch the world burn?

Human life is not something that needs “product” or “service.” It needs community. It requires nourishment that no food or beverage can provide. It demands rest and quietude, for longer periods than anyone is willing to acknowledge.

Personally, I will have greater respect for, and trust in, the medical community when they make quality of life a higher priority than longevity. To borrow a phrase from whiny Hollywood actors, “What’s my motivation?” If all you can offer me is more medications, pseudo-comforts, and the corporate vision of “retirement,” I will pass, thank you.

Supreme Injustice Part II

It seems like only yesterday that I wrote about the Breonna Taylor trial and the rush to fill a vacancy on the Supreme Court, but it has been nearly two years now. The results of installing (I refuse to use the word “confirming”) two ultra-conservative justices into the high court has escalated quickly. They wasted no time, given the usually glacial flow of decisions, in overturning the most impactful verdict in recent history: Roe versus Wade. It is a clear example of collusion of between religion and government, for the purpose of strengthening a destructive patriarchal culture. Yes, I am calling this a criminal act.

What were once ”Christian fundamentalists” are now Christian extremists, an arguably greater threat to democracy and a civil society than any foreign enemy. While they claim there is a fictious “war on Christmas,” they perpetrate a very real war against women, including transgender persons. That we allow any level of the judiciary to continue defining and limiting the role of women as child-bearers, subservient to males, is appalling. That the citizenry has very limited power to influence the lifetime appointments to the Supreme Court is disgraceful.

Beyond the ramifications for women’s health, including abortion procedures, the court decision has an overwhelming effect of demoralization. Women are already physically and emotionally exhausted from meeting personal and societal expectations on the domestic front, and in the workplace, even if they are perfectly healthy and not battling chronic pain, disease, and/or other afflictions beyond their control. Where are they going to find the strength to overcome these newly-imposed limitations?

Numerous female friends have already posted on social media that they are willing to host and care for any friends from other states needing proper medical care that could be denied them in their own home states. I am hoping to soon see that same empathy from my male friends. I will happily be the first to volunteer. I’ll sleep on the couch or the floor if need be. That is assuming that we can vote down a proposed constitutional amendment here in Kansas.

The double-whammy of this court decision, and continuing efforts aimed at denying voting rights, is depressing. At least some democratic and independent voters are registering as Republican for their state’s primary elections, in hopes of defeating the most extremist candidates before the mid-term elections in November. We are going to need more innovative tactics like that if we do not wish to return to a wholly puritanical republic.

Do not underestimate your personal sphere of influence. You are intelligent and respectful and capable of advocating effectively. Be brave, and share your views with family, immediate and/or extended. Broadcast creatively through all your social media channels. Do not share the meme everyone else is sharing. Make your own. Be as compassionate as possible but as forceful as necessary. We can make this better. We owe it to ourselves, previous generations, and to those children we choose to have, not those we are forced to have.

The Coronavirus Reveals That Our "Normal" is Itself a Disaster

© Mayoclinic.org

Since I am not even remotely literate in epidemiology, it would be irresponsible to comment on the medical aspects of covid-19. However, the fallout from it in terms of social, economic, and cultural reactions is fair game. What, if anything, will we learn from this collective experience? What will change permanently? Is resumption of “normal” an appropriate outcome? Serious questions abound if we want a better future.

Mandates and directives are changing daily, if not hourly, as governments at every level make new policy decisions based on the latest information available from the scientific community. We hope that is the process, anyway, but consumer confidence is often conspicuously absent. Politically-motivated courses of action are also at play, and it is left to media pundits and the citizenry to conclude which are in the best interest of the public versus being to the benefit of corporations and the (considerably) more wealthy.

This episode is a bizarre hybrid of a natural disaster and a manmade, or at least human-induced, catastrophe. Our behavior reflects it. While we are at our best, as Americans, anyway, in the face of hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, and floods, we are at our apprehensively worst when confronting a Y2K situation, or, obviously, a potentially cataclysmic disease pandemic. Consequently, the coronavirus has left us torn between a hoarding, every-man-for-himself mentality and a longing for closeness that violates the imperative of social distancing. Mentally and physically we are stressed to the max, and that only makes our immune systems more vulnerable to the pathogen we are trying desperately to avoid contracting.

My social media feed is full of humor, thank goodness, but also angst and uncertainty. There is little comfort to be had, and if there is anything we in the U.S. are addicted to, it is comfort….and convenience….and dependable sources of entertainment, food, and beverage….and ideally all at the same place and time. Right now, if the internet goes down, we are collectively screwed. Food delivery goes away? We are doomed.

Those in cities and suburbs, at least, are feeling helpless. Rural populations are likely laughing at us. They put a premium on self-reliance, and whatever we are in for as a result of our dependence on others in the big city, well, we deserve it. All our learnin’ and liberalism ain’t gonna get us nowhere. Forgive that last remark, or better yet take it to heart because there is some truth in it. Farmers, ranchers, and others who labor in small, far-flung communities deserve respect. Their skill sets are broader out of necessity. We could learn a good deal from them in how to prepare for emergencies.

As our lives boil down to basics, as our economic systems are forced to reevaluate their most basic tenets, and as we gain a new appreciation of what really matters, will we remember it all when life returns to our expectations? Should that be what we aim for? This pandemic is both a crisis and a valuable opportunity for make fundamental changes in our global culture, as well as addressing shortcomings here in the U.S.

Personally, maybe we make different choices in the marketplace, supporting local businesses over chain retail and dining. We’ve learned we can live without unhealthy foods we’d come to crave. We continue positive habits we evolved to cope with the stress of self-quarantine and social distancing.

Collectively, ideally, we embrace science again, start advocating for better pay and benefits for teachers, and press even harder for healthcare reform and a living wage so we can better weather future emergencies. We recall which of our civic leaders were on the side of working people, the elderly, and our youth, and who was trying to maximize their own gains or minimize their own losses at the expense of the rest of us. We remember that in the next election cycle, and push initiatives that would affect the removal of corrupt officials from office faster than recall elections.

