tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28519404929543964332024-02-26T11:57:22.804-08:00I'm late for work againPeterborough and Calgary.
Youtube.com/lauracomLaurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-54272070335859034942024-02-20T20:05:00.000-08:002024-02-26T11:56:51.188-08:00Is it an allergy even? <p>The topic of my child’s allergy is the only one I know of
that can bring a good conversation between myself and friends, family or
coworkers to a screeching halt. The silence is immediate, the eye contact
faulters, the person nods but stops listening, unsure of the route they’ll take
to change the subject. It’s the closest I’ve come to ever feeling like a
conspiracy theorist, and it makes me wonder if conspiracy theorists lack the
ability to read other peoples emotions, or if they simply endure these
encounters, the way I now have to. It seems we don’t know how to handle
information that goes against our deeply engrained truths about the world we
live in. It’s not that they don’t believe me, It’s something else I can’t
figure out.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br />
My daughters’ allergy to food dye came on swiftly after some Dollarama candy
she’d picked out herself with a gift card from her 5<sup>th</sup> birthday. It
was a rare treat, blue powdered sugar in a small plastic baby bottle. I scoffed
when she chose it, but it was her birthday treat, how could I get in the way of
that? She’d had some variation of this candy at other times in her short life,
at birthday parties, along with birthday cake frosting, doritos, skittles, and various
other junk foods. But I can tell you with confidence, it was most definitely
not something that sat in our cupboards regularly. <br />
<br />
It started so simply, the last week of summer. We were getting in the car and she refused to put her
seatbelt on, her mouth still blue from the candy. It escalated quickly, her
whole body revolting against this simple act we’d done countless times before.
Every time we’d click the seatbelt in, she’d reach over and unclick it,
screaming in our face. We were at my friends’ house, slightly embarrassed and
unable to leave his driveway. He didn’t have kids so he assumed this was all
part of the gig. We pretended it sort of was, but when we looked in eachothers’
eyes, there was a bit of fear. Eventually we backed out of the driveway, Marty
in the backseat essentially holding the seatbelt in place while her whole body
spasmed in tantrum. We drove 3 blocks before pulling into a park, completely
overwhelmed and unsure how to proceed as the screaming was too distracting to
drive. We opened her door and her turbulence flew into the parking lot where
she kicked and hit me with every ounce of her being. Her poor 3 year old
brother had started to cry from his own fear. We closed the car door, Marty
staying with him, and me joining her in the parking lot. After awhile we
switched.<br />
<br />
A car drove by slowly and then stopped as though they were checking on her
welfare, making sure she wasn’t in an unsafe situation and that we were in fact
her parents. I wasn’t sure<i> we</i> were in an unsafe situation. Eventually
the car drove off. She was screaming “Mom! Mom! Mom! No! No!” over and over
again all the while kicking and punching me with everything she had. This went
on for 40 minutes before she collapsed in a heap into her booster seat where
she stayed in a daze for the next 2 hours, the life drained out of her.<br />
<br />
After this experience, we were all different, not the same people we were that
morning when we woke up. Something tiny had broken in our family, and in our
daughter, and it was going to get a lot worse before it would get better. <br />
<br />
This continued to happened every couple of days for the next 2 months. Each time it was more
disturbing, more emotionally draining than the last. I found myself googling
“abusive daughter” and “aggressive children”, finding only articles about CBT
therapy, big emotions and ADHD medication. I called my former teacher sister,
crying, begging for her advice. She suggested I take a course on holds you can
put children in so they don’t hurt themselves or others. This made me cry more.
<br />
<br />
On December 3<sup>rd</sup> I brought my daughter to a Christmas market with her
Grandma who had seen a glimpses of these outbursts but usually left when they
started to come on. But this time it happened while we were at Grandma’s house. I barricaded my daughter in the playroom while she reeled on the floor, told Grandma it will be about 40 minutes, not to worry, then
as I closed the door I noticed the half-eaten candy cane on the counter that the
lady at the market had given her. That’s it, that’s the cause of this, I know it . My head
was spinning. I sat on the floor, my arms acting as a cushion from the impact
of a 44 lb girls arms and legs flailing . I scrolled through the last few months in my
head, the birthday cake, the starburst, the chocolate milk, the movie theatre
popcorn. I connected the rainbow-coloured dots until I was left with the first
incident, burnt in my brain, and that god-awful blue powder in a baby bottle. I
cried again, but this time out of relief. There’s a solution, there’s nothing
wrong with our daughter, there’s something wrong with her world.<br />
<br />
My most heartbreaking discovery since learning of her allergy was that it was
in her toothpaste. We fed it to her, unknowingly twice a day, everyday. The
news stories about artificial food dye don’t ever mention that it’s in children’s
toothpaste and medicine. They cover stories on the potential health problems
associated with food dye, but they only ever mention the junk food. Why is
that?<br />
<br />
It's been 15 months, and my daughter has only had food dye (by accident) 3
times since that day. Each time, she reacts the same way, her whole body in
spasms, craving violence, screaming “No Mom No!” But this time it was different
because I was different. I was forgiving, telling her it’s okay, you’ve just
had dye, it will be over soon, it’s not your fault. I made notes of what she’d
eaten and asked her more questions about how she feels once it’s all over. She
shared with me that she feels tingly all over and sad. I learned that this
feeling doesn’t go away in 30 minutes, she’s off-kilter emotionally for about 72
hours after eating dye. <br />
<br />
This isn’t the only change in her since cutting the dye. There was a
freneticness to her movement before this discovery that came and went, that
doesn’t really exist anymore. She gets excited, like all kids, but it’s leveled out.<br />
<br />
We’ve spent a lot of time ruminating on her early years, and we remembered
there was a “fruit loop incident” when she was 3. Even further buried in my
memory was the time she had a fever at 2 years old. We fed her Tylenol and her
whole body vibrated, her eyes wide, unable to sleep for 3 hours. I’d completely forgotten that I’d written the
company and they replied to me suggesting we buy dye-free, which we did forever
after that. How could my brain not piece this together sooner? How could dye
seem and <i>feel</i> so innocuous to me even after these two incidents with food
dye? Why had I never questioned their effect on us? <br />
<br />
From a very young age we are told some version of the reality we seem to carry
as adults. We all know how sugar affects us, how too many calories make us gain
weight, the role fat plays in our diet, but I neither learned nor carried any
sort of feelings about the calorie-free, sugar-free, colourful dye made of
petroleum by-products.</p>
<span face=""Aptos",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Aptos; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Since scientific studies involving mice and
small groups of children being fed dye for 3 months never amounted to any
conclusive evidence either way, Health Canada cannot decide whether this
substance is harmful or not. But seeing as a major dye-manufacturer had the
definition for the word harmless changed in the American court of law in 1961,
I suspect the companies are aware of the harm they cause <i>some</i> children. <i>Some</i>
was the key word in many studies on the subject, as some kids remained
unaffected and<i> some</i> were affected; 8% to be exact. Health Canada is so
confident in this decision, that they’ve allowed it artificial colour in all
medicine and all dental products, a fact that frightens me even more than the
food. If my daughters ever hospitalized with an infection, the only available
antibiotic is a deep pink amoxicillin. Not to mention every capsule or vitamin
is coated in red or yellow or made whiter by titanium dioxide. So Health Canada
has decided that 8 % of children can endure a little neurobehavioural outcomes
every once in awhile, so the other 92% can enjoy bright, shiny, candy and while
I see the logic, I cannot forgive them for allowing it in our medicine. </span><div><span face=""Aptos",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Aptos; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Aptos",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Aptos; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For the most part I've stopped bringing the topic of food dye up at outings with other parents, and I try to ignore the licorice at the office, because the look I get when I sound like a conspiracy theorist makes me feel shame, and what we experienced is not shameful. The shame should be directed at the individuals responsible, everybody in the room at those FDA and Health Canada meetings, where they took a vote and declared those 8 % of children aren't worth protecting.</span></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-1757109678312715362023-11-21T20:54:00.000-08:002023-11-25T10:20:01.239-08:00Changing Homes<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Lora; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><br />
I just celebrated 10 years at my job. I was 28 when I started and ready for
anything and everything to happen to me. Now I'm 39 and someone needs to
explain to me what the hell happened? Everything and nothing, like water down a
drain.<br />
<br />
If grief is the response to loss, then nostalgia must be some sort of grief too.
