If you are a friend of the bereaved

I heard from several people that they “didn’t know what to say” to me when my dad died. Maybe you will disagree, but I think the worst thing you can do is say nothing. Well, unless you’re a real asshole and come up with something horrible about the deceased, but at least you’re paying attention. I had some friends disappear when I told them my dad had cancer last year. Haven’t heard from them since. I guess they assumed I wasn’t going to be any fun anymore and they moved on. They can go fuck themselves, frankly.

But my heart was warmed by the care that everyone else showed me. Just a note on Facebook, a text message, a phone call, a card; it doesn’t take much effort, really. I got some really nice messages from the spouses of friends of mine, who I didn’t really know that well. That was unexpected and special.

So, don’t disappear, tell the person you’re sorry for their loss, that you’re thinking of them, whatever is sincere. Believe me, it will help.

If you want to do more than that, bring them food. Flowers are good too, though less edible. Offer to help in some way. Just be there for them. You don’t need to know what to say or do; just be a friend.

I suppose there was one annoying thing that was said to me by well-intentioned guy friends when I informed them of Dad’s cancer: “Take this opportunity to spend as much time with your father as you can, and cherish these last months together” or some such nonsense. No, really? I have to wonder what they thought I was going to do. But seriously, that’s the worst I got, and they did mean well.

If you are a friend of the deceased

Regarding the period of time when the dying is still alive, but on their deathbed: if invited, come and say your goodbyes, and then leave. Don’t come back the next day to say goodbye again unless for some weird reason you’re invited. This is such an intimate and overwhelming time for the family, and your showing up multiple times is disrespectful to them. I think I tweeted something about it not being a buffet, back in March.

If you are there in the hospital room, and the family asks you to leave, and the person in the bed can no longer express an opinion on the matter, leave. Your grief, though extreme, is not the same as theirs, and suggesting that your loss is on equal terms with theirs is selfish, even if you think it is.

After the death, don’t tell the family in detail how much you’re suffering while not asking them how they are doing; you’ll sound like an ass. Your pain is not their burden, and they are trying hard enough to keep themselves afloat. And yes, this means that you should remember them and their feelings in what you do in the following days. Don’t make yourself feel better at their expense.

If you are the bereaved

Don’t let anyone tell you how you’re supposed to grieve. I was told, the week of, that I was doing it wrong, that if I was grieving properly I’d be crying with wild abandon instead of suffering stomach cramps and insomnia. Well, the stomach cramps disappeared a half hour after the memorial, and the crying finally came last week, nearly two months later. Everything short of throwing a burlap sack of puppies off the overpass of a highway is probably an okay way to deal with loss. And who would do that to puppies?

I did really, really, really appreciate that I was able to take a week off work to be with Dad at the hospital, and the week after that to do some minor preparations for the memorial (in truth, I didn’t do much, but I wrote an obituary and biography for the booklet) and mostly zone out. Given previous jobs where I was denied vacation and always had to carry around a blackberry, I don’t think I would’ve been able to drop work like that had I not been where I am now. My coworkers were awesome, taking over my work to the point that I had no backlog when I came back. They deserve many hugs.

I did also get to visit my mom over the weekend, which helped so much too. My comment in the last post about my being most like my dad is quite apparent when I see Mom, because we aren’t much alike at all. Our voices are similar, but in looks and persona we differ to the point that people have shown surprise at hearing I’m her daughter. Though I think I have her ankles.

Due to my stepmother’s generosity I now own Dad’s car, and have paid off the remainder of my student loans. These sorts of things normally deserve a celebration but I would rather have Dad and debt and no car, to be honest. It feels as wrong to be happy about them as it does not to. But I named the car “The Pillock” because Heather and Kimli named their cars so I figured I’d have to, plus I grew up listening to Dad yelling at all the “bloody pillocks” on the road (I think I was a teenager before I learned that the word didn’t mean “bad driver”). And I guess this will mean less time spent with smelly, drunk and insane people on the Skytrain (I always picked the best times to travel).

But as I said, there is shit to do. My work won’t do itself (I’ve tested this in the past by ignoring it; nope), my cat won’t feed herself (though she stole my muffin this morning) and the condo won’t pay its mortgage. Life is dragging me forward, and I’m trying my best to let it.