Let us also recognize the need to repair the barriers between humanity and the wilderness that are necessary for the protection of our global population from novel pathogens. Not every organism is an appropriate resource. Probably not a resource in any way, shape or form, actually. Periodically we are reminded that our existence is tenuous, dependent on an infinite number of factors beyond our personal control. This is one of those times. Let us heed the warning, and work unselfishly toward sustainability.

I Once Had Good Hearing

© HealthyWomen.org

My eyesight has long since deserted me, but I pride myself on having excellent hearing. Well, I once did, anyway. I desperately want to avoid the stereotype of the hard-of-hearing old fogey who is pitied, barely tolerated, and written off as irrelevant. It is a bit more complicated than what the aging process contributes, though. Up until now I have not admitted as much, not even to myself. Confession time.

Here is an honest-to-God example of one of my more recent telephone conversations. Mind you, I was on my cell phone, inside a storage locker, inside a building, and deaf in my left ear from a recent airline flight. That said, I had the phone to my good ear....

Woman: "Hi, I'm calling from Speed's Towing. We just picked up your deceased father's car which you kindly donated to Oregon Public Broadcasting? Well, turns out we do need that Power of Attorney before we can transfer it elsewhere."
Me: "Steve's Towing? I can do that, but it will have to wait until I get back to Colorado next Friday."
Woman: "That's fine, but it's Speed's Towing. You can just mail the POA when you get home."
Me: "Ok, good. So let me get the name again, and the address."
Woman: "Speed's Towing...."
Me: Ok, I got that, Steve's Towing...."
Woman: "No, Speed's Towing."
Me: "Alright, let me spell out what I'm hearing: S-t-e-v-e apostrophe 's'...."
Woman: No, two 'e's'...."
Me: "S-t-e-e-v-e 's?"
Woman: "It is S-p-e-e-d-s. There is no 'e' on the end."
Me: "Steed's Towing?" A horsepower-themed towing company did not seem like a stretch....
Woman: "No."
Me (sighing heavily and pausing): "Ok, can I get the address at least?"
We manage to agree on the street location, city, state, and zipcode.....
Me: "Ok, let me try spelling this out one more time: "S as in Sam, T as in Tom, e-e, d...."
Woman: "No, it is S, p as in Paul...."
Me: Oh, Speed's Towing, as in going fast!
Woman: "Yes!"

I cannot believe I did not remember the name from the logo on the side of the tow truck, but I was trying to keep all the paperwork organized, so I'll stick to that story of trying not to be distracted. Meanwhile, had the woman merely said something like "Speed's, like going fast, vroom-vroom!," we might have not exhausted all the minutes on my Tracfone.

I still pride myself on being able to track down katydids and crickets from their songs, but even a few years ago a fellow entomologist was pointing out the song of a certain katydid species....and I could hear nothing. The frequency of the song was too high. Last year I found another katydid with a flashlight, and observed his wings moving at high speed, but again I could barely make out a sound.

I have some tinnitus in my left ear in particular, and occasionally it loudly asserts itself, but overall I am more bothered by external noise than I am unable to perceive it. I am wishing right now I could tune out the noisy neighbor kids who insist on shouting and shrieking during their play right outside in our closely-arranged townhouse complex. Apparently the architecture amplifies sound. Lucky us.

Most of us men will not admit it, but more than half of our "hearing" problem, especially when it comes to our spouses, stems from the fact that we are not very good at listening. It is sad to realize that as I age I care less and less about what other people have to say, much of the time anyway. There really is a steady stream of dialogue that literally goes in one ear and out the other, or vanishes somewhere in a sea of neurons in the auditory lobe, never registering in our cerebral cortex. When we are halfway paying attention, then our translation of the sentence or monologue can get scrambled.

For example, on one occasion my wife was reciting to me the hour that our upcoming airline flight would be leaving. She said something to the effect of "Our departure time is eight-thirty AM...." My appropriate and respectful response? "What about The Partridge Family?" I now have a ringing sensation in the other ear, and I may need to see the dentist, too. Honey, I'm only kidding. Honey?

Dieting and Other Punishments

© HealthPartners.com

I am privileged to have many friends, both in real life and through social media. One of the recurring themes I see, especially among female friends, is dieting and weight loss. Some are able to handle this aspect of their lives in a healthy fashion, and others struggle. Personally, I think it is a shame on our society that we put women in a position where they self-reflect in anything but a positive way. Meanwhile, overeating, binge eating, and other eating disorders are usually the outcome of stressors that we have to identify and address.

One of the smartest quips ever uttered in the weight loss industry was made by Richard Simmons. No, really. One of his most famous sayings is "It's not what you're eating, it's what's eating you." Look at our "coping skills" in the United States: eating, smoking, drinking alcohol, drug use, gambling, pornography, excessive exercise, and other addictions. It becomes a never-ending cycle of stress, addiction, and rehab. We need to cure the stressors, but that is not going to happen in our current capitalist economic model.

Combating stress in any meaningful way is problematic if you look at it only from a profit-making perspective. Stress is difficult to define, and we tend to frown on the idea of leaving your job, your spouse, or abandoning your children, to name but a few triggers. Stress is subjective, and not outwardly obvious. The effects of stress are obvious, and so we market solutions to the symptoms rather than the cause. A vacation is surely the best prescription, and we will even float you a bank loan or credit to make it happen. Vitamins and supplements and energy drinks will help you get through your day. Treat yourself to that pizza, bacon cheeseburger, ice cream dessert, or other favorite comfort food. You get the picture, but this is where the treadmill starts.

Oops, overdid it with the food? Try [insert any commercial diet plan here] to get back to normal. This "solution" only adds another degree of stress, and so it is no wonder that diets fail. Maybe we start drinking now, too.

The idea of "cheating" on a diet is also harmful. It implies wrongdoing and initiates feelings of guilt and shame, which add to stress and reinforce a poor sense of self-esteem; which makes one more likely to "cheat" again, and so on and so forth. This is not the same thing as cheating on a spouse or significant other, or cheating on a test, or breaking any kind of vow or law, yet how many of those on a diet equate it with such? Baloney. Forgive yourself, if there is even anything to be forgiven for.