Only we’re grieving a place we no longer live, a person that no longer feels
like ourselves. When I see her in pictures she has a lightness to her, her
smile comes a little more easily. All the things that happened in those years
have not yet happened to her and she’s blissfully unaware that they’re going
to. She’s you but she’s not <i>you</i> yet. I don’t know what I prefer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Lora; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Like
that photo of all of us sitting around Roger’s bachelor apartment; his bed in
the corner, we’re on the floor around the coffee table, ash trays are full. I
remember an ice cream cake was stuffed in the freezer but it had previously
already melted once. Our party was interrupted by the fire alarm, and we stood on
the sidewalk in the freezing cold, watching firemen run into the building. That
was the night I turned 22.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Lora; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Life
surprises me with its resemblance not to a straight line, but to a quilt,
slowly growing one patch at a time, only slightly aware of the end of one patch
and the beginning of another. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Lora; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Only
a year later I was turning 23 in a house in Calgary, three thousand five
hundred kilometres away from Roger’s place. This time we were in a brown 2
story house we’d just started renting. Georgia decided at 6am to throw me a
party and invited the downstairs neighbours and their 6 cats. I remember how
excited they were to go to their first ever early morning birthday party, as
they opened the front door and the cats came piling in. They enthusiastically
called in sick for work and one of them brought a Treatza Pizza from Dairy
Queen. Georgia arranged little breakfast plates for us all with sandwiches, a
clementine and little chocolates. The beauty of a Birthday between Christmas
and New Years is all the little chocolates hanging around. We hung out in our
furniture-less apartment drinking, eating ice cream pizza, and petting cats all
morning. A few days earlier I’d gotten a paranormal disposable camera in my
stocking, so all the photos I have from this birthday morning include strange
ghostly figures in every corner. It was a memorable party, even though everyone
was passed out by noon. This house, my first house in Calgary, has since burnt
down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Lora; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">These
are the places I wish I could visit from my past, briefly on a Friday night,
like a pop-up bar of my house in Ramsay in 2008. This place was a treasure, and
anyone that ever visited it would confirm. Sure, I’m romanticizing it, there’s
no doubt about that, but what if I just built it, how I remember it; the dark
hardwood, arched doorways, long red curtains that matched the red rug, and that
big orange piece of furniture that opened up and was both a bar with a back
mirror but also a record player with speakers. So let’s say I could visit a pop
up bar of my house in Ramsay in 2008, and lets say I invited Geoff, and Angela,
Duncan too. I can see us putting Alan Parsons Project on the record player/bar
and sitting on the front porch with gin and tonics, cans of lucky, smoking Duncan’s
American spirits. We’d remember things we’d forgotten, as only sitting together
with friends in the space can truly remind us, but eventually I’d realize that
I don’t drink anymore and Chris has died, and Ryan before him. So can that
house, that porch really be anything more than a pile of bricks without the
heart and souls of those boys in it?<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-79260563830316175432023-11-06T09:58:00.005-08:002023-11-06T09:58:59.251-08:00If you're not tracking your cycle at the age of 39 what are you even doing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMhGnlFFlvxjkpyNfCdBMqGUVHt_udhGmq3LFAIbTFDee2eWkvNzrAoRaFs91DN1GhbYIgzCmpLZ2HtqHi_Btm6UZsJASHh1sjMJ3AkwvkYDkokiTJrbPZE5brp1RrjQi8vHOSXSIUxcaJtLgCW6Pd-uVgFrB5VO0MdUDdMDMcobSS1FRPG-hXiY94v2c/s579/399054452_10160263902307183_8671627224034037739_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="579" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMhGnlFFlvxjkpyNfCdBMqGUVHt_udhGmq3LFAIbTFDee2eWkvNzrAoRaFs91DN1GhbYIgzCmpLZ2HtqHi_Btm6UZsJASHh1sjMJ3AkwvkYDkokiTJrbPZE5brp1RrjQi8vHOSXSIUxcaJtLgCW6Pd-uVgFrB5VO0MdUDdMDMcobSS1FRPG-hXiY94v2c/s320/399054452_10160263902307183_8671627224034037739_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Excuse me if you've heard me go on about this too many times, but I just must.<br /><br />Today was the WORST. <br />Sure, it's Monday, but there was something extra awful happening. <br /><br />I was triggered early, by kids, by my partner, by my coworkers, and it all happened at the same time. It felt like an emotional implosion, that became an explosion. I yelled, I stomped around, I had an adult temper tantrum. Then I got in the car and cranked Christmas music, a known medicine to grumpiness in my family. But it continued. <br /><br />After dropping off my daughter at school, I cried the whole way to work. I parked the car. While walking the few blocks to work I caught my reflection in the window and thought "if I were to meet myself on the street, I'd hate me instantly based on my clothes alone". That's when I realized something was up. <br /><br />This negative self talk was familiar. It creeps in slowly and then quickly, and that's usually the biggest clue that I'm getting close to cycle day 21. I opened my app and "TA DA!", on the nose. Today IS cycle day 21.<br /><br />Knowing this information, that I'm prone to this sort of emotional turmoil on and around this day, never stops me from identifying it beforehand. Never. It's usually a voice inside that says "you are unlikable, no one wants to be around you, you are the worst human on the planet" that is my first indicator. I have to be IN it, to recognize it.<br /><br />But it does give me the grace to handle it after I know. So I did what anyone would do. I went and got a sandwich, poured a coffee, and ate it at my desk, feeling instantly better. I can handle today now. I'm not the enemy, cycle day 21 is the enemy, and every hour that goes by, I'm getting farther and farther away from it. <br /><br />Sometimes I put little hearts on the calendar at home to remind myself it's coming, but I usually don't see it. I sent an apology to my partner along with a "it's cycle day 21" hoping that will give me a bit more forgiveness. <br /><br />I can't imagine not knowing this valuable information now that i know. If you think it's impossible, take a look at some of the symptoms I wrote down in the 12 months of taking notes on my mood (every single one was on cycle day 20, 21, or 22):<br /><br />Sorrowful<br />Weeping isn't far<br />Don't know how to parent<br />Everything feels annoying<br />Feeling crazed, chaotic, my brain is swirling, everything stinks<br />I hate everyone<br />A little grumpy<br />Interested only in sugar and shopping<br />Overly emotional<br />Want to only play guitar<br />Short tempered<br />I feel shaken to my core<br />I'm a fucking mess today<br />I'm not well, I said to myself<br />Weird ungenerous thoughts, assuming everyone hates me<br />Traumatic for everyone<br />I've been shopping like crazy<br /><br />So now the big question is WHY?<br />Why does it feel this way on this day and is it just me or is it everyone?<br /><br />It's because our happy hormones have been slowly leaving us and this is the lowest they'll ever be. I'm not a scientist obviously, but this about sums it up. This is why shopping and eating feels better, it's filling in some missing dopamine. <br /><br />Some of the earliest research on how the menstrual cycle affects mood determined that a womens cycle day can be predicted by mood alone, 100 % of the time! (<a href="https://journals.lww.com/psychosomaticmedicine/Citation/1939/10000/The_Correlations_Between_Ovarian_Activity_and.2.aspx">1939 Study</a>).</div><div><br />So before you go ahead and break the law or get a divorce or runaway to the Bahamas, double check you're not just reacting to cycle day 21. </div><div><br /></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-66225603571060771092023-10-30T11:31:00.004-07:002023-10-30T11:31:40.235-07:00InstinctThe urge to say <br />Something small<br />In every moment<br />I push it down<br />It lingers<br />Unsettles <br />Until it is big<br /><br />Then<br />I get up the nerve <br />But only if I run into you again<br />The words fall out<br />Full of fear<br />I feel relief<br /><br />Sometimes I don't ever see you again<br />The moment dies<br />I forget<br />Forever<br /><br />Is the difference between life and living<br />In that moment?<br />In the saying?<br />In the doing?<br /><br />I felt the urge to pull up a chair<br />Talk to my friend<br />Ask him what the fuck<br />Tell the nurse<br />He has a plan<br />But I didn't<br /><div>The moment died<br />And then<br />7 days later</div><div>So did you</div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-90740711103929225792023-10-09T21:12:00.002-07:002023-10-30T11:19:25.306-07:00Untitled because I forget what I was referring toSo full then so empty.<br />
Adrenaline carried me this far, only to have fear deflate me.<br />
And what I think I know is not a truth at all.<br />
<br />
Just a wreckless adventure<br />
Nothing left now but a story<br />
For you<br />
<br />
But for me<br />
Is it unrequited or unrealistic?<br />
My own undoing, self-sabotage or sine qua non.<br />
<br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-47112375660765456692023-06-02T10:50:00.002-07:002023-06-02T11:04:23.128-07:00To Dye For<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoBl4u-StPT0lZz9PSrRSd3c8A-RA6M_sdJTpnswAltxyrHOK8YDO7dkcTXWy9OKQ8dUTdNFTJdEo9G5FO_NnqIgjE5K1LvmhJBu_AUx7VGEHEeyYo-7W-GEgN9EmWjI0hm7K6bwTGQds5X0HktNeLUEvCye6F3Dt0pFGaTyu48Wij8Nz_33uefc2pA/s1000/MurrayFamilyNewspaper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="951" data-original-width="1000" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoBl4u-StPT0lZz9PSrRSd3c8A-RA6M_sdJTpnswAltxyrHOK8YDO7dkcTXWy9OKQ8dUTdNFTJdEo9G5FO_NnqIgjE5K1LvmhJBu_AUx7VGEHEeyYo-7W-GEgN9EmWjI0hm7K6bwTGQds5X0HktNeLUEvCye6F3Dt0pFGaTyu48Wij8Nz_33uefc2pA/s320/MurrayFamilyNewspaper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Have you ever heard of Polly Murray?<br />Probably not.</div><div><br /></div>Have you ever heard of Lyme Disease?<br /><br />Polly Murray is the reason we know about Lyme Disease. She is the mother who refused to take the illness plaguing her family, her neighbours family, her entire block lying down. For YEARS she harassed the CDC, who continually ignored her pleas. THIS IS CONNECTED, she was saying. THIS IS INFECTIOUS, she pleaded, while they chalked it up to a coincidental case of juvenile arthritis in all the children on her street. <br /><br />When they finally relented, they sent Alan Steere, a rheumatologist (not an infectious disease specialist) who determined it was in fact an infectious disease being spread by ticks in Lyme, Connetticut. What happens next is interesting. <br /><br />He looked at the infection through a rheumatologist lens and made some determinations about the disease that are contradicted to this day. He arbitrarily divided the symptoms up into major and minor categories. He then "cured lyme disease" by "eliminating all the major symptoms with 2 weeks of antibiotics", leaving only minor symptoms. He then invented something called post-lyme syndrome, which means, the minor symptoms you live with for the duration of your life because Steere "cured lyme disease". It's the standard by which every Doctor treats Lyme Disease today. And it's totally bogus. Thus was born, the controversy of Lyme Disease. <br /><br />My point is that a determined mother can change everything. And I'm determined to get food dye out of our food supply, no matter how many scientists and researchers and boards and regulating agencies tell me there's nothing I can do. They are not doing their job correctly, as far as I'm concerned, because I have seen first hand what 3 years of dye consumption can do to a dye-sensitive child. So I might as well be the right person for the job. <br /><br /><br /><p></p><br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-42796365998094778252023-05-16T09:15:00.006-07:002023-05-16T09:19:09.998-07:00Synthetic food dye and adverse neurobehavioural outcomes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6IIdJI31ZOuNJqvAaoR9gbPgs5HzipNkFBdq51wQBLizdlCx_DLbXwrE8Aqhfv_IVTD5p-u3LAvW55vMWuvdmacnBpFH5MvJTY38H6REMndvTPolxH6BeS_-dWRgvd6lxb0V-exKJVLMfger0yoOkryN7PL46kIZpAYCnvj3ZpGhXvk0gCS2yQdH2Bg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="313" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6IIdJI31ZOuNJqvAaoR9gbPgs5HzipNkFBdq51wQBLizdlCx_DLbXwrE8Aqhfv_IVTD5p-u3LAvW55vMWuvdmacnBpFH5MvJTY38H6REMndvTPolxH6BeS_-dWRgvd6lxb0V-exKJVLMfger0yoOkryN7PL46kIZpAYCnvj3ZpGhXvk0gCS2yQdH2Bg" width="262" /></a></div><br /> <br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">Let’s
breakdown what “adverse neurobehavioural outcomes” after eating synthetic food
dye, actually means.</span><p></p><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
Because what is behaviour except our entire personality, how we act and speak
and move, how we function through our daily lives?<br />
<br />
For the 2 years before we discovered our daughter couldn’t tolerate food dye,
she moved through this world so differently. We thought it was part of her
personality. There was a freneticness to her movement, an urgency to her. She
overwhelmed me on a daily basis, her body had a mind of its own, legs tapping
uncontrollably, busy, busy, busy. But there was something else which I couldn’t
say out loud, an inabililty to connect with
her on a regular level which I chalked up to a failure of mine. <br />
<br />
Our day to day had a chaoticness, but I can only say that now that I know I
know it’s not her personality but a neurological response to her diet.<br />
<br />
The chaoticness escalated until one day, October 2<sup>nd</sup> 2022, it morphed
into violence, seemingly overnight. From that day forward, her tantrums were
out of this world. At it’s very worst, her safety and the safety of others were
our biggest concerns. <br />
<br />
The violence she was capable of surprised us all as she was only 44 lbs. She
would take her seatbelt off and hurl herself around the car. She smashed in the
heat vent in the back seat with more power than I knew a 5 year old was capable
of. Several times I was forced to pull over and spend an hour on the side of
the road talking her down so she wouldn’t do it again. At this point, I was
considering getting rid of her booster seat and going back to a 3 point harness
carseat. <br />
<br />
Of course all of this was before I knew the cause, the candy cane wrapper still
lying at her feet.<br />
<br />
I remember calling my sister crying every week, feeling so wildly out of
control. Sending my husband in to her room keep her “contained” while she
begged for me. But I couldn’t go in there when she was like this as she would
kick and punch and hurl things at me. The entire family was falling apart as a
result of her tantrums. My parenting classes couldn’t even touch the level of “tantrum”
that was happening. I now know that’s because parenting classes are meant to help
with average child’s tantrums, not “adverse <span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">neurobehavioural</span> outcomes”. <br />
<br />
It's a wonder I even discovered it. <br />
<br />
Then I discovered the correlation between coloured food and her behaviour. Looking
back, the first tantrum was after some coloured powder candy from Dollarama.
