Hypothyroidist

One Month of Meds

2010-09-18T06:50:00.000-07:00

It's kind of hard to believe that I've actually already been on my medication for 30 days. I took the final pill in my first vial this morning, immediately upon waking, and washed it down with lots of water, as per the directions. And also, as per the directions, no food for at least half an hour. No calcium or iron supplements for at least four, which means no more multivitamin/fish oil/iron pill supercombo in the morning anymore. There's a lot to remember when you have to put these chemicals in your body every day, and to some extent, it's changed the way I live. I used to religiously take my vitamins every morning after breakfast, but now I can't, since breakfast is usually not eaten four long hours after I wake up and take my pill. And I can't take Centrum anymore, because that has an iodine supplement in it, and iodine, beyond what is found in salt or other naturally-occurring sources, is no longer allowed for me. I've started taking prenatal vitamins again, for a couple of reasons: 1.) That was what they gave us in Peace Corps and I grew to like them. 2.) No iodine component to potentially mess up my thyroid medication. 3.) Prenates make your hair grow, and that remains, even after 30 days of pills, a pretty large problem for me.

The first few days on the meds I was all energy, all the time. It was like I had had four or five cups of coffee, or shots of espresso, all day long. I kind of loved it, actually - I was able to get a lot done and I didn't need to nap or sleep 9 or 10 hours a night. My heart felt like it was beating too quickly at times, sure, but I felt great. Very... caffeinated.

That's worn off some after a month. I don't really need to nap anymore during the day, but while I could get away with 6 hours of sleep some nights at the beginning of the month, by the end I was once again in my "I need at least 8 hours of sleep to function" mode. I remain pretty energetic in the mornings right after I take my pill: usually what I do right after I wake up is clean the kitchen because I feel compelled by some weird energy to get that done, RIGHT AWAY, the minute I get out of bed. I haven't even tasted coffee yet and I'm vacuuming, doing dishes, and scrubbing the stove. The daily clean kitchen is thanks to the meds.

(In some ways, this also might be because I need to have at least some sense of accomplishment for the day, and walking away with a clean kitchen every morning is one way to convince myself that my life is not a total waste, that I am a person who gets things done. This, however, is probably more psychological than medical, and most likely deserves a blog of its own.)

So while my energy level has come back down to "normal" - comps, grad school, and constant pressure might have something to do with that - I'm still feeling quite a bit better in this respect. I'm more energetic and I can stay awake all day. For this, I'm thankful. It's a really nice change.

I've also lost a bit of weight, I think. I don't weigh myself too often, but this month I felt like my weight didn't fluctuate as wildly as it has in the past. I still exercise daily and eat pretty well (moments of weakness include eating fat-free frozen yogurt), but for a long time - as long as I can remember since I started exercising daily in 2003 - my weight wouldn't really change. It was frustrating. I worked so hard and never saw effects. I railed against those stupid women's health magazines that promised to be able to peel away pounds if you just worked hard enough. I thought it was a load of crap - I worked hard! All the time! And I never really lost weight. I've been a fairly steady 130 pounds for... years. And while most of it is muscle, I always thought that, for a 5'4" frame, it was a bit too much.

So while I don't know how much I weigh at the moment, I feel smaller, a bit lighter. I'm not able to work out as much as I'd like right now since comps have whittled my free time down to precious few hours, but I feel like I'm not retaining as much water and that the work I do at the gym or on the roads has started to change my body. Basically, I feel like I'm actually benefitting from my daily exercise the way the body is SUPPOSED to benefit from daily exercise, rather than just plateauing and resisting change.

So this all sounds great, right? More energy, lost weight... the meds must be working! And to a certain extent, they absolutely are. I still feel really thankful that I have a condition that can be aided or healed by taking one little pill every day. I continue to realize how lucky I am.

The problem is the continued hair loss. LOTS of continued hair loss.

My scalp looks better, I can freely admit this. The part in my hair looks less wide, those frightening bald-looking spots less noticeable. My hair feels healthy (no dye!) and looks okay (well, it would if I knew how to style it). But it still comes out all the time. Large handfuls of strands come out in the shower when I wash and condition my hair. I can't run my fingers through it without more strands coming out. Fine blonde hairs cover all my clothing, the carpet, my bed. I'm shedding as much as my dog, which is saying something.

I have a lot of new hair that I can see, short little strands popping up around my part and on the top of my scalp, and maybe this is one reason why I'm still losing so much mature hair. My hair is also growing much more quickly (probably due to the daily prenatal vitamin), and it's grown to a length that hits below my chin MUCH faster than it normally does. But it also falls out just as quick, and it seems to me that it's the longest, thickest strands that come out in the shower - the ones that I have the fewest of! Every time I shampoo and can pull out between 15 and 30 strands of fought-for hair, I just want to cry.

I go back to Dr. Thomas on 10/15, less than a month from now. I'll tell her what's going on and see if I need a higher dose of the meds. I don't believe that I have Aunt Linda's alopecia - certainly I'd be farther along the path to baldness if I did, and my body hair would be falling out too, which isn't happening - but something is still wrong. I just want to be able to run my hand through my hair and not have it then covered in strands that fall out at the slightest touch. Call me vain, and though I'm very thankful for the increased energy and moderate weight loss, the hair loss remains the part that hurts the most. I don't have much hair - I never have - so I'm very protective of these few fine strands that are mine.

Good News, a rarity

2010-08-25T09:55:00.000-07:00

The good news is that the headaches were, seemingly, caused by imbibing wine, not by the medication, and the foggy grogginess that muffled my head every morning was more likely caused by my late-term cold than the little purple pills I have to take. So that's some pretty good news, right? My meds are hardly affecting me at all - it's only the unsurprisingly poor life choices I've made recently that have affected my health negatively. Drinking will lead to hangovers when you wake up, and going to a gym, no matter what kind of 'commitment to cleanliness' they purport to have, will most likely lead to getting a cold if you touch a germ-ridden machine or barbell and then touch something on or near your face. Life lessons learned. Moving on.