As long as money is to be made from treating the symptoms of stress, the diet, cosmetics, and personal finance industries are going to keep peddling destructive "solutions" instead of devoting resources to get to the roots of it all. Our personal goals should be to resist not the temptations of the marketplace, but the personal behaviors and situations that lead to stress. We don't need punishments for negative coping mechanisms, we need alternatives to those bad habits.

We also need to alleviate stress to begin with. Maybe that means limiting your time with family over the holidays. Maybe that does mean taking time off from your workplace. Maybe it means going off of social media if the feedback you are getting from sharing your struggles is anything but supportive and understanding. If we do these things, then the impulse to overindulge in anything harmful will ebb, at least a little bit.

So, how do I cope in healthy ways? I make sure I get outside and take at least a 30-minute walk every day, weather-permitting. I take breaks to watch the odd "guilty pleasure" television show. I should read more, a lot more, and it is one of my goals to make that a higher priority. I draw, and I write, and I take photographs, for pleasure as well as part of my income. Am I successful one hundred percent of the time? No, of course not. Probably not even 70% lately, but I forgive myself for that.

Please share your own secrets for stress-relief success in the comments. We need to encourage each other more than ever.

Guest Post By Jessa Thurman - Vegetarianism

This week I fortuitously intersected a Facebook post by Jessa Thurman, a graduate student in entomology at a university in the Pacific Northwest, and invited her to allow me to post it on this blog. Vegetarianism is socially awkward for many non-vegetarians, and this may be the best explanation I have come across yet, eloquently written and free of the contempt too many folks have for anyone with a different diet than they themselves have. I thank Jessa for letting me share this, and I hope she keeps writing.

Around 7 years ago, I stopped eating mammalian meat. At the time it wasn’t a decision made for any other reason outside of how it was making me sick. After eating beef or pork, I would feel sick to my stomach, as though the meat had become stone, and would often have to sleep for 5 to 7 hours after the pain began or just revisit what I ate. It was easy to pick out the other foods that followed this trend: mammals or ‘red meat.’ What was even simpler was the decision and action to stop eating these kinds of meat. Meat was more expensive and there were plenty of cheaper, healthier alternatives. Chicken or fish worked as one substitute if I ever needed one, and I didn’t have to give up my favorite meals. Soon I felt much better and even lost a bit of weight. I continued the diet to avoid other mammals whenever I encountered them like lamb, deer, and kangaroo, even though the last one had peaked my interest. And I followed through with this choice because it just wasn't worth how bad it made me feel.

Simply saying I was allergic to the meat or couldn’t eat it immediately calmed those who challenged my dietary choice and at the time I didn’t think much of those challenges. Once I started college and began my studies in biology however, I started considering human impact on the Earth. The majority of our agricultural land is devoted to growing livestock feed with the main feed ingredient, corn being grown on 90 million acres of land (USDA - U.S. Department of Agriculture) and according to the FAO [Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations], livestock grazing occupies 26% of Earth’s ice-free land. This translates into most habitat destruction for agriculture being driven by our high demands for meat. On top of the habitat destruction, livestock are also responsible for about 7% of total greenhouse gas emissions which contribute to global climate change (FAO). The increased frequency of dramatic climatic events like drought which has led to the recent intensity of forest fires tearing across the US or Hurricane Harvey which is currently causing floods in Texas, are all linked to global climate change. In light of these major issues, not to mention animal cruelty, my once simple decision became more philosophical. It was a small change I could make to decrease my Carbon footprint - a personal decision.

My life choice to not consume beef or pork became more of an environmental choice and I adapted it to include buying more of my groceries from local farmers and limiting my other meat consumption. All of these changes, for me, were very easy to make. The recurring problem was instead having to explain and often defend my choice to others who eat a lot of meat. Their challenges, I understand now were made more so out of defense for their meat-eating rather than malice, but I think it should be repeated that I and many other people who have made dietary or life changes, make these choices for ourselves [italics mine]. I've witnessed more intense challenges for vegetarians and vegans for their dietary changes, but why do they seem to threaten your way of life? People who make these life choices 1) are not suffering for it and 2) are not harshly judging all meat eaters. Everyone's life is different and sustainability is a goal we continuously work towards rather than a line we cross.

It’s been a long time since I made this original change and I have debated posting about it in the past because from the same critics, I feel like they perceive this dietary choice I've made is a status I want to flaunt. Instead I just want to share how and what I am doing to lessen my Carbon footprint, and this particular change is one that came easy for me. I know I am imperfect in many other ways, but I'm working on that. I assume everyone is and want it to be known that I and others like me, be they vegetarians, environmentalists or others, generally aren't 'Nazis' for the planet who glare and gossip about how you are enjoying that burger right now. So next time, please don't roll your eyes at our dietary choice or challenge our philosophical basis for making it. It's our life and we're all making different changes.

I could stand to take several lessons from this: Be less judgmental period. Eat even less red meat than I do now, and strive to eat less meat of any kind. Read more things from Jessa Thurman.

Can You Live Too Long?

© Shutterstock.com

Earlier this week my father turned ninety-two. At least, we're pretty sure, when you get over ninety it is easy to lose track. There was really no celebrating, at least not with me here in Colorado and him in Washington state. It got me thinking again about whether an extended lifespan is really a good thing.

Almost a year ago now, my father sold his house and went into an assisted living facility, initially in the most independent wing. One broken hip later and he was forced into a more "managed care" wing that took away his independence. He hasn't been the same since. He had fallen in the parking garage while trying to get into his vehicle to go renew his driver's license. The outcome of having him off the road is probably a good thing, but I wouldn't tell him that. He has always been an excellent driver, but at his advanced age, anybody is going to be slower to react to traffic situations.