The car tantrum after a sucker from the librarian. The tantrum at Grandmas when
she broke the chalkboard, after a candy cane at the craft show. It was
speculation at first, and took a lot of trial and error before we figured out
that her responses came after exposure to all synthetic colours (red, blue,
yellow) and sometimes natural colour as
well (annatto).<br />
<br />
I can’t put into words the overwhelming relief we felt that this was not a permanent
state of being. The reality was that we could very easily avoid this and get
our child back. It seemed too good to be true. <br />
<br />
Not only did the tantrums stop, but the freneticness that I had thought for so
long was her personality, also left. Her ability to focus sharpened. Her attention
span increased, her connection to me strengthened and my anxiety went down as a
result. Our family was completely turned upside down before this, and
completely fixed with the removal of dye. <br />
<br />
After this, I was prepared for regular kid tantrums, but all tantrums disappeared.
She was able to regulate herself without any help from me. The last tantrum we
experienced was on January 12<sup>th</sup> of this year after an accidental
exposure to titanium dioxide (white) in yogurt covered raisins. That was 4
months ago.<br />
<br />
Often parents ask me how I avoid candy and cookies and drinks with dye
considering how much kids love colourful treats. But I don’t have to forbid
them, my daughter is terrified of them. Being unable to control your emotions
and your actions after consuming something is a terrible feeling, and one that
she remembers too well. She acknowledges that she has a “sensitivity” or an “allergy”
to them, and steers clear without any guidance from me. <br />
<br />
If this was our experience, what is happening with the rest of society? <br />
<br />
The FDA says 8% of children have “adverse neurobehavioural outcomes” after
consuming synthetic food dye. That’s 2-3 kids in her class potentially.
Coincidentally, there are 2-3 kids in her class with a tendency </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">to lash out, get flooded with emotion a few times a day and get sent to the hall. Is it after snack time, after lunch time? Is anyone paying attention? Did the parents get the memo? Likely not. I don’t feel like I’m in any place to tell them what to feed their child. But the FDA knows, the Canadian Food Inspection Agency knows, they were all present at the meetings. They have a responsibility, and they’re failing these children by not viewing this issue from a larger lens. How do I replace the words “adverse neurobehavioural outcomes” at their meetings, with a visual of a 44 lb girl hurling herself across the backseat of a moving car? I guess with this essay. </span><div><br /></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-67514770108025061642023-05-11T08:15:00.001-07:002023-05-11T08:15:18.082-07:00Tomorrow<p> In high school my friend Kelly said something that stuck with me, which was "Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone". I wound up writing it as my yearbook caption - Kelly says tomorrow isn't promised to anyone. It was equal parts morbid, equal parts contradictory to what the teachers had been telling us all year about our future. My teenage angst was strong in those days. <br /><br />Kelly died within 5 years of leaving highschool, which always felt like such a strange coincidence given his wisdom. He was quite a religious guy, and I don't know how he died, but the overwhelming memory of him for me was his enthusiasm and good attitude. No angst as far as I could tell. <br /><br />I've carried this feeling with me my whole life. It was obviously reinforced when Ryan died, the idea that the bottom could fall out of your life at any moment, no ryhme or reason to it. And the perceived promise that I'll die an old lady in my bed also went with it. Because suddenly at any moment in time I could drop off this earth and anyone I love could drop off too. This has profoundly changed the way I approach life. No one can tell you how to feel this way, but my experience has led me to feel this way and to live my life this way.<br /><br />I don't live for any perceived promise of a tomorrow. I most definitely don't save anything for retirement, it feels like tempting fate. Maybe that's irresponsible of me, but here I am. Not to mention, a lot of people die within 5 years of their retirement. What a crazy thing to wait for. <br /><br />So my hesitation to participate in modern day society in ways like working 40 hours a week and putting my kids in school Monday-Friday, that hesitation is due to the realization that I only have one opportunity to live on this planet and it could be taken at any time. So I participate in that part of society as minimally as possible. I recognize that my children, my family, are the most important part of my life and spending time with them especially when they're this small is the most important. <br /><br />When I speak to older people, like a couple walking hand in hand in the woods together, they tell me how special and how fleeting time with their children was and they miss that part of their life very much.</p><p>Our plan for next year is born out of this idea. This idea that we can make our own rules, and our options for school and work and life are greater and bigger than I ever thought they were. <br /><br />Some of the repercussions of loss at an early age has turned into an anxiety about being alive, a worry, a constant fear of pain and hurt and danger that I have no control over. It's unjustified but I still can't control it. But I do have control over the choices we make and the life we design for ourselves. <br /><br />It took me awhile to get to this point, but it feels exciting. <br /><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-53615167112460886982023-04-25T19:16:00.005-07:002023-04-25T19:16:34.633-07:0014 years ago<p> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d never seen anyone like him before. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-cd212a7c-7fff-6a87-0426-e14ec873c951"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ryan Fox.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That name alone doesn’t feel real. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My life divided into 3 sections. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before, during and after Ryan Fox. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During was only 3 years. How could one person cause such a disruption?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His hair was wild, his sideburns too. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had a way about him, a style rarely seen these days, in men or women.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From a different time and place, and yet, when I met him he was sharing a basement apartment with a guy named Bob (about as ordinary as it comes). </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In later years I found myself struggling to get him to participate in society in a normal way, something he very much resisted. I’m Ryan Fox, he would say. As though he knew something I didn’t.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had a little ginger in his hair, which he put special pomade in from an orange tin with a black man on it. His couch was a work of art. It came apart in pieces, like it was designed for a film set or a play. It was so uncomfortable, but it was cool. Beside his bed there was a vintage record player suitcase, and 45s in every colour, each marked with a little RF in the corner. Sometimes there was also a TB. Tara, the ex we don’t speak of. On his dresser a small stack of paper, receipts, coasters, 10 or 15 of them and on the top, a phone number. I couldn’t help myself, I peaked under, it said Melissa, and another number, then another, and another.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He caught me. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You can throw those out.” he said. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t need them anymore”.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was the first day we’d met.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day after I met him his cat, Richy, died. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Richy was very old, and a good friend to him.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Richy must have known it was okay to go because you’re here now”</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was mine, right away. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never doubted that.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe that’s what keeps me going back, the certainty of it all.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He would tell me about his Mother, he adored his Mother. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You and her, he would say, you two are it, my two favourite people. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We would walk a lot. Him, a few steps behind with a coffee and a cigarette. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We didn’t have a car in those days, barely able to feed ourselves and pay rent.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That red coat. Those shoes. The wallet and the chain. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We’d walk to 7/11 for big Gulps, coffee and cigarettes.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We didn’t know what to do with his ashes because he was from the city, not much of an outdoorsy guy. His sister in law suggested we see what 7/11’s policy is for scattering ashes in their parking lot. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t remember full ash trays, but they must have been, he was usually smoking.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had secrets too. A heartbreak before me, a darkness in glimpses.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’d play guitar, late into the night, like my Dad.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then in the morning he’d walk to the pawn shop and get his amp back. A constant rotation of items lived there, his wallet full of pawn shop slips. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Money was such an elusive thing, something that floated in and out of his life. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He found $20 on a walk once. He sang David Bowie songs the whole way home, full of joy.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he played music, people stopped what they were doing.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It wasn’t just the lit cigarette in the head of the guitar, burning the paint off. It was the wild devotion, a person taking the song as far as it can go. A born performer.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ve never seen someone break four strings and keep playing before” I heard one guy tell him.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Often the audience was pulling their friends in “You gotta come see this guy”</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Are you going to play guitar for a living one day?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Are you going to love me forever?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ok. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There’s always a bookend when I talk about him, the death always weaving its way into the story. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The death day itself, the weather, his Mother, the accident, the memorial at the movie theatre – with popcorn and everything. But today I’ll leave it at that. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-38350233592621160322023-04-18T08:50:00.004-07:002023-04-18T08:50:55.824-07:00Rush hour<p> Lining up to go to work is where I draw the line. <br /><br />It's 8:30am and I'm in a videogame as I creep along the busy highway, people weaving in front and behind. This is absurd. Like paperboy but in a car. (my videogame idea is paperboy but it's a mom's life, waking, making food, cleaning the house, shuttling the kids around).