I was talking to my sister yesterday about my new condition, and L., who is medically knowledgable, asked if Dr. Thomas has explained to me why she thought I developed hypothyroidism, which is more commonly seen in older women. I told L. that I hadn't even thought to ask, that my conversation with Dr. Thomas was brief and I, for the most part, was kind of in shock and could only give her the phone number of the local CVS before we hung up and I had a chance to actually realize what was going on. Since I'll be back in the doctor's office in 8 weeks, I made a mental note (that I will hopefully remember) to ask her about it then. After all, it is a pretty damn relevant question: why DID I develop hypothyroidism at age 27?

I can't seem to find any simple answers online (not like that's a huge surprise), though I did find out that the American Thyroid Association is located in nearby Falls Church, VA. I wonder if I could contact them, take a tour of their location. Do they need a spokesperson? I could use the extra cash...

But seriously, what I did learn was that no one is immune from thyroid problems. Though it's more common in women than in men, younger women are likely to get the condition as well. And I'm thankful that we caught this early, Dr. Thomas and I. I'd hate to think of what my head might look like had I not seen the doctor when I did. And I'd hate to have to face comprehensive exams with no energy whatever, no ability to concentrate. So I have hypothyroidism at 27. It's treatable. I can live with this. And getting diagnosed now is way better than being bald at tired by 30.

Days 3 and 4: The Battle of Sleep

2010-08-23T09:05:00.000-07:00

I have now taken this little purple pill for, what, 4 days now I guess, and things have been looking up. My hair falls out less and less. It does not come out when I run my fingers through my hair (getting over the terror I used to feel whenever my own hand or someone else's approaches my head is another story, however), and fewer and fewer strands come out in the shower. Cleaning off the hair brush Dickson and I share, the blonde tangle of hairs that I'd have to remove every few days has considerably reduced in size, and the knot is composed of more of Dickson's thick brown hairs and fewer of my fine blonde ones.

Looking at that photo of myself that I had mentioned before - the one where I'm armwrestling my friend Kim at the brewery in Denver, CO, and the top of my head is visible exposing the thinning hair - I'm able to feel less horrified by it. I mean, the hair loss is bad, or at least it looks bad to me (to others, I'm sure it would look like I am overreacting), but now that things are improving, I can look at this photo, this little image of myself in July, with a sense of distance so I'm no longer as afraid. Both me and my head have moved on. This must be what looking at old x-rays of the tumor feels like to a cancer patient who is either recovered or is on their way there.

(Yes, I realize that comparing treatable hair loss associated with hypothyroidism with cancer is, at the very least, an unfair comparison, and this isn't meant to make anyone currently or previously battling the disease feel belittled - it was just the first metaphor that came to mind. I should probably erase that whole paragraph. Oh well.)

So as the hair begins to improve, how else has taking 75 MCG of Levothyroxine (the generic form of Synthroid - what a cute name! Synthetic Thyroid = Synthroid! But I opted for generic since I'm cheap) a day done to me? I don't know why I hadn't googled the name of the medication before, but it seems that other side effects I can potentially expect include:

- weight loss
- tremor
- headache
- nausea
- vomiting
- diarrhea
- stomach cramps
- nervousness
- irritability
- insomnia
- excessive sweating
- increased appetite
- fever
- changes in menstrual cycle
- sensitivity to heat
- temporary hair loss, particularly in children during the first month of therapy

Being a woman in the United States, I would not be opposed to any form of weight loss, particularly drastic and/or transformative, but as far as the other side effects are concerned, this is what I'm feeling: I do wake up every morning with a slight headache. Now, the problem is that I just had a pretty fun weekend, in which I consumed some drinks. Could the headaches be caused by drinking, as opposed to the drug? This is a possibility, and today is my control day to test the theory. As school is right around the corner, I will no longer allow myself to drink on weeknights (one glass of wine or one beer is acceptable), saving any really intensive drinking (multiple glasses of wine, etc) for the weekend. Tonight I will most likely not have any wine at all, since I've had my fill this weekend. If I wake up tomorrow morning with a headache, I'll know that this slightly stuffy, sort of hung-over-y feeling that I wake up with nearly every day is caused by my little purple pills, not my unattractive habit of drinking too much red wine.

It's the other side effect that caught my eye: insomnia. My entire life, I have NEVER had a problem sleeping. Falling asleep, staying asleep, waking up on time, and, more recently, sleeping too much - none of these things were ever issues. I can fall asleep quickly, sleep soundly, and wake up fairly refreshed. And, of course, in the past few months I was sleeping a lot, including taking a nap most afternoons.

My sleep cycle hasn't been drastically affected so far. I'm still getting between 7 and 8 hours a night (usually 8). Generally, I still fall asleep quickly, and stay asleep all night. When the alarm clock goes off, I get up. Save for the muffled headaches I've been experiencing, I wake up feeling pretty good.

The problem (well, maybe 'problem' is too strong a word) is that I'm constantly buzzed now that I'm on the meds. I have maybe too much energy. I feel the way I did when I was young, and the way I felt when I first started working out every day: that constant stream, or source, or something, of energy that runs through me all the time. Right now, for example, at noon, I'm actually kind of tired. I went to bed late last night after binging on Season 3 of 'Lost' (I finished the DVDs and watched three episodes after Dickson went to sleep) and then googling a bunch of things I wanted to know more about. I probably crawled into bed at 12:30am, and laid there until 8am, even though when my alarm went off at 7, I was actually able to get up. I just knew that my body needed rest and I forced myself to lay there until 8. I dozed a bit but my mind was already running. I started thinking about what I had to do that day, how Dickson might have used all the quarters to do his laundry and I'd have to get change from the bank to do mine. How I needed to get to the grocery and I desperately needed to stop putting off writing another section of this paper and just get my ass in gear and finish it. And start reading for comps. And do all this other stuff. This is what my mind was doing when I was laying in bed on a cool pleasant late-summer morning, trying to "sleep."

I am no longer tired anymore, really ever. But sometimes I can feel that my body is tired. I worked out hard this morning, and I worked out hard yesterday. And then I just keep going after I work out, accomplishing whatever needs to be finished during the day. And my mind is constantly running. So even though I feel a vague and distant sensation that I might be "tired," I can't do anything about it. Instead, I read for class, or vacuum. What would have knocked me out for an hour before is now seen as just another task to get finished before I move on to the next thing.

Is this a blessing, or a curse?