Dad calls his new home "assisted dying," and I find it hard to argue with that. In their defense, such facilities cannot do much for someone in relatively good health, but with reduced mobility. The best they can do is wake me up at one in the morning to tell me he has fallen again, and refuses to go to the hospital. I'm not at my most reasonable at that hour, and if he is lucid enough to comply with response protocol, then he can make his own damn decisions as far as I'm concerned. He's paying seven grand a month to live there, he ought to have some say in his care. That reminds me, I need to get a better itemized account from them.

Truth be told, my father's welfare began to decline after his second wife passed away, rapidly, from cancer, in July, 2006. Like me, he has never been that successful when left to his own devices. Our genetics have probably managed to get us this far in spite of our lifestyle. My father's coping mechanisms have always been anger and alcohol, and I have had to unlearn a good deal in order to get through my own days, and become the most minimally desirable spouse. At least I can articulate my emotions most of the time, something his generation never learned to do.

Ironically, our phone conversations are much more peaceful now. This is mostly due to his difficulty in hearing and, even more to the point, his resignation. He tells me not to worry, he has had a good life, and he is happy to go to sleep permanently whenever that happens. We still worry he might try and hasten that final goodbye, so his firearm is safely locked away; and we do what we can to prevent enablers from furnishing alcohol, though that has been impossible so far.

My father's business, for most of the time I was part of his life, was making custom jewelry, and I can say without bias that his designs were ahead of their time, exquisite in attention to detail, and worthy of every penny he charged for his creations. His skill extended to woodworking and model-building, too. Unfortunately, his current accommodations do not provide ample room to execute anything artistic, and it is probably best that he does not have access to sharp objects anyway. What is left, then? He has no interest in computers or the internet, like many of his era, and in some ways I envy that; but it means that he has fewer things to distract himself from tedium.

At his age, my father really has seen it all, or at least all that he wants to, and I find it excruciating that there is no socially acceptable exit for folks who have no joy in living this long. I would think that by ninety or so you would have earned the right to decide when you have had enough. Heck, here I am at over fifty-five, and I am already not liking what is on my horizon. All the benefits one has traditionally gotten as they age are either being taken away, or the age limit increased, forever putting senior discounts and other privileges just beyond one's reach. For shame! Where are my incentives to go on living?

I do hope that my father passes peacefully, without undo pain and suffering, even if he inflicted that on my mother, and myself in my childhood. I've no more animosity towards him, though I still have my truths about him, many of which are not pleasant. As a culture, though, we have a long way to go to make life worth living for our elderly. They are more than a revenue stream for care facilities, for pharmaceutical companies, and investment firms. They are living history, tangible wisdom, and our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. They deserve better.

A Letter to Senator Cory Gardner

© HuffingtonPost.com

Clever. Clever, but cruel and cowardly to draft, in secret, healthcare legislation that will impact millions of citizens. Who could complain about a bill that they haven't even seen? Shucks, not even most senators have been privy to the plan. Maybe that is what the President means when he says this is a "mean" bill. Meanwhile, the rest of us are left to do what? Rely on what the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP) is telling us? No matter, given past and present trends and tendencies of this session of Congress and this presidential administration, we can piece together what we are in for if this bill passes the Senate. So, please understand that the overwhelming majority of your constituents, including this one, are vehemently opposed to this bill and we expect your vote to reflect this. You need to defeat this bill.

May I politely, but assertively, remind you that you were not elected to guarantee increased profits for insurance companies, their CEOs and shareholders, and others who are affluent enough that they can pay for their own healthcare. You were not elected to argue for the interests of pharmaceutical companies, their CEOs, and shareholders, either. You were not elected to weaken environmental, consumer, and labor regulations so that the working class would face more risk without recourse to affordable healthcare. You were not elected to compromise the reproductive health choices of your female constituents. You were not elected to make firearms more accessible to citizens of dubious capacity who could endanger large numbers of citizens through acts of domestic terrorism. Indeed, you were not elected to shrink affordable mental healthcare. You were not elected to return us to the unsustainable era of fossil fuel dominance that has put us in a climate crisis of multiple yearly natural disasters. In short, you were not elected to put obscene corporate profits above the rights of individual citizens from all walks of life, rich and poor, men and women, children who do not even have voting rights, heterosexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, transgendered persons, and people of all ethnicities, religions, countries of origin, and political party persuasions (or lack thereof). You do not represent lobbyists, either. We do not elect lobbyists, and our tax dollars are paying for you to listen to us, not them.

This goes beyond party politics. Democrats have also been all talk and no action, at least tacitly approving of legislation that undermines the welfare of our citizens. We can see through the rhetoric because actions speak louder than words and those actions of late have been highly detrimental to domestic and foreign policy. Right now, the "America first" slogan applies only to rich, Caucasian, and mostly male Americans, and everyone else is left to fight among themselves for the scraps from the feast at the top. This is an irresponsible, repugnant, and intolerable approach to governance. Charity begins at home, and that means that government should be concerned first for its most vulnerable citizens. Children, the elderly, and the destitute will suffer the most from the healthcare bill put before you now. How in good conscience can you approve of this oppressive bill?

A pre-existing condition of many politicians appears to be extreme focus on survival of the financially fittest, but even natural selection is a random force. Life is not fair you say, but I say that our purpose on this planet is to at least try and make it more fair, to increase opportunities for working class families and individuals to prosper. No one can prosper without good physical and mental health. Undermining options for healthcare only weakens the consumer economy. How can you and your colleagues not see that? Should you wish for your own political career to survive, it is in your best interest to start mirroring your home state citizens' wishes, and distance yourself from the influence of industry lobbyists. Thank you.

Gratitude

I struggle with gratitude. It should not be a problem. There are plenty of friends and strangers who suffer more and never complain. In fact, they often offer words of gratitude in place of sharing their misery. Bear with me if you will, though, as there are reasons gratitude is difficult for many people to express.

Those who express frustration and despair at their financial, social, or physical circumstances are often shamed for it. Constructive criticism, if even warranted, has been replaced with indignation and hateful remarks. Civility is no longer the order of the day. Even well-meaning friends often couch their sympathy in religious, condescending tones that still imply that you more or less get what you deserve. If only you were more grateful, more positive, or more....something other than who you are, you would be happy as you are.