<br /><br />I'll accept being born in the century where cars exist, requiring 50% of the earth be covered in asphalt. I don't like it but I'll deal. <br /><br />But I draw the line at lining up to go a job, while my children are cared for by others. The job is required to get the money to keep the roof ours and make the heat turn on and buy the flour to make the bread. But how many of the other cars are listening to the radio shout at them to buy a Ford Fiesta. It's 8:30am for godssake. They're all idiots, and I sit here feeling like the exception. Does everyone feel like the exception?<br /><br />I explained to Bernadette yesterday that Moms didn't always work, that 50 years ago they stayed home and cared for the children. This sounded lovely to her. <br /><br />I don't do this everyday though. This intense drive through rush hour traffic to an office. I often work in pajamas from bed. I've never done this on a regular basis, I don't think I could hack it. (I also acknowledge the privilege in this paragraph. I have a great opportunity at my current position to choose how I live and work).</p><p><br />Today was an error in judgement. <br /><br />My job is different than other peoples in that there is no start or end time. For someone like me, that's a dream. That's all I want in life. The constrictions of a fake number, fills me with anxiety, rushing around life instead of living it. All for some paper. Not a great way of thinking, the paper money thing. It's definitely not helping me get out of debt. "It's not real!" I announce as I buy another container to hold my real pens.<br /><br />I get to the office and park underground in a spot that's too small, 15 point turn to get in. It all feels so silly, little victories. Take the stairs then the elevator. What is this world? I wish I could read my book instead. Now the countdown is on, 5 hours until I can pick up my babies and go home again. <br /><br /><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-9750431843397341802023-02-14T20:50:00.004-08:002023-02-14T20:50:58.007-08:00Maybe blame the FDA<p>Violence in society.<br />Violence in my household. <br />They are vastly different kinds of violence, but I can't help but wonder if their cause is the same. <br /><br />My 5 year old started going haywire, like her brain was having a malfunction. <br />She had this pent up rage she couldn't get out of her body fast enough. <br />It was an allergic response. <br />To a food additive. <br /><br />We cut it out, and not only is she not violent anymore, she is no longer climbing the walls. For about a year I couldn't connect with her on a normal level, she was there but she wasn't there, a lot of the time. <br /><br />As it turns out, I was causing it by buying her products containing a petroleum-based substance her body simply cannot metabolize without malfunctioning. So we threw out the toothpaste and the tylenol and the bubble bath and the candy and the gummies and the cereal. <br /><br />4 weeks later and it's like we have a new kid. She eats candy still, she eats chocolate still, she eats everything she used to, the only difference is that the artificial colour is not there. <br /><br />So why was she violent after consuming artificial colours?<br />It's a specific genetic trait that 8 % of the population have, that renders them unable to tolerate dye. <br /><br />The FDA ruled that if only 8% are affected, then there's no need to take it off the shelves. No further insight into this unfortunate 8% who don't realize they are affected, have no reason to believe they should be abstaining from certain foods, and which no test exists. They are simply living with anxiety, depression, possible rage and ADHD symptoms, with no known cause, never thinking it could be the Gatorade. <br /><br />Studies found a link between histamine and behavioural symptoms with polymorphisms in the HNMT gene. HNMTT939C and DRD4rs740373 polymorphisms. <br /><br />A biological reason for increased violence, somehow makes it seem solvable. That's me being hopeful. But I know I just sound crazy. </p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-64160431964848073552023-02-07T09:48:00.003-08:002023-02-07T10:13:13.417-08:00My mind is a funnel<p>Today I simply need to get all these thoughts out that are swarming around in my brain, causing a tightness in my chest, onto paper (or screen).<br /><br />In the morning, I wake up. All the days responsibilities then swarm into my closed eyes like I'm scrolling Tiktok. <br /><br />Kids up, breakfast, dressed, make lunch, start car (hope the car starts, remember the flat tire yesterday?), drive them, go to work, eat, don't forget to eat, pee every 45 minutes (why do I pee so often? do I need to see a Dr?), reminder to call the Doctor - B's legs are aching, why didn't the Doctor test for Lyme last summer after that engorged tick? It's probably Lyme, oh my god. <br /><br />Pick up phone, 45 missed messages, remember to watch those movies your sister sent, I don't think Henry peed today, text dayhome - he needs to pee, he needs to drink water, check ig, check fb, check Tiktok, check again. <br /><br />Answer emails, check your dye video, go down dye rabbit hole, watch someone say dye is completely safe as proven by science, feel rage, put phone down, go back to the emails. <br /><br />I'm funneling. <br />I'm spiraling. <br />I'm overwhelmed. <br />Take a lemon balm, have a ginger tea, remember to eat lunch. <br /><br />Sometimes I worry I'll get gain weight as I age and then I remember that my brain is so out of control all the time I don't have the ability to eat without worry (is neurotic the right word?) so that isn't possible. <br /><br />Text from Marty, out of town next week, any appointments? Lots, and Valentines Day. <br />That's where the stomach pain came from, I'm worried. I don't like when he's away, it stresses me out. I don't trust myself to have a good time, my worry will cause more worry. <br /><br />Maybe I'll get a babysitter. <br />Yes, I'll get a babysitter, Tuesday night, so I can do my course. <br />Let's move Valentines day to Feb 12th he says. <br />Yes, lovely idea.<br /><br />Don't forget the Dentist at noon, don't forget to eat before they freeze your mouth, Siri, set a timer for 2 hours. Do some work, find the phone number for Telus, wait on hold, talk to machines. <br /><br />I need to go for a walk. <br />I need to listen to a song. <br />I need to breathe some cold air. <br /><br />Telus comes on the phone, now they're gone again. I have to drop the tire off, I have to drop those books off to my friend, I have to go to the dentist. The walk and the song and the cold air will have to wait. The computer can't understand me so I scream at the machine, over and over again. I think it helps to scream but studies show it makes us more agitated. I'm agitated.<br /><br />Dentist time. Mouth frozen, must pick up kids, if I don't have snacks ready - will they cry and whine? I can't handle that, prep snacks, pick up kids, log 2 hours of work- how can I only get 2 hours of work done in a whole day? Make the kids dinner, put on movies so they let me, they don't let me. <br /><br />Scarf down food as quickly as possible so I can finally RELAX. <br />They don't eat a bite. <br />Make them cereal. <br />Play. <br />What time is it?<br />When is he home?<br />Am I in a constant state of worry from the moment I open my eyes until they're sleeping? Or until he's home?<br /><br />I would have made a wonderful drunk wife and mom. I would have been a beautiful mess. <br />Instead I'm the wife and mom I always wanted to be. <br />Riddled with anxiety. <br />Laura, take a lemon balm, you're stressing me out. <br /><br />I'm not stressed, I tell my sister. <br />What I mean is, I don't feel stress about work, or life, I enjoy both. But today this feels like stress. <br />Has Telus hung up on me again?<br />Computers cause me stress. <br />Beaurocracy causes me stress. <br />Lyme disease and ticks and medicine and dye swarming around my brain harming my children causes me a lot of stress. <br /><br />So I guess I am. <br />Tea is ready to drink, perfect. <br />That nurse once told me to take ginger everyday, it's perfectly spicy and feels like medicine. It helps. <br /><br />Remember you're in charge, remember you can have fun too, remember to turn the music up and ignore the laundry, and take them somewhere new and different if you want. <br />But then he'll come home and homeostasis will be restored. </p><p><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-48597498709071008182023-01-14T08:24:00.017-08:002023-02-22T08:54:29.870-08:00The road to alternative medicine.<p>I've always considered myself a fairly intelligent person that believes in science and evidence-based practices. Both my parents worked in medical fields, and I had no reason to distrust medicine, science, or the FDA. Had I remained a healthy middle-aged woman with no medical concerns, maybe I would have stayed that way. <br /><br />Three specific things happened to me that directly led me away from this world, and into the aisles of health-food stores and the clinics of naturopaths. Places that were completely foreign to me before the age of 30. <br /><br /><b>The First. <br />I had a child.</b> <br />She was perfectly healthy at birth. At 3 months old, these scaly patches of rough skin started to show up. It was diagnosed as eczema, a skin condition that could be caused by many different things. <br /><br />We bathed her in oatmeal water, and slathered her with expensive lotions. We used prescription lotion from the Doc but it had a limitation of 4 weeks on it. While it worked, we had to cease using it after that time. When I asked what we do next, my Doctor said to just keep doing the oatmeal baths and lotions, which weren't working. <br /><br />So I googled my way down some rabbit holes and mothers blogs and found a connection to milk. I stopped eating all dairy and the patches started to clear up. My Doc referred us to an allergist named Doctor Doctor. He performed the test reluctantly and stated that Dairy Allergies are rare and not proven as a cause for eczema in his evidence-based practice. The test came back, no dairy allergy. He suggested I go home and eat all the cheese I want. My breastmilk will be fine for the baby. <br /><br />I followed Doctor Doctor's suggestion and went home and ate nachos, as I had missed them terribly. <br />The red rash my nursing infant woke up with the next day was the worst it had ever been, she was so uncomfortable and in so much pain. I don't care what he believes to be true, I<i> know </i>this to be true. <br />I felt immense guilt and I cut out dairy for the next year and a half. Her eczema disappeared completely.<br /><b>Strike 1. </b><br /><br /><b>The Second. </b><br /><b>I was bit by a tick. </b><br />A week later all my joints ached. My family had downplayed the tick (that had only been attached for 6 hours) as nothing, so I had forgotten to mention to my Doctor as I had already erased it from my mind.<br /><br />3 months later I remembered, and she immediately ran 3 Lyme tests, back to back. They all came back clear, no Lyme.<br /><br />Over the course of the next 6 months I had various health issues, joint pain in my knees, ankles, wrists and fingers. Rashes all over my body, intense stomach pain, a lump that grew on my thumb. It was this crazy mystery that no blood test could solve.<br /><br />My Doctor finally ran a different tick-borne illness, a Rickettsia test and it came back positive. She put me on the standard antibiotic course for a tick-borne illness and my symptoms temporarily improved. 10 days of antibiotics. <br /><br />When the symptoms returned I asked "what next?" and she said that's all she could do. I still couldn't write or hold my baby without pain. <br /><br />She referred me to an internist who found it amusing that my symptoms had not cleared after the antibiotics. He called them the "gold standard" and suggested I get the "tick idea" out of my head and maybe my symptoms will go away on their own. He explained condescendingly that he practices evidence-based medicine, and continued infection after treatment is not what the research shows.