Today I discovered that there’s a connection between hypothyroidism and left-handedness. Between that and the fact I’m likely to die younger than non-southpaws, I really don’t see the point in being a lefty. It only seems to help your chances if you want to become the US president, but I really don’t, what with my being Canadian. But note this whole paragraph is an aside because being a lefty is not a symptom of hypothyroidism but an odd correlation that’s creeping me out.

Does my preference for cats mean I have a brain parasite? Most likely.

You can find lists of hypothyroid symptoms online. What possibly tipped me off that something was really wrong was that my hair was falling out. I have a lot of follicles, so it really didn’t make a difference, but it was bad enough that I cut half my hair length off just so it wouldn’t clog my shower drain and vacuum as much.

Another thing was the sense that I was suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder in the summertime. Which, granted, was achievable last summer in Vancouver, which only technically could be called a summer because of the date. But I was feeling generally tired and sad and wanted to sleep lots, despite the fact that it was summer (sort of) and I’d bought my dream condo downtown above a Tim Hortons and surely this meant my life was complete.

I also had a bit of weight gain but I think that could be attributed partly to living above a Tim Hortons and also to other meds my doc had me on. Once I went off them the weight came off, but I went off those and went on synthroid at the same time so it’s hard to say for sure.

That’s most of it. There was also some muscle weakness which went along with being tired. And the fact that I could get a full night’s sleep but when waking up in the morning I’d feel like ass and want to sleep in indefinitely. And that I can feel unnecessarily cold, though that wasn’t as noticeable in the unnecessarily mild summer months.

Of course, none of this couldn’t be written off as symptoms of stress, or getting older, or of being a lazy git. Which is probably why my doctor seemed to be humouring me when she let me take the blood test. But I was right, ha ha, I am hypothyroid, I’ve won.

It’s only since starting the synthroid treatment, and feeling much better for a while and then feeling worse again, that I’ve realized that I’ve probably been hypothyroid for longer than half a year, and it probably is Hashimoto’s, because I recognize the swing of a particular symptom coming and going: brain fog.

I hate you, brain fog. You are the shittiest symptom for someone in tech support. When I was a DBA I could usually kick a database until it started working properly without anyone noticing that I was guessing. But as a tech support engineer I have to understand another DBA’s database problems from only their answers, files and output and explain to them how to fix it all. And some of them want to know why the problem happened, or why they should do as I’ve suggested (“because I said so” hasn’t worked so far). And this sort of work requires a clear head, which I haven’t always had.

The last few weeks were the worst, though I also had a bad cold and then a bit of stomach flu for good measure. It would be past 2 pm and I thought it was 11, and wondered where the hours had gone and not because I’d been busy working. I would discover a customer issue I’d started answering 30 minutes before but had completely forgotten about in the meantime. And I would get confused about stuff I normally knew how to answer, sometimes needing to pass the work to a coworker with a functional mind. For someone like me, where work is so much of my life (there’s that and the cat, basically), it’s been horribly frustrating to be so dumb and confused yet at the same time entirely sober.

I’m starting to feel better since the weekend, so I guess the higher synthroid dosage is working. I worry that this yo-yoing of mental competency is going to continue for much longer until the right drugs and dosage are determined. It’s bad enough what it does to me, but if I’m not working at my best, my coworkers have to pick up the slack, and that’s hardly fair as they’re all in other countries and I can’t buy them beer in thanks. And they already think so poorly of Canadians, since their best example is a slow-witted chick who likes cats, donuts and hockey.

The reason I’m middle aged is the whole hypothyroidism thing. When I’d web-diagnosed myself in November the blood test showed I was only kinda sorta hypothyroid (TSH level of 5.9, where “normal” was somewhere under 5 or 5.5). My doctor even said we could forgo the synthroid drug since it was only slightly off, but I had been feeling somewhat shitty since the spring and wanted to try it out. I did end up with an abundance of energy for a while, my apartment got cleaned and I finally had a housewarming party and was more productive at work. Then that kind of waned but you can’t be on speed forever.

So I wasn’t completely surprised but still pissed off that my 6 week checkup had my TSH level now at a 9, which is the wrong way it’s supposed to go (TSH = thyroid stimulating hormone produced by the pituitary gland, higher values means it’s trying harder to get the thyroid to work, and taking synthroid should make TSH levels drop). The treatment is a higher dosage of synthroid, but my doctor now thinks I have Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis which is an autoimmune disease where your body is attacking the thyroid.

Everything I’ve read on the internet says that Hashimoto’s and hypothyroidism are most common in middle aged women. So there it is. Next stop, menopause!