All of us are constantly bombarded with examples of material comfort and excess by the news and entertainment media, as well as advertising aimed at ever-wealthier consumers. We invariably either allow ourselves to be persuaded that material wealth is something we should aspire to, or we become despondent over our realization that we are in debt for things we already have. We compare ourselves to others and become depressed over our "failure" to provide for ourselves. It does not matter how unrealistic our views of ourselves and others, it is a nearly automatic response. Our work ethic erodes as we see ourselves as devalued, or at least undervalued, cogs in a machine that makes other people comfortable.

Meanwhile, we are still cognizant of friends and strangers who are worse off. The Facebook couple who were in a wreck that totaled their vehicle. The friend on Twitter fighting cancer with physical, mental, and emotional strength you cannot comprehend. The town erased by a tornado that you saw on the evening news. "Minorities" who struggle daily against intense public hatred, bigotry and discrimination based on attributes determined by genetics. You are grateful for your White privilege, your gender privilege, your "normal" lifestyle, but also ashamed you have not done more with it. Gratitude for your own condition seems somehow empty or false in the face of that.

A good many people were raised with the idea that one should suffer in silence, that it is not your place to disclose "personal" trials and tragedies. Exposing your vulnerabilities was inviting someone to take advantage of your condition. It was also considered poor taste to flaunt your good fortune. Modesty and humility were virtues that garnered respect. How times have changed. It is important to share emotions, even negative ones, because it helps ease stress and also opens the doors to treatment for depression and other psychological illnesses. You cannot receive professional help if no one knows you need it and you won't admit it. Unfortunately, we no longer have the same sentiments toward snobbery and irresponsible affluence as we did back in the day.

Personally, I have no desire for wealth. I would rather have fewer material possessions, in fact. Were I to want to become wealthier, it would be to help others a lot less fortunate. It pains me at least as much to be unable to donate to causes I believe in as it does to be scraping the bottom of my bank account to meet my own financial obligations. I do wish my wife and I could travel more, learning more about other cultures, other nations, other organisms we share the planet with. That is what life should be about, rather than status and luxury.

I will be the first to admit that I need to express gratitude more often, but you cannot coerce someone into gratitude. One way I am guaranteed to remember and express my "blessings" is when I see someone else setting the example by sharing what they are grateful for. Leading by example, being the change you wish to see in the world. Those credos are popular and longstanding for a reason.

Depression

My mind is an emotional train wreck right now. Depression has many faces, at least that is what I believe is true for me, and I can speak only for me. It is a condition that can be fleeting, or stubbornly entrenched for weeks or months; and it can be triggered by many stimuli. Lately, the monotonous and unseasonably cold, wet weather, is largely to blame.

© Healthination.com

Frustration

Feeling powerless to change circumstances is without a doubt one of the leading emotions that causes me to fall into despair. I truly can't change the weather. It is going to be bad until it is good again. I cannot change the marketplace. My chosen profession and its attendant skills and knowledge will continue to be devalued for as far into the future as I can see; but I also can't change who I am, which, at its core, is a writer. It is also difficult to accrue new skills and new circumstances when one does not have the financial capacity to attend classes, travel to better weather, or otherwise self-improve....because you can't earn enough at your profession.....a vicious cycle.

Anger

Frustration for me results in one of two things: sadness or anger. Usually it is the latter. Lately I have been more silent than usual because I fear nothing but a string of expletives would leave my mouth (or my fingers as they dart across the keyboard). I wish that it was more widely considered by the scientific community that violence and depression in men are strongly linked. Men have a much harder time expressing themselves verbally. Why do they smash the plate against the wall during an argument with their spouse or significant other? "There! Do you see that? That is my heart, shattered." Men want desperately to have a tangible expression of how they feel, and this often comes out violently.

Snowball Effect

One expression of depression for me is what I call the "snowball effect," whereby one negative thought leads to another and they keep accumulating until there is no stopping them and they almost bury you. During one of these episodes your life seems to stink more than it really does because the snowball is also a dredge that hauls up memories that are not necessarily still applicable to your current condition. The good thing is that I am getting better at recognizing this before the snowball builds enough momentum to be all-consuming. The bad lunch does not carry as much weight as I thought initially, and can be allowed to fall off the conglomerate of other matters.

Coping Poorly

I will assert that few people are able to cope with depression, tragedy, and other life challenges in a healthy manner. Such things usually trigger extremely bad coping "skills" such as addictions, flight (from relationships, reality, etc), suicide, and homicide. These days, another coping mechanism is "oversharing" on social media. This is understandable. Misery doesn't necessarily love company, as the old saying goes; but misery does crave understanding and empathy; and reassurance that most situations we face are only temporary. Facebook has become in many ways a 24-7 version of Oprah or The Phil Donahue Show, or Sally Jesse Raphael for those who can remember that far back (I even appeared on Phil Donahue's show in February of 1989 to talk about adult children of divorce).

Anyway, few of the ways we want to exorcise our demons are productive. I cannot go on a shooting spree when what I really want is to kill the marketplace, not its inhabitants; and the social fabric of our world already has enough holes in it anyway. We need more patches and some really good seamstresses. I can't kill myself because then I send someone else down the road I just exited. Drugs and alcohol only serve to make one more destitute financially, and more unhealthy physically.

Therapy?

Suggesting someone suffering from depression get "counseling" can seem helpful, but here timing is everything. So is type. Personally, I am so self-analytical as it is that seeing a psychoanalyst is redundant. Back in the day I eventually tried a twelve-step group for adult children of alcoholics. I was receptive enough to the idea in that particular window of my life to actually get a few things out of it. This is when I first realized my problem with "God" was actually rebellion against religion, a human social institution. I also finally started understanding how my "buttons" were getting pushed, and began rewiring the mental circuitry so that I could better articulate my own position instead of reacting inappropriately to the other person.

Both one-on-one therapy and peer therapy groups can be helpful if only because you are expressing yourself out loud and you tend to hear yourself better when you do that. Listening to the experiences (traumas, really) of others helps build empathy and creates a more holistic view of one's place in the spectrum of personal atrocities and joys. Ideally, it does this by creating a reverence for those who suffer, including one's self.