<br /><br />After exhausting all my options, I went to a naturopath who confirmed my suspicions that I had a continued infection. I tested positive for Rickettsia and Lyme. I did a 9 month protocol, and 5 months into my treatment all my symptoms went away. I am now symptom-free a year and a half later, with the exception of some supplements I take for some lingering histamine responses my body still has.<br /><br /><b>As far as I was concerned, evidence-based medicine didn't necessarily mean truth. It simply meant, not yet known.<br />Strike 2. </b><br /><br /><b>The Third. </b><br /><b>My daughter started having violent tantrums at the age of 5, virtually overnight. </b><br />It seemed connected to eating particular foods, especially, Tylenol, fruit loops, and candy canes. <br />The culprit seemed to be red dye. <br />When we cut it out, her violent tantrums stopped. <br />The FDA dismissed all research stating that red dye which is found in nearly all children's medicine, toothpaste, toothbrushes, drinks, candies and other processed foods, causes intense behavioural and neurological issues. The same research was used to ban all food dyes in some European countries. The same research that confirmed a problem with this ingredient in one country, was considered not good enough in America/Canada. <br /><br />Once again, I'm wandering the aisles of health food stores, thanking my lucky stars that there are people and companies out there who have made this connection and created food without this seemingly "safe" dye, despite the FDA assuring the public it is safe for human consumption. <br /><br /><b>Strike 3. </b><br /><br />The pandemic created a large divide between evidence-based and conspiracy, but like all things, it's not so black and white. <br /><br />The gaps I found myself in over the last 5 years were due to lack of research, sometimes because of ethics. Mothers and babies are often the last to be included in scientific research for ethical reasons. Historically, science has excluded women from a lot of research, so the results from the last 150 years will continue to be limited and biased (<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2019/feb/23/truth-world-built-for-men-car-crashes">The Deadly Truth About a World Built for Men)</a>. <br /><br />The arrogance I kept running into, this evidence-based gaslighting was not limited to Doctor's offices. Twitter and Reddit have become over-run with arrogant medical professionals (and other random professionals calling themselves "science communicators") slandering any and all practices that are not evidence-based, with no end to their mocking. 10 years ago, I might have joined them, because it's amusing to belittle someone who seems to have gone off the deep-end. <br /><br />After my experience, however, the whole truth and science are no longer synonymous. <br /><br />Those that have made it their life mission to destroy all treatment methods that are not evidence-based have clearly never had a child with an incurable illness, or been diagnosed with something chronic with no known cures. It's no coincidence that these "science communicators" are often straight white men. These avenues they so enjoyably mock are not necessarily "snake oil salesmen" but a last resort, a parents last hope. The care I received from each Naturopath was complete, thorough, supportive and worked. It was the best care I've received as a woman, and in a perfect world, every young woman should be given the opportunity when her cycle begins in her teenage years, to see an Naturopath.<br /><br />While these Doctors and the like say their reason for pushing evidence-based education is to keep poor vulnerable parents from getting duped, I don't see it like that at all. It's outright sexism.<br />It's their ego, looking for more ammunition, more fact. <br />It's their ego unable to live in chaos. <br /><br />They can't seem comprehend a world with any unknowns. <br />Which is terribly naive considering how little we know about the universe.<br />Even the researchers, the scientists, have an element of awe in their work, an awareness of the unknown. <br /><br />But the Timothy Caulfields' of the world, lack that, and therefore, lack my respect. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvtPFEhG8GIlHnfr1iCORGFs0Xq17gumPka4cWPS9QhuAiF6KMBswaA0D8IbhBzrSEOAnzS1AkMuk7mVxCtAYvac6obLJ2WxviFFseSKVzGdFcIyFup7kRTbGyD3k-Hq_CU2WkbyjufDo3f_6dIKgE1EsQOQC1s4z6VBvKamsMk--l3xHQoDyVx4j3iQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="371" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvtPFEhG8GIlHnfr1iCORGFs0Xq17gumPka4cWPS9QhuAiF6KMBswaA0D8IbhBzrSEOAnzS1AkMuk7mVxCtAYvac6obLJ2WxviFFseSKVzGdFcIyFup7kRTbGyD3k-Hq_CU2WkbyjufDo3f_6dIKgE1EsQOQC1s4z6VBvKamsMk--l3xHQoDyVx4j3iQ" width="144" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-41525349203287205972023-01-10T14:23:00.004-08:002023-01-10T14:25:08.143-08:00My 5 year old wants to beat me up<p><a href="https://www.cspinet.org/sites/default/files/attachment/Seeing%20Red.pdf">Centre for Science in the Public Interest</a><br /><br />This is the most concise description I've found, on why that is. <br /><br /><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-5103318812335921102022-12-13T13:52:00.001-08:002023-02-23T09:19:51.749-08:00Turning 39<p><br />I just celebrated 10 years at this engineering company. I was 28 when I started and ready for anything. <br />Now I'm almost 39 and what the fuck happened to the last 10 years? Everything and nothing. <br /><br />The actual point of this post is to reminisce of the 4 most memorable birthdays I've had so here goes. <br /><br />1 - My 33rd Birthday I was 5 months sober, 6 weeks pregnant, and sick as a dog with Marty in a hotel room in Moose Jaw. We couldn't tour the tunnels because I kept having to puke. I got a massage and puked right after. I could only go in the hot tub for 5 minute intervals due to the pregnancy (and fear of puking). We had 50 jars of homemade pickles in the car from his Mom, and had to bring them up into our hotel room on a hotel cart because otherwise they would freeze in the car. The beauty of winter in Canada. Finally, my stomach settled and we ordered room service. I got the gnocchi and it was amazing. There's a famous photo of Marty with no shirt on, holding the hotel phone that Jeff labelled "Good evening, I'll take your finest plaid shirt". I wish I could find it to put here. </p><p>2 -When I turned 30 I was alone at the Double Tree Hilton in Toronto, slightly drunk after just watching stand-up comedy with my ex boyfriend. I woke up in the middle of the night and watched The Fault In Our Stars on cable. I really liked this birthday because I really enjoy being alone and it felt monumental and special, and I had a credit card and was grown up enough to get a room at the Double Tree (the one that gives you a warm cookie upon checking in). A good intro to my 30s.</p><p>3 - My 23rd Birthday I had just returned from Christmas in Ontario, back to my new "home" in Calgary. I has just started dating Ryan, and we woke up on the floor because we didn't have beds yet and decided to throw an early morning party. We invited the downstairs neighbours and their 6 cats. They invited the basement neighbours who were excited to go to their first ever early morning birthday party. They enthusiastically called in sick for work. <br /><br />Everyone arrived, one of the neighbours bringing me a Treatza Pizza from Dairy Queen. Georgia arranged little breakfast plates for Ryan and I with sandwiches, a clementine and little chocolates. The beauty of a Birthday between Christmas and New Years is all the little chocolates hanging around. We hung out in our furniture-less apartment and everyone was passed out by noon. That apartment went down in history for it's shitty-ness. </p><p>4 - I want to say 2005, my 22nd birthday. Georgia and Roger threw me a party in Roger's bachelor apartment on Weller Street. Georgia spent all the money she had in her purse on me (this sort of became a tradition). There were bowls of something called trailer trash chex mix, made up of chips, pretzels, peanuts cheesies and mini marshmallows. There was an ice cream cake stuffed in the freezer that had previously already melted. The fire alarm went off and we all had to run out into the street. For a brief moment Georgia made me believe it was all part of the show, the firemen about to do a strip tease. They didn't. </p><p><br />The other 35 Birthdays were pretty great too. <br />I have no idea where I'll be this year, maybe Moose Jaw again!</p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-85232562668762662682022-11-23T19:48:00.005-08:002022-12-20T14:00:12.385-08:00GriefIt's one of the few emotions we can spend a large part of our lives not ever knowing it, experiencing it, feeling it at all. And then one day, we feel it for the first time and we say, what the fuck is this feeling? <div><br /></div><div>I thought grief was sadness. I was way off. It's so obsessive and confusing and all-encompassing. <br /><br />And those that never felt it think it can be compared to missing something, but that's not it. It's an entirely new emotion that can alter your physical body in the same way rage or jealousy or fear can. <br /><br />And it's inescapable. You feel it until you don't feel it anymore, or you feel it forever in some way. And you have no control over that timeline. <br /><br />The first movie I ever recall watching that told the story of a huge loss was Thomas J in My Girl. And they got it so very right, in the way they wrote her scene at his funeral. She's upset that he's not wearing his glasses, and he needs his glasses. That is grief. <br /><br />All that to say, I miss my friend.<br />I bought him some tea the other day even though he'd died, because he asked me to get him some tea, before he died. So now there are 6 boxes of tea just falling out of the cupboard because I didn't want him to die. <br /><br />And sometimes I wonder if there's more at play, in our brains, when that is occurring. Something we can't see or explain. </div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-49795042864941343752022-10-24T13:35:00.004-07:002022-10-24T13:48:38.935-07:00How to quit drinking in 5 short years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuljPFp0G6r9Z4QinH-CCCtyiqzSIw1LUqKbM-Pkg4zROcYyziu4tdfZgHdnEtPd4fLflyOYKF9bAIw6MFTx3ARysp8BhNUFQt7HBDxacZJE1aXOh2_UHdd7IcQ4fZ0AofkaNZlBoJDE8ptjC_5Lc3X1bMbgP5TF_dDeHa37K-HFMwD338BthngWPJw/s604/207623_1005460150004_5184_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuljPFp0G6r9Z4QinH-CCCtyiqzSIw1LUqKbM-Pkg4zROcYyziu4tdfZgHdnEtPd4fLflyOYKF9bAIw6MFTx3ARysp8BhNUFQt7HBDxacZJE1aXOh2_UHdd7IcQ4fZ0AofkaNZlBoJDE8ptjC_5Lc3X1bMbgP5TF_dDeHa37K-HFMwD338BthngWPJw/s320/207623_1005460150004_5184_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />2012</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OFpxlq0EKUcjK91pz94VkYEeZXM0JhT8p0wyAl1GKp4bWk7xUJe4bWs8lo4oiHhKIQtF-p8n-QwR7ICsNm0NbAN8oAUjG4iMPqkYM_B2jomHh2GQIPO4xFl5W5-9g3ItVoX3HrpWohGj7tA6p50QT_ZC1mh60-XTRjJpzCDvaVhX6F4M6biqoog78A/s1800/305063319_10159338287817183_8804282178062315159_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OFpxlq0EKUcjK91pz94VkYEeZXM0JhT8p0wyAl1GKp4bWk7xUJe4bWs8lo4oiHhKIQtF-p8n-QwR7ICsNm0NbAN8oAUjG4iMPqkYM_B2jomHh2GQIPO4xFl5W5-9g3ItVoX3HrpWohGj7tA6p50QT_ZC1mh60-XTRjJpzCDvaVhX6F4M6biqoog78A/s320/305063319_10159338287817183_8804282178062315159_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2022</div><br /><p><br /><br />You can have the goal, with absolutely no idea how to reach it. <br /><br />I was an enthusiastic drinker. I loved it. I couldn't imagine a life without it, until it became more of a burden than anything else.<br /><br />Just imagining your life without it is the start. And if the idea of NOT drinking fills you with fear, than you're on the right track to stop.<br /><br />It took me 5 years to properly pull it off, and now I'm 6 years sober. It wasn't easy, and I'm not sure my way of doing it will work for anyone else, but I might as well share. <br /><br />1. The thought. <br /><br />Write down your imagined reality, as a list of goals or a 5 year plan. When your day to day, career, friend circle and partner all revolve around drinking, it seems impossible.