Day 2: Or, how to Fight Hypothyroidism with a Hangover

2010-08-21T06:12:00.000-07:00

I guess this is a good sign of things to come: I got home around 2:30 am, stayed up until about 3, and woke up at 8:30 am feeling like I had slept enough and was ready to start the day. It's now a little after 9 am, and after editing the last post and deciding to start on this one, these past forty minutes have been productive. I took two ibuprofin and my medication this morning along with a big bottle of water in which I poured a packet of generic Emergen-C. My head is vaguely foggy and I'm still getting over a cold, which I think I gave to Dickson. But I feel good! I had a lot of fun last night, getting dinner with Kim, hanging out with friends until late, getting a ride home from Kim, hanging out with Dickson when I got in. And now the real test will take place: has hypothyroidism been the culprit behind so many extended hangovers in the past? Will my magical purple pills allow me to get through the entirety of this Saturday with vim and vigor, and without a nap? Am I placing way too much pressure on these pills to cure everything that is wrong in my life? The imagined 9 am answers to these questions are, at the moment: Yes, yes, and absolutely yes. Oh, we'll see what the future holds.

Diagnosis, Medication, Treatment, Understanding: Day 1

2010-08-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

I went to Dr. Thomas at the Capitol Hill medical clinic on Wednesday afternoon after waiting for two and a half weeks for my appointment. She was the only doctor who was even able to see me; other clinics in my area (I wanted to be able to walk to the doctor's office) were booked until September. And it's not as though my condition were life-threatening. I was just concerned about the hair loss, and the sluggishness was increasing, even though the hours of sleep I got each night were also going up. I wanted to know what was wrong, especially before the semester begins (and preparation for my comprehensive exams continues) in just a few days.

So Wednesday at 2:30 pm finally came and I rode my bike the four blocks over to the clinic. It is a comically old building, so old that I was taken a bit aback at first. If the building looked like it was going to fall apart, what kind of medical treatment was I going to receive? But whatever, it was next to a hospital (the Speciality Hospital of Washington), and Dr. Thomas got good reviews online (like that means anything) and I was desperate to see a professional, so I went in.

I walked up rickety old steps to the second floor, passing signs that read things like "Do NOT sit on top of the heater - the cover is broken!" and "DON'T BLOCK THE STEPS" and walked down a Pepto Bismol pink hallway that had a few framed prints by Renoir and Monet. I looked at the one by Renoir, "Two Young Girls at a Piano," for a second before I walked into Dr. Thomas's office. It looked peaceful. I thought, this is what life was like before modernism, or at least postmodernism. When French men could paint scenes like this and become famous. How weird.

A woman behind the desk photocopied my driver's license and insurance ID and gave me a stack of papers, all of which looked like they were typed up by a typewriter in 1989 and photocopied endlessly since, for me to fill out in the waiting room. I sat down on an old chair and began to fill in my name, lucky that I brought my own pen since the receptionist was out, and looked around. I was with three other people: a large woman who listened to her iPod so loudly I could hear the dance/hip hop she was playing, and an older woman and her teenage son. The son had long dreads and looked horribly uncomfortable. His mother ate a bag of hot fries, those spicy little potato stick things, and looked unconcerned. On the TV was an afternoon news show with a vaguely attracted middle-aged man and woman bantering excitedly about nothing, all of which was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. There were a few magazines scattered around on low coffee tables shoved into the corners. No one read them. They either watched TV or listened to the iPod, or listened to the other woman's iPod, as I did. Which I didn't really enjoy.

The paperwork asked for my history, my insurance, the start date of my last period, why I was in there, etc etc etc. Other information requested included my family history of medical defects, which I abbreviated to include only the most serious. I noted the heart problems, cancer, and thyroid issues in the rest of my family, citing members who had already died of these diseases. And I wrote in on 'other' that my aunt has full-body alopecia. which is what I feared that I had when my hair started falling out rapidly and with a seeming vengeance a few months ago.

That was the real reason I was here, after all: the hair loss. Online sources say that female hair loss is more of a pride thing than anything else. It hurts our femininity, and that makes us sad. I was reticent to agree, laughing at these online generalization of womanhood, but agreed anyway, even though I wouldn't allow myself to believe that I did. Losing my hair - my fine, pathetic hair that doesn't grow and I don't know how to style and it always looks terrible - would hurt me very badly. Maybe it's a pride thing after all, and maybe I'm more of a traditional female than I thought. To participate in making sweeping generalizations about gender and sex, if I lost my hair, I would feel pretty terrible. It would be hard for me to leave the apartment. For a man, and particularly for an older man, it's part of life, part of genetics. For a woman it was embarrassing, like I had done something wrong. Had I? I thought about photos I had seen of myself from my trip to Colorado in July: I was armwrestling with a friend (it's a long story) and someone took a photo of me winning, of me taking her down, and my whole body is leaning towards the camera, the top of my head visible. And the hair is thinning to an embarrassingly noticeable degree. I was starting to go bald. Since most people are taller than me, I began to wonder why no one said anything. Maybe they were embarrassed about it too.

But, I joked to myself, I always looked good in wigs. And wigs you don't really need to style, the way you need to do hair every day. I could deal with it if my hair all fell out at once and I could just go to the wig store, pick one out, and go home. The next day, I'd look like a hair model. A plastic hair model.

Rather than just accept this fate, however, I tried to figure out what I could do on my own. It was my hair stylist, Molly, who said that my thyroid might be the issue. She was cutting my hair in late July and was concerned with how easily it wrested away from my skull, how much was missing up top. It wasn't anemia, because I had been taking iron pills for a year or more now. It wasn't that my hair was unhealthy because I dyed it too much, even though it was before - the prolonged contact with Sun-In hadn't done my hair any favors. But I had given up hair dye, gone cold turkey, and I hadn't hanged its color in over a year. The hair that remained was soft and healthy and shiny (and the mousy blondish-brown that I had dyed away for so many years). But it fell out all the time. Frightening numbers of strands would come out in the shower. Every time I ran my hand through my hair, anywhere between five and twenty strands would be entangled in my fingers. I hated it. I tried not to touch it, thinking that if I just left my hair alone, it would stop falling out. I brushed it once a day and that was it. I thought to myself, if you leave it alone, everything will be fine.