Comedy

There is a reason that you never see the theatrical "tragedy" mask without the "comedy" smile right there next to it. I find that the one sure-fire antidote to depression is humor. I think I may start building a library of stand-up comedy DVDs to have at the ready for my next low spell. A good dose of humor might not cure me permanently at any given time, but it will get my head out of itself and probably get me started writing my own material or drawing a cartoon. Comedy is also an awesome substitute for those times when the weather, lack of transportation, or other obstacle prevents you from doing equally healthy things like getting outdoors in nature, or exercising. Maybe music has the same effect on you as comedy has on me. Personally, music can be profoundly sad to me, so I have to be careful in my choices of artists and albums.

Onward

I have no way of knowing who is reading this, and what their own struggles may be. I do hope that they gain a measure of hopefulness and a sense of brotherhood out of this essay. Meanwhile, I need to scatter my eggs among less weather-dependent, market-driven baskets and reclaim my identity as something more than what I do for an occupation. We're all much deeper than we know, and far more substantial than what society tells us we are. Don't fall for it. Laugh at it instead, and be the individual example of what you want humanity to be. You'll fail early and often, but don't we all.

My Colonoscopy

That deflating sound you hear is my disappointment over the anticlimactic experience with that medical procedure that signals the beginning of old age: the colonoscopy. Here I was anticipating something similar to the ordeals suffered by the likes of Billy Connolly, Jeff Foxworthy, and Bill Engvall. Alas, there were few fireworks, but still a little comedic material in my case.

My general practitioner referred me to the Pikes Peak Endoscopy Center, and I was surprised that they could accommodate me within the month I called them. A week prior to the procedure I picked up my "prep kit," as shown in the image above. You can't say they don't have a sense of humor, however warped.

Everyone you consult prior to your colonoscopy will tell you the procedure itself is a piece of cake, but the preparation beforehand is a nightmare. In fact, the day before, you can't have cake. You can't have anything solid. The day before that you are supposed to be on a low-fiber diet. One bonus was the discovery that Ritz crackers have no fiber! It was a good excuse to go all meat and white bread, but if you like a more varied menu it was pretty boring.

The day before is the worst, though. You have to take an inordinate amount of laxatives, in a pretty short period of time. I expected this would amount to a liquid hand grenade detonating at my anus. Not so. There were maybe one or two projectiles ejected with minor force. No volcanic elimination described by our comedian friends.

Perhaps the whole "prep" thing has evolved and improved dramatically since the 1990s. Maybe I followed the dietary restrictions better than the average Joe. Whatever. The remaining laxative effects consisted of me being unable to tell if I was peeing or pooping.

So, I get to the clinic the day of the procedure. I was treated very nicely, I must say. The nurse took me into the room, told me to undress and put my gown on so it opened in the front. I told her she'd have to tip me for that show. She laughed and corrected herself, then asked if I might like a blanket. I said that would be nice, especially if my gown was open in the front.

The anesthesiologist wheeled me, in my bed, into the operating room where the doctor and another nurse were waiting. After introducing himself, the doctor dutifully re-iterated the risks of the procedure. I think I'd prefer that they leave me in ignorant bliss. Then the anesthesiologist said "Ok, this (anesthesia) works very quickly, and you will notice a metallic taste." (He shoots the drug into the IV). Me: "E-e-e-e-w, you're right, that does taste awf...."

That was the last thing I remember until I woke up in recovery. This may be why so many alien-abduction victims are over fifty. A nurse came in and offered a selection of snack items and beverages. The "Bottoms UP Cafe" provides a variety of gourmet blends, from "Lights Out Latte" to "Wake Me Up Before You Go 'Joe'." I chose a "Moon Me Mocha."

What was the result, you ask? Well, they did find and remove a small polyp that turned out to be benign but potentially cancerous. So, I'm cleared for now, but need to report back again in five years (instead of the ten year reprieve you get if no polyps are found).

I want to thank my doctor for being polite but insistent that I get this procedure done, and my friend Philip Kline for also being insistent. Lastly, I'd like to thank my wife for carrying me on her insurance from her workplace. Kaiser Permanente paid for the whole thing, which is as much of a relief as having the actual colonoscopy....dare I say....behind me.

The End (of the puns, too)

The Stroke

Warning: This post includes my blunt opinions about the current state of human sexuality in the United States. Frank language can be expected.

Sunday, August 19 of this year changed my life. While taking a leisurely walk around a pond with me, my wife suffered a stroke. We didn’t diagnose it as such on the spot. She had tingling in the left side of her face and arm, and she wanted to lean to the left when walking. She felt a little light-headed, too. I thought that maybe she was having an allergic reaction to something she ate for lunch, or was dehydrated and overheated. I had her sit down, drink some water, and tell me more about how she was feeling.

”Do you think we need to go to the hospital?” I asked.

”I don’t know.” she responded.

”Are you thinking it might be a stroke?”

”Maybe.”

We wasted no time in getting her on her feet and back to the car. I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t driven in a city since 1999 in Cincinnati, and I was pretty panic-stricken even back then, so Heidi drove us both to the hospital. She was admitted into the ER quickly, and then into the hospital’s neurological services unit. We were there almost exactly 48 hours while she rested and hospital personnel did tests.

Heidi is young, only 41, and the idea that she had experienced a stroke left us dumbfounded. She is not overweight, does not smoke, gets regular exercise (at her job as a zookeeper; and keeping me in line at home), and has no other pre-existing conditions that are known to aggravate a stroke.

What had changed in the previous three months was that she had begun taking oral contraceptives. The blood work on Heidi is still pending as I write this, but nurses and doctors all concede that the birth control pills probably precipitated her stroke. The high estrogen levels in “The Pill” are firmly linked to not only an increased risk of stroke, but also breast cancer. Heidi was taking these drugs as much to alleviate heavy menstruation as to protect us from an unwanted and/or risky pregnancy.