<br />You have to start small. Write it on paper, along with other things you hope to accomplish. Some things you've always wished for: Picking up photography, changing your career, moving to a different city, breaking up with your drinking partner. Fold it up and stuff it behind a photo in a frame. You may stumble upon it later, or you may not, the point is it's made and its out there. <br /><br />2. Buy the books.<br /> <br />You may not be a book person, but that doesn't matter. You'll have some free time on your hands if you actually do pull this off, and seeing them on the bookshelf (or avoiding them on the bookshelf) for a year or two is part of the process. Some books to buy (not borrow) are:<br /><br /><b>How to kick the drink easily by Jason Vale<br />Dry by Augusten Burroughs</b><br />The unexpected joy of being sober<br />This Naked Mind<br />Quit like a woman - she also has a great newsletter https://hollywhitaker.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=web&utm_source=subscribe-widget</p><p>How to stop drinking alcohol the easy way<br />How to quit drinking without AA<br />or any books that seem appealing on the topic<br /><b>The ones that helped me the most*</b><br /><br />3. Start a blog, anonymously. <br /><br />You need an outlet to write through your experience, it's part of your "toolkit". There's a frame of mind that if you don't "do the work", what led you to drink in the first place will always come back. Wordpress has a pretty strong community of people doing the same thing, so that's where I did mine. The strangers wound up helping somehow, they made me feel less alone. <br /><br />4. Do the big thing, that's holding you back. <br /><br />The partner, the job that's enabling you, the apartment complex full of drinking buddies. Work towards changing that part of your life. This part might take months, or years, but once you start the process, follow through. Keep imagining the life you imagine for yourself, at the end. End an unhealthy relationship and have rules for the healthy relationship you want, and only start new positive habits.</p><p>5. If you don't think you can do it on your own, ask your doctor for a referral to an addictions counsellor, or go to the daily addictions drop-in program. Ask you doctor for those pills that make you sick if you drink. Get professional help if you think that will help. I did this for a short time.<br /><br />6. Quit. You might last 3 days, maybe 4 weeks. You'll never know until you try. <br /><br />7. Read the Jason Vale book (It's really the only way I could do it). <br /><br />8. Meet new people that don't drink. Take classes, go to the gym, go to the movies. The Boring Little Girls Club in Calgary is a place where non-drinking women get together for activities. Do non-drinking activities to fill your time. You'll have a lot of free time for awhile, then it will become normal.</p><p>9. Don't do what you used to do, at least not until you're fully confident in your sobriety. Avoid the places and the people, while you're staying away from alcohol. Remind yourself who your safe friends are. Turn down the invites, just for awhile. Use excuses, lie, this is only temporary. After 2-4-6-9 months, you'll be able to go back to them. They'll be the same, you'll be different. You may learn that you don't enjoy it like you used to. Getting through that first 90 minutes is hard, but if you do it, you wind up on the other side of the evening and that's when it stops looking fun anyway. They start repeating themselves, and then you can walk home in peace.</p><p>10. I like to go to events that either have food or entertainment. I need one or the other if I'm not drinking. And if I'm not enjoying myself, I leave. Certain situations (and certain bars) are not meant to be sober in. Mostly, they stink.<br /><br />11. If at a function, always have a non-alcoholic drink in your hand. Always. Sometimes two. It fills the void that is very real. Drunk people usually don't notice what's in your glass. Make it look like an alcoholic drink if you don't want anyone looking suspiciously at you. That's one of the hardest parts. It's so frustrating that it's the only drug you need an excuse or an explanation for not taking. Jason Vale has a bit about hating the term alcoholic. I also hate it. I am not one, I am simply not drinking. It's become a negative term in our society for someone who can't "handle" alcohol and it's total bullshit. <br /><br />12. Floss. Wash your face. Do the things you never did while you drank. Create good habits, you'll feel excited about these small things.<br /><br />12. Remember the AA saying: Hungry, thirsty, tired and lonely. If you're feeling the urge to drink, you're likely one of these things. Solve the thing, instead of drinking. Eat, drink, sleep or reach out to a friend. </p><p>13. Go back to the Jason Vale's book. Drinking is not fun for you, anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. This is the new way. <br /><br />14.. Get through a year. You will lose your taste for it. It will be 1000x easier after that first year, I assure you.<br /><br />This is how I did it. <br />I first started the blog in 2012. I went to the gym, I got through 6 days, I failed. <br />I revamped my life a bit, and started a new relationship.<br />I tried again in the spring of 2016, I failed again, but I got through 3-4 weeks. <br />By then, I had all the books.<br />I'd gone through 4 weeks of counselling.<br /><br />When I almost lost everything in July 2016, my new life I'd created, I was determined that this time it was going to work. <br />I quit, once and for all on July 27, 2016.<br /><br />To get through the first three days/3 months, I read all the books, I wrote in the old blog, I got pills from my Doctor (never took them). I worked through all the madness of the first year and it felt HARD.<br />I was so worried I was going to black out, for no reason. <br />I was AFRAID of it, somehow.<br />The first wedding I attended, the first Christmas/birthday, all the things that were impossibly hard that first year, I remember them vividly. I was in crisis without my crutch. But I didn't cave, I saw myself in 5 years.<br /><br />By 2017 my life was vastly different, so in reality it took me 5 years to quit.<br />And I'd never go back.<br />I feel free of it, a burden I am now rid of.<br />A burden I wish others would learn to get rid of too. <br /><br />I can't imagine the person I would be had I not quit when I did. <br />So please try, if you've read this far, you obviously want to. </p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-60180027179638437102022-10-11T09:53:00.005-07:002022-10-11T09:53:49.078-07:00I am the most diligent person when it comes to ticks and this still happened.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCL6s24zY-9y6S4_ZYsNLNq-5xPHpEA1wvNDgw9J7RnBPNKEzz1H1yR_SALqod_N2wGpByzAZrPClyUzDD-3dNXV6l4Dgk0lVEHP4RN0rr_TsSmHZb4lRziyb2sFWGmwDmP9F3hdL1oVycRrYv0y2IG8OQ51qTnwkuRWhKu3YHzBMlWPeQAx5YTXAVA/s2048/294232278_611209836994072_6905125642497667476_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCL6s24zY-9y6S4_ZYsNLNq-5xPHpEA1wvNDgw9J7RnBPNKEzz1H1yR_SALqod_N2wGpByzAZrPClyUzDD-3dNXV6l4Dgk0lVEHP4RN0rr_TsSmHZb4lRziyb2sFWGmwDmP9F3hdL1oVycRrYv0y2IG8OQ51qTnwkuRWhKu3YHzBMlWPeQAx5YTXAVA/s320/294232278_611209836994072_6905125642497667476_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />...and now the virologist has thrown out my daughter's blood sent for a Lyme Disease test (after she so bravely gave it) stating there is not a good enough reason to test it for Lyme. <br /><br />Excuse me while I gather up all the ticks in Alberta and mail them directly to her. <br /><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-88525896279604340352022-09-15T13:31:00.000-07:002022-09-15T13:31:03.250-07:00You either know about the luteal phase, or you don't<p>I stumbled upon the term luteal phase in an article at the age of 37. <br />I've had a "cycle" for 20 years but I knew very little about it and had never heard that term before. What the hell did we learn in sex education again? Whose driving this godforsaken ship anyway?<br />Oh ya. <br />Men.</p><p>The luteal phase is interesting because when you exercise during it you burn 3x more calories (what I would have given to know that all my life)<br /><br />Anyway, the luteal phase is much more than that. If you ever struggled to get pregnant and visited a specialist, you may have learned about how the luteal phase affects your fertility, depending on how long or short it is. I don't know much about that either. <br /><br />What I do know is that in the 1930s, a scientist was able to determine what phase of her cycle a woman was in based on her behaviour alone, 100 % of the time. How valuable a resource is that? (<a href="https://journals.lww.com/psychosomaticmedicine/Citation/1939/10000/The_Correlations_Between_Ovarian_Activity_and.2.aspx">1939 Study</a>)<br />The reason for the drop in mood during the luteal phase is withdrawal, due to the lowering hormones. Below is a little diagram of the phases, the moods, and the hormone dips. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo7b3dmLw3PZk35boBtySahrKjku_lQK610vLTv09Pn_tkljxWbinptGyVxaRJishdIAaLJI-ONs77fQ192Q6nhZ3DVd6UcKyoe3-okhLkmvfBrRKMP7B80tt2PstJU8Nc9RSbNSOtDcPj5DbkOdltsjlFFiqaCyOAx8OYU4NPEPmD4vHUfUz3nwHhw/s960/5vkjx9c9hdk51.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="743" data-original-width="960" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo7b3dmLw3PZk35boBtySahrKjku_lQK610vLTv09Pn_tkljxWbinptGyVxaRJishdIAaLJI-ONs77fQ192Q6nhZ3DVd6UcKyoe3-okhLkmvfBrRKMP7B80tt2PstJU8Nc9RSbNSOtDcPj5DbkOdltsjlFFiqaCyOAx8OYU4NPEPmD4vHUfUz3nwHhw/w400-h310/5vkjx9c9hdk51.webp" width="400" /></a><br />I found this photo <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/PMDD/comments/ik2cy5/brain_and_mood_during_the_menstrual_cycle/">here</a><br /><br /><p>Anyway, the point is that there are endless things to learn about our cycles. I have a note on my phone where I add information every month, if I feel an extreme mood. I check what cycle day I'm on <br />(Eve app) then put in the day like this. </p><p>DAY 24 - Crying at commercials<br />Day 21 - Lost my temper for no reason<br />Day 10 - HAPPY for no reason<br /><br />It's been a really interesting gauge. And when I'm confused, down, anxious, and I notice it's the luteal phase, I'm a little easier on myself. </p><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-54213276609819068632022-09-15T10:29:00.005-07:002022-09-15T10:35:46.840-07:00That feeling I get when I drop my kids off...<p> Sometimes I'm overcome with relief, as they go into someone else's care. <br />A weight off my shoulders. <br /><br />But this week, it's a new dayhome and Kindergarten, both slightly unfamiliar territory, and my feelings are of uneasiness and worry. <br /><br />I have to push the feelings down as I drive to work. <br />How does everyone else do this? <br />Does everyone else also push these feelings down and go to work anyway while their children wail and cry and protest?<br /><br />I know a lot of countries don't do this, do they have it right?<br />I console myself by remembering I don't work 40 hours a week, my children are often only in other people's care for 15-20 hours a week. <br /><br />Then I remember this study I read about years ago here: <a href="ttps://www.nichd.nih.gov/sites/default/files/publications/pubs/documents/seccyd_06.pdf">Biggest Daycare Study Ever</a><br /><br />There is a direct correlation between time spent in care, and behaviour. The more time spent in unmaternal care (daycare facility, kindergarten) under the age of 5, the more likely the child will show behavioural issues once school-age. Are we the exception because we purposely chose maternal care/dayhomes?