Well, what a load of crap. Leaving my hair alone didn't help anything. It was self-deception, my way of coping with something I was scared of, and I was scared. I was really scared of going bald.

Instead, when I decided to actually be proactive about some things, I made my appointment with Dr. Thomas and looked around online to see what I could do in the meantime. I noted that a lack of iodine in the diet has negative effects on the thyroid and could be the cause of some hair loss. I realized that my diet was about 100% iodine deficient. Our salt wasn't iodized. My multivitamin, that I took daily, had no iodine. And I rarely ate fish or seaweed because there is a shocking lack of sushi restaurants in Capitol Hill (why is this? We finally got a frozen yogurt place. Why no sushi?). So I bought iodized salt, added it in all the places I normally added salt, and started taking a multivitamin with 100% of my daily value of iodine. Within the week things started to improve: less hair came out when I washed it in the shower, fewer strands in the hairbrush, even fewer in my hands as I ran them, oh-so-tentatively at first, through my hair. Wow!, I thought to myself. This is fabulous! I have this whole thing taken care of!

Then I went to the doctor.

Sigh.

In Dr. Thomas's office, after I had filled out the paperwork I decided to go use the bathroom so I could take a few deep breaths by myself before I had to hear what devastating news the doctor might potentially have. I handed the clipboard to the receptionist and asked her where the bathroom was - down the hall, right next to the Renoir. At first I thought the door was a trick: no door knob, and I couldn't see any hinges. And it wouldn't open. It was stuck shut. I tried pushing it inwards, then pulling it to one side and the other thinking that the door was on rollers somehow. Nothing worked. I thought I had the wrong door, but the sign above it said "Restroom" and was definitely referring to the mystery door. Then, from inside the mystery door's room, I heard a toilet flush and someone wash turn on and off the sink. The door pulled inwards and out came the young guy with dreads. He had a little plastic cup of his urine in one hand, and was really embarrassed to see me standing there. We negotiated the tiny hallway and he went and sat down in a room to my left. I wondered what he had to pee in a cup for. It made me realize that other people's problems will always dwarf mine, and I suddenly became very embarrassed that I was at the doctor because I was feeling vain.

After I used the bathroom I sat back down in the waiting room. The iPod woman was called out. When I sneezed a few times, the older potato stick-eating woman said 'Bless you' and then turned back to the TV. I waited for about five more minutes when a Haitian woman took me into an examining room, took my blood pressure and pulse, and, as I turned my head so I wouldn't see, drained two vials of my blood. There was a photo of a sheltie on her wall, so while she was taking my blood we talked about dogs. Her sheltie was named Beethoven and she had a few prints by Van Gogh on her wall, around the picture of her dog. I thought, this is a very classically-oriented doctor's office. Wow.

The Haitian nurse asked me if I needed a pelvic exam, which I did not. I told her about the hair, and the tiredness, and she took me into a different examining room and told me I could wait there for the doctor. The room was made for pelvic exams, which always makes for an uncomfortable waiting period, staring at those stirrups. Dr. Thomas came in, checked my vitals again, had me breathe a few deep breaths, listened to my story about the hair loss and the tiredness and all the other things, felt my throat, and told me that she didn't see or feel or hear anything wrong. In fact, I was really healthy. She'd get the blood results back by Friday at the latest and call me if anything was wrong. I was supposed to keep taking the multivitamin with iodine. Things were probably okay.

So when she called me back less than 24 hours later, she at least noted that what I have is not severe. My hypothyroidism (underactive thyroid, the gland that controls metabolism) is mild or moderate. There are numbers involved - Dr. Thomas mentioned them on the phone - though I don't know what they corresponded too. A normal thyroid is between 1 and 4, preferably around 2 or 3. Mine is at 8. 8 what? I don't know. But 8 is bad. She got the results of my blood test back and wanted to get me on medication right away, a low dose of some hormone, and I was to stop taking the iodine immediately and get on these pills just as fast.

She also phoned the prescription into the CVS two blocks away for me, which was nice. She said that I had to take pills daily, a pill every day for eight weeks, and then come back and see her and "we'll see how we're doing." I like how doctors always use 'we' when talking about individual patient conditions. SHE doesn't have hypothyroidism (or does she?) so it's not OUR condition. But we'll still see how WE are doing in two months. It makes me feel like I'm part of a team.

I went back to the computer and looked up hypothyroidism. I thought it was funny that I have hyPOthyroidism, since I also have hypoglycemia. Everything is low with me. Once, when I was about 15, I went to the doctor because I was shaking all the time. I had eaten lunch with my father and sister and then I went to the doctor, who took some blood. He said that I had the blood sugar level of someone who had been fasting for at least four hours, but I had eaten half an hour beforehand. Everything is low with me.

Hypothyroidism is normally something that strikes older women, often in their 50s during menopause. Symptoms include unexplained weight gain, sluggishness, dry and brittle skin - and hair loss. I had none of these to any great extent, except for the hair loss. And I was tired all the time, but I blamed that on grad school and general stress. And even though I worked out every day, I hadn't lost weight in years, but I hadn't gained any either. My weight had been steady for a long time - a frustratingly long time, especially since I did want to lose weight. And my skin wasn't any more dry or brittle than anyone else's, or so I thought. And I'm 27!, I thought to myself. Why am I sick with a menopausal woman's disease?

But if it is indeed hypothyroidism, this explains a lot, and if I get this treated, it could potentially benefit me a lot, especially in this upcoming semester when I'll be preparing for comprehensive exams. I would love to be able to sleep less and still feel rested. I would love to go through the day without the stress of looking bald to anyone tall enough to see the top of my head (which is most people). These things would be a real load off my mind. Should they happen, I would welcome them.

I picked up the pills this morning. They're small and light purple in color and oblong in shape. I have to take them in the morning, on an empty stomach, at least half an hour to an hour before breakfast, and four hours from when I plan on taking an iron or calcium supplement. I can no longer take an iodine supplement because of the possibility of negative interactions, so I'll revert back to my old multivitamin. I'm going to keep using the salt though, just in case. I took the first one around 8:30 am.