One of the nurse practitioners that talked to us said that if it was up to her, no woman over forty years of age would be prescribed oral contraceptives. No woman who smokes should ever get birth control pills, regardless of her age. Yes, the warnings surrounding oral contraceptives are explicit, but chronically downplayed by both the pharmaceutical industry and the medical community. Why do women have the burden of birth control in the first place?

Here’s the thing. Our patriarchal society continues to assert that men have a right to sexual intercourse any time they want, on whatever terms they so desire, without taking any responsibility for the potential consequences. Gentlemen: Last time I checked, aside from potential allergy to latex, there were no side-effects to wearing a damn condom! Are you really willing to subject your loving partner to potentially lethal or life-altering damage for the sake of your carnal desires?

We need a fundamental cultural shift in the U.S. that demands men take responsibility for their actions, especially when it comes to sex. Lately, there seems to be movement in the opposite direction, seeking to rob women of the few options they have to protect themselves from unwanted pregnancy, or even the opportunity to seek counsel, receive proper medical exams, and access to birth control in any form.

At least some of the roots of the problem can be traced to how we bring up our sons. The “rites” of manhood now seem to be “losing your virginity” and “getting a car,” not necessarily in that order. That sense of entitlement has got to go. It needs to be replaced with a reverence for women; and we must substitute selfishness with a code of sacrifice and toleration of deprivation. Native American rites of passage have much to teach us in this regard. Fasting, solitude, self-reflection, and testing one’s physical limits are at the core of what it means to be a man in those cultures.

Putting more women in places of power couldn’t hurt, either, provided that those women embrace the feminine qualities of compromise, empathy, compassion, and patience that seem to be missing from their male counterparts. Unfortunately, the feminist movement seems to be telling young women that to succeed in a man’s world one must act like a man. Nonsense.

I hope that I am not a lone voice in the wilderness here. Demanding accountability from men should not be simply a legal and liability issue. It cuts to the heart of who we are, or who we can become, as a society. Yes, we are animals, and subject to the same instinctual influences as any other creature; but, we also have the capability of understanding the consequences of our actions. Do we have the will to use that foresight?

Mental Illness

The headline on the front page of the Sunday Arizona Daily Star this week asked “Why don’t we help those with mental illness?” Talk about a population that is misplaced, the unfortunate individuals diagnosed with mental illness are probably at the top of the list. I think there are several reasons why we don’t help the mentally ill, and the first one is because we call it “mental illness.”

I am not a doctor, but given what I know, there really isn’t any such thing as mental illness. All diseases have a physiological cause, at least at the level of biochemistry, so it would seem more appropriate to call diseases of the mind by a name that reflects this. Perhaps “neurological disorders” or “cerebral anomalies” would be a better phrasing of such conditions. Our minds are not something disconnected from our brain and nervous system. Indeed, our mind originates from those sources.

Adding to the difficulty of diagnosing mental illness are the media stereotypes of those disorders. We continue to perpetuate myths such as schizophrenic people being violent. What does legitimately concern our society is the unpredictability of mental disease episodes. A manic or depressive period may come at the worst possible time for an employer, spouse, or friend to deal with. We are generally an impatient and selfish culture that gets frustrated (at the least) when we don’t know if we can count on someone to be there for us and our needs.

There is the stigma of mental illness to be sure, but we are also wary of being fooled. Don’t those with Multiple Personality Disorder just turn it on and off at will? There is this mistaken belief that the mentally ill still have some choice in their state of mind at any moment, because those of us without any affliction know how we are presenting ourselves to the world.

Another barrier to addressing mental illness is the notion that people bring on mental illness themselves. Drug use, for example, often leads to symptoms of mental illness such as hallucinations and erratic behavior.

Treatment is often an exercise in futility because the patient is not the best source of information on their state of well-being. Patients who are doing well because of medication may decide they no longer need the drugs, which then leads to cycles of sickness and recovery.

Patients therefore need “management,” but we have painted ourselves into an ethical corner because of our previous sins in committing mentally ill people to asylums where they were horribly abused. We are loathe to repeat such crimes, so dismiss the idea of institutionalizing “mental patients” in a society that celebrates freedom above all else.

We are also reluctant to intervene when we suspect someone may be suffering from mental illness. I see this in the entomological community whenever someone broaches the topic of “delusory parasitosis.” This condition is usually manifested by the sensation that insects are crawling on the person, or beneath their skin. The patient often brings bags of lint and dust to an entomologist, insisting that the bugs are “in there,” when even microscopic evaluation of the fibers and particles reveals there is no insect, mite, or other creature to be found. The entomologist then tries his or her best to pacify the patient or pawn them off on another expert, which leads to frustration for the patient, too, who can never get a straight answer.

What do we do, then? What is the answer? There is no single answer, but the first step is for us to become better educated on just what constitutes “mental illness.” We need to learn how to recognize it, especially in its early stages when treatment might have a better chance of success. Mostly, we need to have compassion for those who suffer from mental illness, as we do for those who have more obvious physical handicaps.

Let’s not let the mentally ill remain misplaced in our society. Let us find ways to integrate them into our places of employment, social circles, and our healthcare system.

Men, Women, and Breasts

The other night I received a call from a breast cancer awareness organization asking for a monetary donation. I did not comply, though I have donated to this cause in the past and will certainly do so again when I feel I have a more sound footing as far as my personal finances go. It got me thinking, though, that I don’t see many, if any, appeals by breast cancer foundations directed toward men.

Let’s face it: Men like breasts. Men like women. Men have money they too often spend more freely on lingerie, pornography, and other indulgences of a sexual nature that don’t benefit their female partners, let alone women in general. We really are idiots in this regard. We need to take responsibility for our carnal desires in many ways, but supporting women’s health should be at the top of the priority list.

I think there are several ways to go about achieving this goal.