</p><p>It's science, it's proven, and yet it's not widely known because the results of the study were not widely accepted and in-turn shared, as they appeared unfavourable to working mothers. But I can't unread it. <br /><br />Then my brother shares this information: <a href="https://www.themarginalian.org/2022/09/06/general-theory-of-love-separation/?fbclid=IwAR2e7QTgXmozYpl6GLqCHI4OgepF_DBCjAkEtjMjhK8Qd5-bqIAuwgmnXYk">Relationship Rupture article</a><br />Here are the highlights: <br /></p><p>"The profound disruption of relationship rupture, they observe, is related to our earliest attachments and the way our system processes separation from our primary caregivers — a primal response not singular to the human animal:</p><p>Take a puppy away from his mother, place him alone in a wicker pen, and you will witness the universal mammalian reaction to the rupture of an attachment bond — a reflection of the limbic architecture mammals share. Short separations provoke an acute response known as protest, while prolonged separations yield the physiologic state of despair.</p><p>A lone puppy first enters the protest phase. He paces tirelessly, scanning his surroundings from all vantage points, barking, scratching vainly at the floor. He makes energetic and abortive attempts at scaling the walls of his prison, tumbling into a heap with each failure. He lets out a piteous whine, high-pitched and grating. Every aspect of his behavior broadcasts his distress, the same discomfort that all social mammals show when deprived of those to whom they are attached. Even young rats evidence protest: when their mother is absent they emit nonstop ultrasonic cries, a plaintive chorus inaudible to our dull ape ears.</p><p>Behaviorally and psychologically, the despair phase begins when fretfulness, which can manifest as anxiety in humans, collapses into lethargy — a condition that often accompanies depression. But abrupt and prolonged separation produces something much more than psychological havoc — it unleashes a full-system somatic shock."</p><p>And it breaks my heart a little bit more. <br />3.5 hours until I pick my kids up. </p><p>I guess I better get some work done to make this time well spent. Then it's a 3 day weekend, and 24/7 with the kids, no breaks, and all of this will float to the background until Monday morning again.<br /><br />Human beings are a trip. <br />Are we the only animal that pushes down our instincts in favour of some external proof, by way of science?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitT7OQlqp9Wut1UmjRk6g7Z_fufShi4mMN69FuUG_QA7JXlIFAKoO3CvMFoLMCuNqjxswzO3MIw16DhoWAcxMEs1y-Sy4B62X4ZmTYxJTm2G-HzHrmblNcZqnspHSSEIp7zHo02I6LwpmosSQPgDTif5U5aL4y05pKtIvk2BbVXmqfTjoylnU2qqubTQ/s904/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="904" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitT7OQlqp9Wut1UmjRk6g7Z_fufShi4mMN69FuUG_QA7JXlIFAKoO3CvMFoLMCuNqjxswzO3MIw16DhoWAcxMEs1y-Sy4B62X4ZmTYxJTm2G-HzHrmblNcZqnspHSSEIp7zHo02I6LwpmosSQPgDTif5U5aL4y05pKtIvk2BbVXmqfTjoylnU2qqubTQ/s320/Capture.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><span style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: fira-sans; font-size: 14.4px; text-align: start;">Art by Maurice Sendak from a </span><a href="https://www.themarginalian.org/2014/01/29/lets-be-enemies-maurice-sendak/" style="background-color: #e6e6e6; border: 0px; color: #c33737; font-family: fira-sans; font-size: 14.4px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;">vintage children’s book</a><span style="background-color: #e6e6e6; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: fira-sans;"><span style="font-size: 14.4px;"> by Janice May Urdy.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: fira-sans;"><span style="font-size: 14.4px;">https://www.themarginalian.org/2014/01/29/lets-be-enemies-maurice-sendak/</span></span></span></div><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-479350376054762862022-08-31T11:58:00.004-07:002022-08-31T12:03:30.993-07:00Low-level dread.<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">This song came on the radio and instantly calmed me down. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xYcmf9cRp7A" width="320" youtube-src-id="xYcmf9cRp7A"></iframe></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">“If you think you can ever love me again, please go ahead, I don’t mind”</span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I’ve had a blanket of anxiety over me for a few days. An uneasy feeling that makes it difficult to sleep, like something bad is happening or about to happen, but I know it's just a sign that something isn't right in my own body. </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I think I’ve been eating poorly, and need a few days of healthy food and water to reset my gut bacteria, often the cause of anxiety. Maybe some probiotics. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">This was confirmed by science recently (<a href="https://atlasbiomed.com/blog/stress-anxiety-depression-microbiome/#:~:text=The%20microbiome%20communicates%20with%20the%20brain%20using%20the%20vagus%20nerve.&text=Inflammation%20can%20contribute%20to%20depression%20and%20gut%20bacteria%20can%20influence%20inflammation.&text=Research%20shows%20that%20probiotic%20gut%20bacteria%20can%20alleviate%20depression%20and%20anxiety.&text=Gut%20microbes%20have%20an%20impact,mood%2Dpromoting%20and%20calming%20compounds.">here)</a>, but I figured it out for myself years ago when I had a panic attack at the elevators at work. I was still drinking then, which complicates anxiety immensely. I was also on day 10 of antibiotics for a UTI so my guts were shot. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">After that episode, I should have quit drinking but instead I was put on anti-anxiety meds. I only took them for 3 months. 9 months later I discovered the connection between the panic attack and the antibiotics and the gut bacteria. <br /><br />Around this time I started an alcohol and anxiety therapy group through Alberta health. Basically I was trying everything possible to quit drinking (except quitting drinking) and although this group didn't do it for me, every bit helped. This is where I learned about cognitive behaviour therapy - and read Feeling Good by David Burns at the suggestion of the therapist. Big help. <br /><br />But the biggest help of course was 6 months later when I quit drinking for good (6 years ago now). The anxiety triggered by having too much or not enough to drink is enough to set your nerves on edge for days. You’ll never know the true source of your feelings, always burying them in booze. Chasing something, some kind of relief disguised as fun. But the fun ended years ago.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Anyway, I feel the anxiety creep in slowly and quietly now and I know how to manage it before it gets out of hand. First I try and find the source, and if I can’t, I can use music and other things to tame it. I told Bernadette today that a good song can feel like my blankie, and how sucking her thumb feels for her.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Kids get these feelings too, but as I get older I have so many things I do on the daily to feel better, without realizing. Kids have their blankies and thumbs, and if they’re not allowed to have those, they have their bedrooms and their toys and their pillows, and their Mom and Dad, hopefully. They can’t express what comfort these things provide to them, but I imagine it's an immense amount.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Teenagers often feel the most powerless, no money, no way to get around, forced to go to places that make them uncomfortable, every single day, like school. Eating junk food cause they don’t want to do anything their parents want them to do. It reminds me of a line from My-So-Called-Life by the original angsty teenager, Angela Chase: </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Miller Text", Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">“I cannot bring myself to eat a well-balanced meal in front of my mother. It just means too much to her."</b><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Running away, their bedroom their only refuge. And if their parents dont understand that, don’t give them that freedom and privacy they desperately crave to calm the anxiety and escape, they spiral further into darkness.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I get it.</span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"> It took me 30 years to figure out I can’t wear jewellery or listen to the hand dryer in a bathroom. My extreme sensitivity to touch and sound and smell can be managed now that I know, I’m the boss of my own life as I finally have stability, money and resources. But for years I was just pinballing around, feeling everything all at once, all of the time, out of control. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Back then, all I had was music. It’s a lot of kids lifelines I’m sure. And a healthy coping mechanism that should be encouraged. Understanding why we do all these things is important too. As a kid, as a parent, learning more about healthy ways of being alive. <br /><br />Anyway, I just wanted to share that Sturgill song mostly. What a gem.</span></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-41507429414161119442022-07-21T10:30:00.009-07:002022-08-31T11:44:22.700-07:00I thought the days of writing about ticks was coming to an end<p> After all, I'm cured right?<br /><br />But today we pulled a giant engorged tick out of my 4 year olds' head that has been on there for 7 days (7 days ago we left Grandma's farm in Saskatchewan).<br /><br />3 nights ago we let her wash her own hair in the bath. Bad idea. I bet we would have found it had we done it ourselves. Grandma put her hair in pig tails 3 days ago, how did she not see it?<br /><br />I've spent the last 3 hours working through the list of what to do after being bit by a tick - Written by me, last year, <a href="http://imlateforworkagain.blogspot.com/2021/05/a-detailed-overview-for-lyme-disease.html">here</a>. The most comprehensive "What to do after a tick bite" there ever was. <br /><br />And now I sit here, shaken, uneasy, worried, frustrated, sick, desperate for someone to listen to me, angry at news outlets for getting it wrong every single time, and angry at myself for not checking her one last time before getting in the car to go home. They're so sneaky, I just don't understand how they can be so sneaky. They're biologically meant to go undetected, they first inject a numbing agent so the host can't feel them sucking their blood. <br /><br />7 days this disgusting creature lived with us, in her hair. <br /><br />I feel inclined to write or call Dr Steve Burgoyne, the Doctor that laughed at me and my list of supplements that helped my joint pain feel better, before sending me off with a diagnosis of nothing in 2021. It left emotional damage I'm still reeling from. The two women that treated me apologized for his behaviour, too common in the medical community. <br /><br />My daughter's seeing her doctor in 90 minutes, and I'm desperate for her to get home so I can reapply andographis onto the bite. She needs antibiotics now. In 4 days I should know the status of what that tick was carrying. It cost $375. A small amount compared to the $9,000 it cost me to get treated. <br /><br />So now it's a waiting game, but can we ever go to Grandma's farm again? Seriously?<br /><br />UPDATE:<br />The best possible thing happened. <br />The tick came back from Geneticks completely clean, it has never been on another animal before and has none of the 21 bacteria's they test for. <br /><br />Besides her telling me this morning that she's tired all the time, I feel like perhaps we dodged a bullet. And now the vigilance is of infinite proportions next time we're there. <br /><br />We still have to wait and see and watch her, and then test her in 6 weeks (when antibodies show up) for rickettsia and lyme. Doctor wants to be on the safe side, and she's only 4. <br /><br />But she applauded me for all my actions this week, which felt good. I did it wrong once, now hopefully I'll do it right forever more.