So, about 12 hours after I took the first pill, I feel good. I didn't get the groggy sluggish I-need-a-nap feeling this afternoon, and that made me happy. But this was also just the first day, and I wonder how much of it is psychosomatic. I am easily swayed by the idea of taking medication - sugar pills work wonders for me - because I believe that as soon as I take something that a doctor prescribed to me, health and wellness are not too far away. I may be deceiving myself, but it's a good first day of deception. We'll see what happens from here. Hopefully the future is hirsute and bright.

Ownership as source of construction of self BIYAR

2009-09-05T16:22:00.000-07:00

Strangely, I own nothing in this picture, except the dog whose paw is featured, slightly, in the upper left corner - and even that is a bit of a stretch. Do I "own" the dog? I don't like to think that I do. If anything, the dog really does own me. His pleading looks to be let out of the 5th floor highrise where we live, too high up even for the bees to visit so my tomato plants, featured below, flower and bloom but are unable to germinate since there is no bee for flower sex.

The balcony is total, complete, without bars for him to look through; thick white concrete parameter with the flagstone floor and two tomato plants whose leaves I can't even eat - in the family of nightshade, I'd probably die. Belladonna big eyes, maybe I could give that a try. But there are other ways to get the highly sought-after dilated look, some of which I prefer over poisoning.

But the turtle here, my little turtle friend, at least he, goddamn it, owns his shell. You own your body, don't you? Isn't that the primary source of ownership that nothing, save for pimps or sex/drug/human trafficking, can take away? Or organ donation? Or death? I own these hands that type these words, or at least I certainly pay for their upkeep - soap to prevent the swine flu, necessary lotions, balms and creams. I pay for the food that I put into these lovable little mitts that I then transfer, and transform, in my mouth. I even pay for mittens for my kute little kittens. Goddamn, these hands - like a turtle shell: mine.

So what does this make me? Google: Do I own my hands?

I didn't find much, but I did find THIS!

And maybe that's enough for today. Let's break for wine and cookies.

Gorilla, My Love

2009-07-27T16:19:00.000-07:00

"As Democracy is perfected, the office of the president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."

H.L. Mencken

out with the old, in with the new

2009-07-26T09:15:00.001-07:00

ownership as source of construction of self round 4

2009-07-09T08:02:00.000-07:00

item(s) 5/6: tomati seedlings

what does growing these two tiny, striving creatures in the insufficient soil of a washington dc high-rise balcony red-painted box mean for me, the grower, who yearns for their fruit? this is no africa; no takoma park. am i foolish to try this experiment in urban pioneering, or simply enjoying the reduction that results in my own carbon-based footprint, soled in flip-flops, an heirloom varietal?

google meaning of:urban tomato growing.

and what do we learn?

whoa:

tomato

47 up, 66 down

A term used to describe someone who is denial of his

homosexuality...because even though you think a tomato

is a vegetable, it's really "fruit"

What a tomato, he definitely likes guys

2.	tomato	116 up, 45 down
	A sexy curvacious woman, usually dressed in a manner that invites men to try and fuck her Man, that chick is one hot tomato. I want to fuck the hell out of her and I don't care who's watching. (umm, thanks?: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=tomato) this whole thing bothers me. man, i'm just trying to save the earth.

ownership as source of construction of self pt. 3

2009-07-06T05:15:00.000-07:00

item 4: broom/stroom

google search meaning of: broom ownership

first of all, how can one not love the following picture (below)?

so, what have we learned? :: "A birch besom was placed aslant in the open doorway of the house, with its head on the doorstep and the top of its handle on the door-post. First a young man jumped over it, then his bride, in the presence of witnesses. If either touched or knocked it in any way, the marriage was not recognized. In this kind of marriage, a woman kept her own home and did not become the property of her husband. It was a partnership, “cyd-fydio,” rather than an ownership. A child of the marriage was considered to be legitimate. If the couple decided to divorce, they simply jumped back over the broomstick again, but this could only be done in the first year of marriage. If a child had come, it was the father’s responsibility."

(courtesy of: http://midnightmooncafe.blogspot.com/2009/05/origins-of-jumping-broom.html")

broom ownership does not mean that i am bound to the broom, or that the broom necessarily belongs to me. the broom has its own life, its own essence. i am journeying together with the broom, but am not of the broom, nor do i own the broom. should the broom and i jump back over itself, our union is dissolved. there is no ownership here - the hegemonic patronym (broomonym?) ceases to exist. this becomes, essentially, a perfect union, based upon choice and structured to allow for the greatest potential individuality.

like these two. and the guy with the sick ponytail.

ownership as source of construction of self pt. II

2009-06-25T06:06:00.000-07:00

item 3: nearly boiling water.

google search meaning of: almost boiling water. who does this make me? (lazy? impatient? unwilling to commit?)

Did you know: there are no less than 820 comments by marginally witty people on epicurious's recipe page for 'salted water for boiling'? one was posted less than 20 days ago. the oldest was posted in 2001. will there be celebrations when 'salted water for boiling' reaches a decade of marginally witty comments? i'd celebrate it. i'd boil water for it. then i'd post something marginally witty. then, hopefully, i'd die.

(from: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Salted-Water-for-Boiling-105591)

Lessons learned: nothing about myself, because i am an american. BUT if i were canadian (socialists!), i'd have to boil my water all the time for fear of death! (see below) my impatience would be my downfall, particularly if i were a member of the first nation, which i am not at all. i'm just a member of the neo-colonial nation. sigh.

(from: http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=2335191)

ownership as source of construction of self

2009-06-23T12:38:00.000-07:00

if i were to look at what i possess:

can a self be constructed from mere trifles, baubles, knickknacks, gewgaws, pittances, chump change, toys?

meaning of: XXX

google search.

in non-discerning reverse order.

item 1: dog.

google search meaning of: dog ownership. who does this make me?

Did you know: "Previous literature has shown gender differences in human-animal interactions. However, differences in the meaning of dog ownership have not been examined. In this paper, I attempt to discover if there are differences in the meaning of dogs to their owners by interviewing 35 dog owners in a Midwestern city. Findings revealed that dog owners give different meanings to their dogs based on gender and marital status. Marital status differences hinge on gender in this study. Women and single men were more likely to view their dogs as companions and emotional support. Married men were more likely to view their dogs as a form of instrumental support." (from: www.allacademic.com, a go-to source for... who exactly?)