I get another blood test in 6 weeks that should indicate the Hashimoto’s or not, though it doesn’t really matter, treatment is the same. But besides the sadness over the loss of my few remaining shreds of youth, I am also upset to have acquired an actual disease. I’ve had plenty of injuries and I’m far from sane, yet I had avoided “disease” up until now and I thought I still had some time to limp about in the pastures of moderately good health.

Having older parents (I mean, older than average) means that in recent years I’ve watched them get diseases like they’re buy 4, get the 5th one free. Diabetes, parkinsons, rheumatoid arthritis, several kinds of cancer, collect the whole set (note I’m including stepparents here). I have absolutely no desire to get past 60 as they make it look like retirement is just what you’re doing when you’re not at the doctor’s. And here I am, starting early.

7 years ago (holy shit) I had blogged about an interactive Christmas stocking Mom had made. I brought it out yesterday and put it up on my wall, and as you can see from this video the digital music box still works:

I believe this is what Christmas in hell sounds like. I played it for Mom over the phone and she was like, “what is that whining in the background?”

Speaking of Christmas, I’m going to be flying up to Kelowna that day to visit Mumsy. It turns out it’s pretty cheap to fly on Christmas Day itself, and all-in-all my flight is about half the price it was last year. Spending *all* of Christmas Day with Mom seems pointless as I’ve been a bad girl and Santa’s not going to be giving me much. Or the other explanation could be that the Maui vacation I didn’t pay for in October was my Christmas present.

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So I’ve been on a bit of a health kick lately, to the point of even buying kale today despite having no idea what one does with kale but it’s green and leafy so I get a gold star for participation. I’m seeing a personal trainer and a physiotherapist, who both have told me my body is completely fucked up so go do all these ridiculous looking exercises on your own time. I’ve been doing them in the gym downstairs because if I’m going to look like a moron in public, I might as well limit my exposure by keeping it to the gay Fitness World where nobody notices me anyways.

They tell me I have malfunctioning buttocks. This sounds like a personal failure on the level of failing Grade 1, and requiring the same lack of effort. So most of these exercises involve squeezing my ass even though I don’t really need to in order to do a rep of whatever it is.

I’m also getting intramuscular stimulation from my physio, which has her sticking acupuncture needles in me and then poking around with them for maximum torture before pulling them out. The point is to break down chronic scar tissue, or it’s just an outlet for her sadistic tendencies. Either/or. It’s not too bad, actually, but people had me so nervous about it on Facebook that I took a valium before my first session and then she couldn’t do any points near my armpit because I kept giggling from the tickles. It was better this week, I behaved myself. I’m not sure if it’s doing any good yet, but I haven’t had any muscle spasms in my shoulder since she started, which is a good sign. Yeah, I have several parts wrong with me.

December seems like a bad month to be attempting healthy lifestyle changes. Tim Hortons just brought out their candy cane donuts this week, and working from home means I’m only ever 3 floors away from one of those things. Perhaps I should just give up and start over in January.

I went to Maui last month. It was good and I want to live there and eat pineapples and ahi poke all day and snorkel with turtles and never wear a sweater again. I came back after two weeks and took a whole week to stop feeling cold in the wet October weather of Vancouver.

That was my first vacation in 5 years. It turns out, surprisingly, that vacations are incredibly relaxing and a good way to mentally recharge your brain, because I found myself being much more efficient (though perhaps just as clueless) at my job after the trip, despite the extreme chill. The thing is, I didn’t actually know that vacations were good for that, since I had so rarely been allowed to take one by various former employers. I now recognize that I’ve really been deprived, though I should also blame myself for not standing up for my rights and/or threatening them with DROP DATABASE.

I have yet to go through my vacation photos, as things have been busy since I got back. I do have my snorkelling photos up (via one of those cheap disposable cameras you can use underwater), including this hentai-esque shot of an octopus on my thigh:

The lamest part of my trip was probably the sunrise at the Haleakala volcano, because it was full of tourists who were taking pictures of the sunrise WITH FLASH. Seriously, wtf people, learn to use your cameras already. Did they think they were going to make the sun come out faster by tempting it with light pellets?