</p><p><br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t33LtS3PUEGXOtvac9ARIgVFge1rJF__94Xm3DRjkkChCHum7qppiIFm-zLG0BfQqSQ1Qkj9n4bylYbhu6TaXoJCK_wCgWYhMXZHpYgtC9RLMna0xZsor8B5ttODyQHxIKRHPvFPLu8AH9B_nFKFPgzJk_bwHpV8bBulVE9I6ijLVZXpowGGf-z3-Q/s2048/294232278_611209836994072_6905125642497667476_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t33LtS3PUEGXOtvac9ARIgVFge1rJF__94Xm3DRjkkChCHum7qppiIFm-zLG0BfQqSQ1Qkj9n4bylYbhu6TaXoJCK_wCgWYhMXZHpYgtC9RLMna0xZsor8B5ttODyQHxIKRHPvFPLu8AH9B_nFKFPgzJk_bwHpV8bBulVE9I6ijLVZXpowGGf-z3-Q/s320/294232278_611209836994072_6905125642497667476_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-90107504913521224562022-06-21T10:43:00.001-07:002022-06-21T10:43:49.032-07:00Death Day<p> Does anyone else wonder when their death day will be?<br />There's a woman who does cross stitch who also wonders, I saw her at a craft sale where she sold different cute little pieces discussing ones death day. <br /><br />The idea that every single year of my life, I live happily on a particular day, not knowing that in however many years, that day will be imprinted on my life forever, right next to my birthday, under a picture of me.<br /><br />I always put the parking break on when doing something out my car window, like at a drive through bank, or scanning my card for underground parking. I fear the most senseless way to die, in my opinion, being crushed by my own car in a strange accident. An actor went that way, as well as a Calgarian who had bought tickets to the movies that night, but then couldn't attend because she slipped up while leaving a parking garage after work. That news story haunted me. I'm a bit clumsy so, always park for me.<br /><br />My obsession with my death day may be new within the last 12 years, as I lost Ryan and I became more interested in death than ever before. <br /><br />So anytime a date stands out to me, I let my mind explore the possibilities of it being my death day. Yesterday I had a strong feeling about June 20th, couldn't pinpoint why. As I crawled into bed I thought, well, today was spared, maybe it will be June 20th another year. Who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear. (Empire Records).</p><p>Like Molly Shannon says, my obsession with death as a real event that will befall me, is not a curse, but a blessing. I tend to appreciate the things I have now, the good days, because I know my life can fall out from under me at any time. Losing someone in your closest circle can do that. Losing someone that close can also mute your fear of death a bit. They've crossed some bridge that everyone before you did, so it can't be that scary. And they'll be there. <br /><br />It's in our nature to always look to the future. My poppa collected menus for all the local restaurants on the day he passed in his sleep. That's something to look forward to. I like the idea that we always have something to look forward to. But like Kelly said and like I morbidly wrote in my yearbook grad caption, 'Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone'.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwKcXMul3RZp7bMiazNOC6wmmDrIBkw5nyFBiIx60tYSMYq9hONYLAi_zko-9hUa0oj9HNfZ-CfBhL7KYDMIuHZXR7GDjG0xu7o68ryP8lif4ghsvFvVLRFvAUjGp4bfp_YVEDlgecBVjwD78hJg069WRQurHSbbfDb2pHGAvWg42_un1BrzXAJrhUKA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="453" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwKcXMul3RZp7bMiazNOC6wmmDrIBkw5nyFBiIx60tYSMYq9hONYLAi_zko-9hUa0oj9HNfZ-CfBhL7KYDMIuHZXR7GDjG0xu7o68ryP8lif4ghsvFvVLRFvAUjGp4bfp_YVEDlgecBVjwD78hJg069WRQurHSbbfDb2pHGAvWg42_un1BrzXAJrhUKA" width="274" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-71922276180185051442022-05-30T12:16:00.014-07:002022-05-30T14:22:15.388-07:00Why all ticks are scary, not just the Black-legged "lyme carrying" ones (and why no news stories talk about it)<p>Why it took me only 6 hours to get bit by a tick - but <b>20 months to feel normal again. </b></p><p>June 9th 2020 I was bit by a tick.<br /><br />Jun 20th I noticed a <b>swollen lymph node </b>in my chest.</p><p>By June 30th I was a mess of swollen joints (unable to go up and down stairs without pain in my knees) and my hands and feet felt like swollen balloons every morning when I woke up. This continued all summer. I was 3 months postpartum and tried to chalk it all up to that, forgetting about the tick entirely.<br /><br />In September I remembered the tick and told my family doctor, who ran 3 Lyme Disease tests back to back, all were <b>negative</b>. <br /><br />I had taken a photo of the tick (then threw it in the garbage - one of many mistakes I made) but I was able to send the photo to etick.ca. They confirmed it was a dog tick, not a carrier of Lyme. I was relieved, but confused. <br /><br />September involved a lot of gastro symptoms and then my veins started popping out of my arms like there was some sort of blood infection. <b>Then, overnight, I lost 20 lbs.</b> This escalated my doctors tests, and she ran a bunch more along with another Lyme Disease test. Still nothing came up and the lyme disease antibody test (Elisa) was negative.<br /><br />In November, I asked her for something for the gastro symptoms and she prescribed me an anti-parasitic medicine. My symptoms went away within 6 hours. The veins in my arms, disappeared into my skin the way they were supposed to. It was amazing. (She prescribed something similar to Ivermectin. The media wanted to downplay it as horse medicine, but Ivermectin is actually a very common human anti-parasitic prescribed around the world until the Covid debacle that forced it to become.....well...you know.<br /><br />But within 2 weeks, all my symptoms returned. <br /><br />I went back to <b>etick.ca</b> and read the fine print of their email. It said: Dermacentor variabilis (, also known as the American dog tick or wood tick, is found predominantly in the United States, east of the Rocky Mountains, and as its name suggests, is most commonly found on dogs as an adult. The tick also occurs in certain areas of Canada, Mexico and the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. (Mcnemee et al. 2003). Dermacentor variabilis is a 3-host tick, targeting smaller mammals as a larva and nymph and larger mammals as an adult. Although it is normally found on dogs, this tick will readily attack larger animals, such as cattle, horses, and even humans. The 8-legged adult is a vector of the pathogens causing<b> Rocky Mountain spotted fever (RMSF), anaplasmosis, and tularemia, </b>and can cause canine tick paralysis.<br /><br />By now it's December, and I go back to my Doctor and asked for a test for RMSF, Anaplasmosis, and tularemia. <br /><br />She filled out a requisition and also ticked a box for something called '<b>Rickettsia</b>'. 6 weeks later the results came back, we had a winner. <br /><br /><b>I tested positive for Rickettsial Typhoid</b>, and this bacteria was what was coursing through my veins. <br />I was given 3 weeks of antibiotics. 6 weeks later I broke out in spots all over my body. It was leaving me, it was the first outward sign of something wrong I could show doctors. <br /><br />But the symptoms continued, the ballooned hands and feet every morning, the swollen veins and the joint pain (which had moved onto my hands and wrists - rendering me incapable of carrying my new baby).<br /><br />My doctor told me there was nothing more she could do, as per the guidelines of what a family physician is capable of. She referred me to an internist who said <b>I received gold standard treatment (3 weeks of antibiotics)</b> and there's nothing more he can do. She referred me to an infectious disease specialist who said they wouldn't accept me - they don't accept Chronic Lyme patients. I didn't know what that was, but apparently I fit the bill. (That's a whole other topic, google lyme disease conspiracy).<br /><br />She suggested I go to a private clinic, a naturopath, for paid treatment. And promptly. <br />I am so thankful she did.</p><p>After much testing, I was told I not only have Rickettsia, <b>but also 2 different strains of Lyme bacteria. The Elisa test the doctor gave me can be wildly inaccurate. I spent thousands of dollars, followed 12 months of treatment, and am now almost 100 percent symptom free. </b><br /><br />But it's tick season again. <br /><br />So I thought I'd warn y'all not to do what I did, and lose 2 years and thousands of dollars to one of these fuckers. But of course no one really cares about any of this until they feel something on their skin or their child's skin, and reach up only to find it...<br /><br />Since every news story I could find on it downplayed the seriousness of a tick bite, I wrote my own: WHAT TO DO IF YOU'RE BIT BY A TICK <a href="http://imlateforworkagain.blogspot.com/2021/05/a-detailed-overview-for-lyme-disease.html">HERE</a>.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEita9SHLFTnNiHESVRCVRIVg0vUvj1GV4v8L1bF301rU-IoidHAu8FC4yZsEdUG_nJSRtpcpVALOZo9H70noPFxsg-IqEBnLLBljmUY8JunfQQkgvYrh2Fw2b3tY201tbRgFaUWNw8wqXngEnH9wzFxLGeWGITOC0SgV7XUzW_MnIcY0uM_65Ul_rSCHQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="940" height="495" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEita9SHLFTnNiHESVRCVRIVg0vUvj1GV4v8L1bF301rU-IoidHAu8FC4yZsEdUG_nJSRtpcpVALOZo9H70noPFxsg-IqEBnLLBljmUY8JunfQQkgvYrh2Fw2b3tY201tbRgFaUWNw8wqXngEnH9wzFxLGeWGITOC0SgV7XUzW_MnIcY0uM_65Ul_rSCHQ=w640-h495" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><p></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851940492954396433.post-83603990587440316842022-04-29T09:55:00.006-07:002022-04-29T10:25:24.669-07:00If a gay man can't give blood in 2022, why can I?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Why were gay man banned from donating blood on March 24th, 1983?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because of the AIDS epidemic of course. But a blanket ban for almost 40 years has a lot of people questioning whether or not this constitutes discrimination, or if it's a reasonable line of protection in the ongoing fight against the virus that causes AIDS. (Health Canada has finally lifted the ban, instead basing ones ability to donate on sexual behaviours <a href="https://www.theglobeandmail.com/canada/article-health-canada-ends-ban-on-blood-donations-from-gay-men/">here</a>)<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />But the blanket ban wasn't their first line of action, the CDC initially set-up blood tests at blood banks to screen potential donors for antibodies against the AIDS virus in their blood.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4Xu8LUVHwq275ywZYhoCEIO-yomH4PkymKVjc8dAqHXqNU35HqOMpNmfW1NkSGlCc_uZA2BuNHeyyj-ZUKILfFBZqJlXIr8m--Q-u4inS3MZlEGdQ-nvs_61q5aryCqb54YqeAA9BhRHiThEtmkvesQi7IA2VaDjiIO1mpvDGGhMeyHRd9h5HTzGoQ/s4032/IMG_4784.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4Xu8LUVHwq275ywZYhoCEIO-yomH4PkymKVjc8dAqHXqNU35HqOMpNmfW1NkSGlCc_uZA2BuNHeyyj-ZUKILfFBZqJlXIr8m--Q-u4inS3MZlEGdQ-nvs_61q5aryCqb54YqeAA9BhRHiThEtmkvesQi7IA2VaDjiIO1mpvDGGhMeyHRd9h5HTzGoQ/w446-h335/IMG_4784.jpg" width="446" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">(From How To Survive A Plague by David France)<br /> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Since the tests proved to be highly unreliable, a blanket ban on blood donation from high risk groups was enacted, and remained in place until 2022. <br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: 14px;">The unreliable tests they are referring to? The Elisa and the Western Blot.<br /><br />Hold it right there. <br />The Elisa and the Western Blot??<br />The current, similarly unreliable antibody test for Lyme Disease in Canada and the United States?<br />Same ones?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: 14px;"> For those that don't know, Lyme Disease is the single fastest growing vector-borne disease in the world. <br /><br />I took 4 Elisa tests in the last 2 years, and was negative for all of them so I never qualified for a Western Blot. HOWEVER, because of symptoms that appeared right after a tick bite, I went on to get additional testing using ELISPOT (a superior testing method) in which I was positive for Rickettsia and Lyme Disease. <br /><br />So which is it?<br />Do I have it or don't I?<br /><br /><br /></span></p><p><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"><br /><br /></span><br /></p>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03090405121378415812noreply@blogger.com0