Therefore, kenan, donc, thus: I should a.) really be midwestern for this to apply (some controls are faulty in every experiment, this being no exception), b.) rely on my dog for emotional support, and c.) treat my dog differently than would a married man.

~.~.~.~

item 2: record player/olde tyme stereo.

google search meaning of: owning a record player. who does this make me?

Did you know: it took zestycoyote (below) 200 days to purchase a record player?

It took me

200 days

It made me

happy

"Finally prioritized this purchase and I am happy about it."

How I did it: A website was selling a record player for $60. I used part of my federal tax return to buy it. I usually forgot to look for discount record players, but saw this one by chance today.

Lessons & tips: Wait for a good price.

Apr 11, 12:05PM PDT | 0 comments

(from: www.43things.com)

Lessons learned: by already owning a record player i am 200 days ahead of zestycoyote. this should please me, as much as it pleased him. i should be happy because of my record player ownership.

Wendy Brown

2009-06-17T16:20:00.000-07:00

Brown, a professor at UC Berkeley, a brilliant writer and mentor/advisor to my own advisor at GWU, Libby Anker, produces work I admire greatly, and utilizes a method similar to what I'd like to make my own: that is, eschewing disciplines as such in order to create formulations that combine, rather than constrict, politics, critical theory, psychoanalysis, Marxism, intellectual history, gender studies (feminist studies/queer studies), and, in this lecture especially, transnational history, globalization, and the study of built structures. She is, as should be clear already just given her lengthy list of interests, amazing.

Here is a link to her lecture, "Why do people want walls?" when, she adds, "walls don't actually do anything". Her views of the division currently taking place between the nation-state and the concept of sovereignty is clear, concise, and yet still surprising. Her ideas expose themselves like small diamonds, clear, sharp - as though they're something you already know, or should already know, but don't yet, and then there it is: she shows you just what you should've known before. Really quite incredible.

I'm listening to this as I post it, simply because I'm so excited to make sure that others see how incredibly Brown's mind functions. Perhaps I'll post again with a response, or with more exciting things.

The lecture comes from a site I'm interested in exploring further, but - as I said - I am too excited by Brown's words to do anything but post this lecture immediately.

Enjoy.

2008-05-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

2008-05-23T20:13:00.000-07:00

Earth Day

2008-04-18T05:06:00.000-07:00

Why is a blog originally devoted to prose and visual art taking a more obvious stance on environmental concerns? Or, alternatively, are these things really all that different?

I don't want to turn this forum into yet another manual on 'how to live green' (books which are processed, rather ironically, most often on virgin paper and printed by the tens of thousands - filling another market niche for the uninitiated), but I do want to defend my beliefs, especially when it comes to my future graduate research, which will closely combine America's consumerism habits with our potential future for food sustainability.

Anyway, what this is about is Earth Day 2008 (April 22) http://ww2.earthday.net/

The New York Times over the past few weeks has written a series of articles under the umbrella title 'Food Chain', most of which can be found at www.nytimes.com/foodchain - along with media, photo albums, and other information - and they're useful, especially when studying how American food production (and that of the first world) effects other countries. But the one thing that has been only lightly touched upon is the slowly evolving differences in food intake and desires. After living in Niger for 14 months, I was able to witness first hand how a third world country changes its views of what and how it eats in the era of mass globalization.

Niger, landlocked and bound by Africa's Sahel, has for hundreds of years subsisted on a rather simple diet of pounded grain with some form of sauce, vegetables, and proteins (usually in the forms of meat - goat and sheep most commonly - and milk). The grain most often used in Niger is millet, a hearty and substantial crop that generally has high yields even under grueling circumstances. And Niger offers its crops many grueling circumstances.

The grain is nutritious and filling and has made the bulk of Niger's diet for most of known history. How it arrived in country Jared Diamond can answer better than I, but it is in the past few years that several factors have decreased consumption (willingly and unwillingly) of millet in Niger nation-wide. One is the changing consumption interests of Nigeriens themselves; the other is climate change.

Desertification is a process by which the desert itself does not expand, but the arid land around the borders of the desert loses its nutrients and fertility. The Sahel, the broad band located directly below the world's largest desert, the Sahara (see last month's National Geographic for a great article about the Sahel and how it affects people who live on it and near it), is quickly undergoing a transformation, losing some aridity to the desert here or actually becoming greener there. Niger, in what some call a mild success story, has actually become greener (use this word liberally) in the past 30 years, primarily through the efforts of Peace Corps workers and NGOs.

But this re-greening of Niger has not led to greater food security in-country. In fact, many of the most widely publicised famines in Niger have all taken place in this exact time frame. Why is this?

The re-greening of Niger has primarily occured due to changing farming practices. Most farmers, following the procedure of their fathers and grandfathers, would burn most of the shrub and bush on their fields prior to planting season, which generally occurs from June to September. These months are the only time rains will fall in Niger. In the past three decades or so, farmers have learned the benefits of nitrogen-fixing trees and plants and have started to leave them in their fields. These trees also have the added bonus of helping stop erosion.

Some varieties, like the gao, require very little water and drop their leaves at the beginning of farming season, creating a mulch-like compost on the sand where the young millet is growing. Through efforts by Peace Corps volunteers many gaos have been planted in Nigerien farmers' fields. Farmers, specifically in the National Geographic article, have stated that they're going back to even more ancient forms of agriculture.

So Niger turns more green and the land boosts greater fertility because of all these trees, right? Unfortunately no. In most of the country the rains have decreased with such ferocity that this has resulted in a landslide of fewer crops. Ali, age 35 or so, a friend of ours in our village, Killaloum, stated that when he was a child, enough rain fell each rainy season for two harvests. Now, in 2007, hardly enough rain fell for one.

Nitrogen-fixing crops like cowpeas and peanuts grow exceptionally well, but few Nigeriens make them the core of the diet, preferring millet or sorghum or, more recently, pasta, rice, and wheat. As globalization introduces new foods into Niger's diet and tastes turn toward the luxurious (and in Niger pasta and rice is luxurious), the crop that once fed the nation due to its heartiness and sustainability falls in popularity, as does field research towards it.

