When I talk to people, I speak freely. I open my mouth, and words come – thoroughly rehearsed, to a point. Every time I tell my mirror about my life, it’s a slightly different rendition of the same song. This is how it goes.
In high school, I was a swot. I went to a posh school, I was a high achiever, I was a musician. I didn’t even think to be rebellious until my last year, and my rebellion was not of the extreme variety. Most of my free periods were taken up with scholarship classes, but swot that I was (am, at heart) I had far too many, and three sessions overlapped.
So on occasion, I would tell art history I was going to French, French I was going to Spanish, and Spanish I was going to art history, and spend the fifty minutes feeling guilty while scribbling rambling poems in my binder instead. I got a second piercing in one lobe. That was my acting out. Continue reading “The Crohn’s Saga (to date)”
We have heard this morning about new developments within TPPA talks, after several days of delays brought about by continued discussion on various topics, including dairy, the automotive industry, and biologic medications. People understand what dairy means to New Zealand, and what the automotive industry means to other players in the TPPA, but ‘biologic’ is something of a mystery word. Some articles refer to cancer sufferers, some go into no detail at all, just that word, ‘biologic’. It seems like it’s important for people to understand the significance of biologic medication for individuals with a variety of different conditions – … Continue reading Small Mercies – TPPA discussions and biologics
I’ve been so dreadful at maintaining this lately. Life is busy, and it’s winter. Combine those two things with an eternally uncooperative immune system and chronic blah-blah-blah and I’ve been pretty exhausted when I’ve been in a position to write things. Which is a pain, both for my disposable income and my general creative juices. So, an update: In curly health news! I have written a thing for the Crohn’s & Colitis NZ website about my experience living with IBD. I also spoke last week at a meeting of Inner Wheel (a women’s branch of Rotary), along with Brian Poole, the chairman of … Continue reading Shouts from the void…
A couple of weeks ago I wrote a guest post for Sarah Wilson’s Writehanded website. It’s an excellent blog about important health and advocacy issues, and it was wonderful to be included. Here’s a snippet: Yes, when I’m clothed and … Continue reading Elsewhere: Writehanded Girl
I trim the stems of
hospital tulips with my
ostomy scissors Continue reading Hospital haiku. December 4–8.
On operations and depression and musical talent wasted. Sorry, more angst before I get back into reviewing. It happens. There is a Banksy poster on my wall – The Girl With The Balloon’. There is always hope. I bought it in a lighter time. Now, even though it is opposite it my bed, I rarely notice that it is there. Unconsciously ignoring the message? Overworked and overwrought; life is catching up on me. Study and work and never saying no to requests for extra hours; trying to create my own things on the side. And on top of all of … Continue reading The dark and the difficulty
Pain. Drowning crinkle-cut curled-up flesh in whitest milk. Obligation lifts the cup, pours it in. No foil-wrapped magic tricks want to have anything to do with it; the capsule sinks below the surface before it can ignite. Flickers as a match might, but with the untiring power of the glowing ember. No end in sight. The worst days were better, because hope was still cradled that the broken parts could be cut away and mended, dead branches and grafts. But the poison is in the tree and eventually there will be nothing left but dried parts broken on the forest floor. All … Continue reading curled-up flesh