• Create a Valentine’s Day fundraising campaign whereby men can donate various amounts in the name of loved one’s to breast cancer research, prevention, and treatment.
• Every Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show from here on in will have the models sporting pink ribbons (….somewhere) with a hotline number at the bottom of the television screen that ogling men can call to pledge a donation for breast health education and cancer research and treatment.
• Implement a “Pornography Tax” on all forms of porn, plus sex toys and the like, the proceeds of which will go to a variety of causes, including research and treatment of breast cancer, ovarian cancer, cervical cancer, sexually-transmitted diseases, and the prevention of sexual violence, prostitution, sex-trafficking, and other intolerable conditions affecting women.
• The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue will now include all models wearing pink ribbons (….somewhere), plus heavy public service advertising for breast cancer awareness.
• Playboy gets some balls (sorry) and puts a pink ribbon around the neck of its bunny logo. It also devotes more ad space to breast cancer awareness and sexual responsibility in general. This should be a relatively easy sell since there are women in positions of power at Playboy Enterprises.
• Require Clear Channel and other billboard advertising corporations to provide one month of free public service advertising to breast cancer awareness and/or women’s health issues in general.

Come on, guys, you probably have even more ideas for fundraising and education. We all have mothers, lovers, wives, sisters, and other women in our lives. What better way to honor them than to support causes that can improve the lives of women everywhere?

NOTE: Image courtesy of ”BingeAndPurge”. Thank you.

Giving Blood

I gave blood yesterday at the local Red Cross. I try to make a habit of it, but still find it an irregular exercise in samaritanship. Not enough folks donate, though, and my blood type is highly coveted, so I do what I can. Maybe people don’t know what to expect when donating, and so they are fearful? Allow me to share my own history of experiences and allay any trepidation.

Like most guys, I like to think of myself as fairly tough and at least somewhat pain-tolerant. Fear of fainting or otherwise appearing weak and fragile kept me from donating until I was in my thirties. I was on a temporary job assignment when a couple women co-workers asked if I’d like to go with them to donate blood. I decided I might as well give it a try. They told me that as long as you eat a good healthy meal beforehand, you are not likely to even become light-headed. True enough.

I don’t have a fear of needles, but you do get put through the ringer before you even get to that point. Every time you donate you face a battery of tests including blood pressure, body temperature and, ironically, a prick to your finger to get blood for testing your level of iron. Too low in iron and you can’t donate. The most daunting of all, though, is the litany of questions you must answer.

I suspect that one reason women might not donate is because you have to admit you are over 110 pounds, the minimum weight for female donors. Men face even more ego-deflating questions after “Do you feel well today?” I sometimes find myself reduced to tears when I answer “no” to questions involving my international travel history (non-existent) and, worst of all, my sex life (or lack thereof). I don’t participate in risky behavior with drug addicts, prostitutes, or other men, here at home or abroad; and I don’t sport any tattoos or body piercings (with no plans to be incarcerated, either). How boring am I?

Once it is determined that you really are a mouse and not a man, you are ushered to the room where they do the actual blood-letting, er, taking. You get to recline in a comfy chair, and then recite your name, address, and social security number for the umpteenth time. A technician swabs your arm with iodine (provided you assured the staff you are not allergic to that substance), and an effort is then made to find a vein in the crook of your elbow. That reminds me to do more arm curls at the gym….

Eventually you are encouraged to “look away,” if you need to, so as not to see the medical equivalent of a sewer pipe headed your way. I’m kidding, of course, it really isn’t that bad (or that big). I feel more pain from the stupid finger prick for the iron test. After the insertion of the needle there is little left to do besides gently roll a toy ball in your hand to keep the juices flowing.

When you have passed a pint, the little machine beeps, alerting the technician to disengage you, but not before about three additional vials of blood are taken for testing. Even though you were honest in how you answered the ream of questions, no chances are taken when it comes to blood-borne diseases, and so the vials will be used to test for those.

Finally, you are bandaged and given post-donation instructions that include no rigorous exercise for the next 24 hours, and more than your usual intake of non-alcoholic, non-caffeinated beverages (read “water”). Then you are sent to the canteen for recovery and refreshments. Yesterday I donated “2RBC” or “double reds,” and responded accordingly at the canteen, downing two juices and eating two snacks.

One other thing used to bother me about donating blood: You don’t get to choose who it goes to. Yes, you can help save a life, and it might be a baby, or a cancer patient. It could also just as easily be a drunk driver who wrapped his car around a utility pole, or a gang-banger who got himself shot. Maybe your blood will go to that guy from the Jackass show. You just don’t know. Notice that it doesn’t stop me from donating just the same.

World Malaria Day

My standard answer to the question “What good are mosquitoes?” is “Ask a Plasmodium.” The quip is both flippant and profound. Plasmodium is the parasitic organism that causes malaria. It cannot complete its life cycle without the help of certain mosquitoes. We tend to collectively frame other living things by their relevance to ourselves only. Today, on World Malaria Day, I challenge you to think differently, and ask if deadly tropical diseases like malaria can be eradicated without rendering extinct either vectors or microbes.

Many parasitic diseases have driven human evolution over the eons. Sickle-cell disease is our unfortunate evolutionary answer to malaria, but who knows what future immune responses might be, and how they will become encoded in our genes?

Diseases can also have an impact on ecosystems. African sleeping sickness, caused by parasites called trypanosomes, and transmitted by the infamous tsetse flies, is a case in point. Wildlife is essentially immune to trypanosomyasis, but in livestock the parasite manifests itself as “ngana.” Avoiding the disease and its vectors is largely what has driven the nomadic lifestyle of certain indigenous tribes. Cattle are moved with the fluctuating “fly belt” to territory not occupied by tsetses. This seasonal migration has allowed livestock and grazing wildlife to co-exist on the savannah to a much greater degree than would be the case if ngana was eliminated. Subsaharan Africa would become, more or less, one big cattle ranch without the fear of flies and disease.

Our response to human mortality factors in general has left a long trail of unintended consequences, and we should be cognizant of the potential to repeat those mistakes. Please, by all means purchase a net or two to insure the safety of those in remote villages that risk nightly exposure to bites from malaria mosquitoes. Continue to contribute to organizations seeking to end poverty across the planet through improved housing, water quality, and education. We need to be both generous and cautious human beings.