The recent riots in Cairo at bread seller stands only reinforce the idea that the globalization of the food industry - or, more specifically, introducing global foods into systems that cannot support them - is causing great amounts of damage. If Cairo cannot grow the wheat to make into bread, how can getting its population hooked on this product result in a better-fed, healthier nation? If Niger becomes fond of rice - which it can only grow in its southwesternmost corner, along the Niger river - and pasta - which it does not produce at all - how can the people feed themselves if international reserves of these two things become unattainable due to supply or cost? If, for hundreds of years, Niger subsisted on a diet primarily of millet, sorghum, beans and peanuts, isn't that because, environmentally, that was what they could easily produce?

Niger has many problems facing it in the years ahead. Its population, already well above 13 million, grows at roughly 3% per year. Roughly two percent of its population is literate. As temperatures rise and the fertility of its land falls, how will the estimated population of 2025 (which is now being called at 25 million) support itself? It certainly won't be on rice and pasta.

Anyway, to bring this post to a close, celebrate Earth Day, do what you can, and here's one little tip: the days are getting warmer. Invest in a clothes line and dry your clothes outside. Tumble dryers are the SUVs of the household, gobbling up energy and giving nothing back. Thanks, New York Times!

Extremely Important Info about America's Small Farms

2008-04-07T06:14:00.000-07:00

I never read the Hightower Lowdown before, though apparently Jim Hightower did speak at Gettysburg College a few years back and basically transformed Dickson from carnivorous distance runner to mild-mannered vegetarian. Anyway, a recent article on his webpage ( http://www.hightowerlowdown.org/node/1364) explains the antagonistic forces at work on America's small farms - the threat of the National Animal Identification System. Please read this and do what you can to help save America's threatened agricultural heritage.

And while you're at it, check this out as well, from Gourmet Magazine!
http://www.gourmet.com/magazine/2000s/2008/04/farmbill

Photos

2008-03-31T08:07:00.000-07:00

Pennsylvania

2008-03-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

The sun is setting over Pennsylvania. I haven't seen the streaks of bright orange across a translucent blue sky in a long time, cold harsh deep blue gray clouds streaked across the scene and large tall silhouetted pine trees are heaving in heavy winds. It is towards the end of March but feels and has felt wintry all day. I saw flurries this afternoon when I sat in the sunroom, a green thick blanket wrapped around me as I typed while Harriet said, no less than three times, to "Ignore your father and just turn the heat on already!"

But it felt good to be warm in a blanket instead. I don't want something pumped out of pipes - not yet at least. I want the natural feeling that was the only favorable part of living in Niger. Remember picking our own lettuce? Or the vegetable seller down the street from the hostel with his onions and tomatoes spread out on mats on the ground?

The wind in Niger didn't blow as consistently fiercely as it does here in PA. Here the wind is an entity. It speaks. The trees mutter with it, acquiese to what it wants. How does something 20 feet tall bend to the will of something we can't even see? But they do - a whole line of them, big strong Pennsylvania pines swaying rhythmically and strong to the gusts that are screaming outside the glass. It's a welcome back to America wind. It's a wind that doesn't exist is Niger. It's a northeastern American wind, a wind that I grew up with and didn't realize until now.

The orange streaks continue to hold on, not letting go of their small and decreasing strip of horizon until they must, until they're run out of town by another night of darkness and cold. I'm glad I came back at the end of winter; I like cold weather, how brisk everything feels. I like how it enters your nose when you step outside and you sneeze, how it makes water run out of your eyes and you become blinded by upper western hemisphere winter sun. I love this feeling. It's so temporal, so unlike summertime. I like my winters painful to a certain degree; the same with my summers. I like experiencing seasons because they change. I like watching it and living it and breathing it in. I like watching the last strips of orange finally give up and fade away.

Cold outlines of pine trees become spooky at night, when they dance against a gradated and indefinite blue sky. Why didn't I realize Pennsylvania for what it was before? It's an odd state, the eastern part full of mountains and rocks. Dad explained that over the course of millenia it formerly was the part of Africa that broke off and smashed into what it now North America - the crash resulted in eastern PA's odd and off-putting terrain. The geological makeup of eastern PA is different from the west. Where I was born and raised was part of Africa several million years ago. How odd that I'd go back there again for 14 months, only to return to PA and feel the same feelings again. The sky is now completely dark; the trees are hardly visible against a sky so deeply blue I haven't seen anything like it in months. Welcome back to America, I say to myself. God it feels good to be home.

Cows Grazing In The Rumpus Room

2008-03-20T07:30:00.000-07:00

I'll be starting grad school in August, getting a doctorate in American Studies from the University of Maryland. My focus will revolve around foodways (google it), and while I have not yet collected my thoughts into a cohesive enough pattern to start espousing either serious reports or thoughtful witticisms, here's a link to an article I found totally and completely thrilling today in the NYT.

http://arieff.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/03/19/cows-grazing-in-the-rumpus-room/index.html

Maybe things are turning around. Reclaiming wasted suburban sprawl space and reintroducing agriculture, sustainable development, and natural habitats is... words can't describe how wonderful it is. It's just wonderful. Wonderful wonderful wonderful.

Also interesting is SAGE, Edible Estates, and the growing containers atop apartment buildings. We don't need to let everything be taken away from us, let ourselves be shoved into these atrocious little plastic houses, and call it a day while America loses everything that once made this wildly sprawling country unique. Bring back heterogeneousness. Bring back locational differences, regional foods, culture that's unique and interesting and isn't covered in Targets and Wal-Marts and Cucina Italiano's. I need to stop before I become inane. But read the article. Seriously. It's good.

Sleep and the Sleeper

2008-01-24T02:33:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on sleep and the sleeper in two cultures - America and Niger.

Sleeping in America is like sleeping in a tomb. Sleep in America is respected, a thing not to be disturbed, that, given that it mostly occurs at nighttime, people generally do together as a population, forming a consensus - "this is the time that we sleep and this is how we treat both the act of sleeping and those who sleep."