In more recent news, I web-diagnosed myself with hypothyroidism and I turned out to be right. I find that hilarious, given I’ve web-diagnosed myself with pretty much everything but testicular cancer at one point or another. Plus people I’d spoken to about my recent weight gain (7 lbs or so in the last half year) were hinting that I was getting older and my metabolism was slowing down and I should just give up and start wearing mom jeans. I’d go up to them and say “nya nya” but I am too old for that sort of thing. Note it’s my 34th birthday in 29 days.

It snowed tonight. Does this mean I can start listening to Christmas music now?

Given my location, my work hours overlap with coworkers in the US, Australia, New Zealand and Japan. It is quite cool to get to know people of other cultures and learning wtf this means and why it’s funny. But one thing I realized once I’d been there a few months is how uber-Canadian I’d become. As the sole representative of Our Home and Native Land, I’ve spoken way more about poutine and hockey (and marijuana, though that’s more about Vancouver and how I can usually smell it wafting from a neighbour’s balcony) than I normally would.

They used to laugh at me when I ended sentences (in the work irc chatroom) with “eh”. It’s not funny, it’s how I talk! But it has been interesting and fun to get to talk about Canada and how we’re different from other countries and how we are the same. Though I think I may have accidentally convinced a good number of people that we’re all about beer and donuts and hockey riots.

Happy Canada Day, fellow citizens.

I don’t have a TV in the house and never have. I don’t have a gaming console in the house and never will. We have no processed sugar of any description, no junk food, few plastics, no trash toys. Our vacations are bike tours and backpacking trips, rather than Disneyland and roadside food.

The first thing I did, actually, was email the full quote to my mom and thank her for not bringing me up that way. Gotta show appreciation, you know.

The commenter himself actually sounds like a nice person who just happens to have a parenting style which involves spitting on pop culture, as is his wont. I haven’t dealt with parents like that all that often, but what I have dealt with are some of the results of that sort of parenting. I have dated those results, even.

I am better than you because I don’t have a TV.

I’ve heard that one often. I’m sure some of you have, too. Maybe some of you actually believe this yourselves. Frankly, I’d find other ways to measure people than by the contents of their living rooms; from the limited sample size of my experience, not having a TV doesn’t make a person more interesting or cultured than anyone else. In fact, saying that statement out loud makes you a douche.

You have a cat? I’ve never had a pet. You should feel lucky, I said I’d never date a girl with a cat.

I’ve heard variations of that one a couple times. It was so relieved to hear this, having had no idea up until that point that I should feel ashamed for being a pet owner. Their gracious condescension in debasing themselves to be with me is so selfless. Please excuse me while I go off my cat in order to be worthy of them.

Sometimes when I’ve met the parents of people who have said such shit to me, they have bragged about how they brought up the child: with only classical music playing in the house, sent to private schools, given private lessons and memberships into exclusive clubs, etc. Plus anything having to do with the child being kept away from the average, the public, the mainstream. Their kid (well, adult at this point) is so amazing because of this upbringing that I’m supposed to be in awe of their superiority. Oh, the parents say, you’re doing well yourself? You’re in a successful career? That must be so great for you, given how you were brought up so ordinarily. Keep breaking down those walls, young lady! Don’t ever let your upper-middle-class childhood hold you back!

What worries me about people who think like this is that they’re narcissists. And/or they’ve brought up narcissists. Who believe they are great because of X and other people are not great because of Y and every person in the world is judged and categorized by these rules that were drilled into them in childhood. You as an individual doesn’t matter; it’s what you look like on the surface. You watch TV, so you must be a dull slob. You have a cat? I feel so sorry for you! Such people make friends based on these categorizations because they need actors to play the parts of their friends in the movie of their life. I’ve seen people only make friends with “losers” in order to make themselves look good in comparison. Or they want their wife or girlfriend to dress a certain way because in their heads it symbolizes and reinforces their ego.

When I was younger, I was enthralled by narcissists. Plagued with low self-esteem, I envied and aspired to be like the people who just seemed to exude confidence and be so absolutely sure of everything they did and every judgment they made. I actually felt bad for not living up to their standards (damn cat, why must be you be so cute?) and it was the biggest relief when I got over it and saw them for the jerks they are. So I worry when I hear parents boasting about how they’re bringing their child up to be extraordinary and away from the petty masses who would only bring them down with their “brain poison”. Here’s hoping the kids come to their senses.

(Hats off to The Last Psychiatrist for explaining this. Highly recommended reading.)

While this Taiwanese animation of the riots on Wednesday night is kind of hilarious, someone needs to tell them we’re not all blondes.