From the beginning of our lives sleep is respected, especially the sleep we do as babies. "Be quiet, the baby is sleeping" - what a cliched thing to say, but important in that it shows decisively American attitudes about sleep and the one doing the sleeping. When a baby sleeps the child is respected; to wake the baby is a faux-pas, something punishable by nature (or by parents). Babies are watched over as they sleep, either in person or via monitor. A baby's sleep is considered so peaceful and complete that to say that one slept "like a baby" is considered symbolic of getting a good night's rest.

The act of being quiet while others are sleeping continues on throughout life. It is considered rude to make a lot of noise at night "because people are sleeping" - loud music or wild parties can portend having the cops called to shut down the merrymaking. Even a nap justifies silence in the house - if someone, especially the pat/matriarch says that they are going to take an afternoon nap, the house quiets down: children move downstairs to play, the volume on the television gets turned down, and people lower their voices or whisper so as not to disturb the sleeper.

Nighttime is a peaceful time in most of America, especially in purely residential areas. Nightclubs and bars are an exception which people allow for, knowing that there are specific places allotted for nighttime activity which thus excuses the preponderance of music, noise, etc. For the most part, a suburban street at night is a quiet place, one where too much disturbance or noise warrants a phonecall to the police or a head poked out the window to see what all the trouble is about. Even animals are forced to abide by the code of quiet - barking dogs at night are considered a nuisance and owners are castigated for allowing their animals to act up during the generally agreed upon quiet time, rather than having greater control over their pets (which are, in the American sense, their personal responsibility).

In Niger none of these attitudes hold sway. Sleep does not necessitate peace or quiet, control or structure, for either humans or animals. And again, this behavior generally gains its momentum and force in childhood, which, I believe, forms the basis of belief for the entirety of a lifetime's worth of attitudes about both sleep and the sleeper.

Nigerien families are large, and women are often caring for more than one very small child at a time. Children too young to walk are tied to the mother's back with a strip of cloth (called "goyo" in Hausa), with both arms and legs bound within the cloth and thus inaccessible to the child. If a baby's face is covered with mucus and flies, the baby can't do anything about it and learns to tolerate flies walking all over its skin, in its eyes and ears, and up its nose. I've noticed this behavior in adults as well - flies are simply tolerated and rarely swiped away, and I believe that this, like attitudes toward sleep, has much to do with the constant exposure to insects as a child. The mother rarely wipes the flies from the baby's face.

This position, behind the mother and tightly bound, also influences the child's sleeping patterns. Being a new mother to a young child does not excuse the woman from any amount of work, and the daily strenuous activities of life must be completed even with a small child strapped to her back. Thus the child, besides becoming inured to flies and insects, also becomes accustomed to sitting (and sleeping) through its mother's varied movements - the pumping motion of using the well, walking long distances in the hot sun to gather firewood and supplies, the pounding motion of mashing millet into flour. And given that young babies sleep most of the day anyway, the child quickly learns to sleep in a strange position (basically sitting upright) while experiencing strange movements, often in very loud and noisy environments (the well is especially noisy, or while the woman is working and socializing with her friends).

Thus the most obvious sleep-related difference between Americans and Nigeriens is this: American childhoods necessitate peace and quiet during sleep, and this practice is reinforced by the child's parents, while Nigerien children experience great amounts of both movement and noise while sleeping. I believe that these practices influence how both Americans and Nigeriens view sleep and the sleeper for the rest of their lives.

Another large difference between American and Nigerien sleeping habits can be best summarized in one word: religion. Only about 1.5% of Americans are Muslim, while roughly 95% of Nigeriens are Islamic practicitioners. Islam dictates five daily prayers, the first of which occurs well before daybreak and is proceeded by a broadcast call (usually via loudspeaker) to rouse practitioners from their sleep and urge them to either come to the mosque or perform at home the first of their daily prayers.

Because nearly everyone is Muslim in Niger, it is not considered rude or inappropriate to blast a prayer call at 5 or 5:30 in the morning to the entirety of a town or village's populace; indeed, it is a tenant of their religion. Either because Americans are not wholly Muslim or due to their respect for both multiple religious practices and the early morning sleep of its residents, this practice of early AM prayer calls is simply not popular or overly acceptable in American culture.

Several theories may lead to why most Nigeriens use night as the time to make noise and socialize, the first of which is the extreme heat that engulfs Niger most of the year and for most of the day. At night, when temperatures become more comfortable, men are more interested in staying up and socializing with friends (women are generally not allowed out of the house at night and remain within the concession after sunset). Men may also feel that they rest enough during the day (naps are not an uncommon way to pass the day's hottest hours) to avoid sleeping the bulk of the night, or that prayer call comes so early in the morning that, after staying up late talking with friends, sleep may only cause them to miss the first prayer of the day.

The final reason I have found why most men do not sleep during the sleep, or sleep considerably less than what I am accustomed to, is that most people in Niger do not own beds or mattresses and usually sleep on the ground, on benches, or on thin woven mats. This is not particularly comfortable and most men avoid sleep except when absolutely necessary. Most find sitting on a mat while talking with friends to be more comfortable than laying on the same mats and trying to sleep, though some will nap throughout the night while friends are still sitting up conversing.

The idea of noise at night is also not considered overly strange or rude. Dogs bark unabated at night because most dogs are feral and have no owners that take specific responsibility for them. Chickens, roosters, and donkeys wander through villages and make noise as they may. Conversers are never castigated for being too loud. It is simply not a cultural norm to "be quiet, someone is sleeping", especially since sleep patterns are so varied. Thus, nighttime in Niger can seem incredibly noisy for Americans, especially if one sleep outdoors, which the majority of Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) do year-round.

As far as opinions about different sleep patterns are concerned, I have heard several Nigeriens state that they believe Americans sleep too much, that we "need" 10-12 hours of sleep a night, and that Nigeriens are "stronger people" because they need considerably fewer hours of rest. What they do not realize, however, is that most PCVs retire early in the evening because it allows them a chance to relax and recuperate after a long day spent navigating the waters of a foreign culture. Additionally, the time is often spent entertaining oneself, an activity markedly absent in Nigerien culture, doing such things as reading and writing letters (only 2% of Nigeriens are literate), listening to the radio, or making work plans. Finally, all PCVs have both a bed and a mattress, making sleep a far more comfortable option as a way to spend the evening.

2007-10-07T08:14:00.000-07:00