A flaw in my elementary school education

As I've blogged about many times before, the reason why I'm so incredibly frustrated about attempts to ban plastic bags (first from the LCBO and then from Toronto) is that I already came up with a better solution to the stated problem. I solved the problem, I communicated the solution to the appropriate people, but, because the influential people aren't listening to me, I still have to suffer the inconvenience of their suboptimal "solution".

This reminds me of elementary school.

In elementary school we did a lot of group work, for the ostensible reason that it would teach us how to work with others in the workplace. I was one of the top students, but I was also one of the least popular students. And it would often happen in our group work that I would know the correct answer or the correct approach, but my group wouldn't listen to me because I'm not cool. (When I say "the correct answer", I'm referring to cases where there is a single objectively-correct answer or approach. How to calculate the area of a polygon. How to spell a word. What a French sentence says.) So then the work we turned in would have mistakes in it, and I'd get a worse mark than I would have gotten if I'd done the work myself. Apart from gym class, all the worst marks I got in elementary school and middle school were for group work, where the rest of my group would drag me down by disregarding my correct answers.

I always maintained that this doesn't actually prepare us for working with others in the workplace, because in the workplace there's a boss. The boss makes the final decision, and has the ultimate responsibility for the outcome. If I think I have a better idea than my boss, I speak my piece and then she decides. If she decides against my idea and I end up being right, she's the one who faces the consequences and I have better credibility for next time. I don't face negative consequences when my good ideas are not accepted.

But this plastic bag thing is just like elementary school group work. I'm looking at nuances and natural user behaviour patterns and non-intrusive approaches to optimizing the usage cycle, but the popular kids just want to blindly barrel through like a bulldozer shouting "BAN IT!", just like my classmates in elementary school who disregarded my explanations of order of operations and insisted on blindly barrelling through our math questions in the order the numbers appeared. And, like in elementary school, I still have to suffer the consequences of their poor decisions even though I know a better way to do it.

This made me realize there was a flaw in my elementary school education. Our group work was supposed to teach us how to get work done as part of a group. This should include how to convince others that your better ideas are actually better than the popular ideas. But they never actually taught us how to do this. They just threw us in groups and assumed we'd learn. No teacher ever actually explained to us how to get around this blind devotion to popularity. They just operated under the assumption that we'd automatically figure out how to solve these problems from working in groups, but that never happened. And now I'm 31 years old and unable to convince my governments to take a nuanced approach to an issue that will affect everyone every day.

At this point, you might be thinking "Maybe you're just generally unconvincing and don't have good ideas." But I do have good ideas and am able to present them convincingly in many contexts. In the workplace and in group projects in university, my ideas have been used quite often, either based on their clear value or based on the credibility I've developed by demonstrating my skill and expertise. Family and friends most often at least give my ideas serious consideration. Mnemonics I created in high school language classes are still used to this day, and my teacher even gave them to other teachers to use in their classes. I've even been able to get my dentist to try out my ideas when working on me, and he now has a better way of taking impressions for patients with small mouths and strong gag reflexes.

But I've never figured out how to get past blind following of popularity. And I think my teachers did us all a disservice by assuming that just working in a group would teach us how to overcome these pitfalls.

Buying happiness: summer skirts and dresses

I always feel frumpy and gross in shorts, so every hot day for my entire adult life I've been wearing skirts and dresses exclusively. They have many advantages:

- They're cooler. The breeze can blow up in between my thighs (right up to my ribs if I'm wearing an empire-waisted dress). I can be fully covered with less of the material actually touching my body. This is the best-possible balance of all of the advantage of being naked and all of the advantages of being clothed.

- They're attractive and femme. When I was a kid, and our summer vacations had us playing tourist in cities, I always felt particularly awkward and out of place in my suburban tourist shorts and t-shirts and running shoes. But I always feel like a proper grown-up city lady in my summer skirts and dresses.

- They make it very easy to look pulled together. In almost any of my summer outfits (with the exception of my long cotton hippy skirts), all I have to do is put my hair up (default for the summer anyway), choose a pair of shoes with heels (which I almost always wear anyway), put on big sunglasses (which I always wear outdoors in the sun anyway) and I look very close to glam. My "It's hot out and I feel fat" dress would fit right in at a wedding with the right hair/makeup/accessories, but it also wouldn't look out of place walking down the beach. I even wore it the second time we saw Eddie Izzard, after discovering at the last minute that I was too bloated to comfortably wear the outfit I'd originally planned, and I felt confident that I looked Eddie-worthy. None of my cool-weather outfits are that versatile!

- They're FUN! Skirts twirl and blow around in the breeze, and I can comfortably carry off flower prints in skirts and dresses that I'd feel frumpy wearing on a blouse with pants.

I've learned that I don't get tired of skirts and dresses (I'm still regularly wearing the skirts I bought when I first started my current job nine years ago), so whenever I see one I like, I try it on, and if it's reasonably flattering I buy it. My skirts pair nicely with plain fitted t-shirts and camis in solid colours, and the look is classic enough that I don't need to worry about any one piece going out of style. I still hate hot weather, but I never feel ugly and gross any more thanks to my summer skirts and dresses.

This morning's shower revelation

When I was first diagnosed with GERD, I chafed at the dietary restrictions. After extensive thought, I came to the realization that what I really want is to be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, for 100% of my life. Even if it shortens my life, I'd rather eat what I want and live to 50 than comply with all the dietary restrictions and live to 100. Unfortunately, since the disease presents as difficulty eating, it's not that simple. Nevertheless, I have been rather lax in following the rules out of my usual combination of laziness and gluttony.

In the shower this morning, I realized that perfect compliance with the dietary restrictions would actually be the worst possible approach. My goal is to eat the way I want to for 100% of my remaining life. If I followed every single dietary restriction, I'd be eating the way I want for 0% of my remaining life. I still don't know how to reach the optimal balance (where I die of something that lets me eat before I die of something that prevents me from eating), but I do know that perfect compliance isn't it.

Buying happiness: attractive exercise clothes

Since I only ever exercise at home where no one can see me, I've always worn truly awful clothes. The sports bras were nearly 10 years old, the clothes themselves were somewhere between 15 and 20 years old, and they had no redeeming qualities except that they're cotton and light and comfortable. They were horrible enough that if, while exercising, I had ever found myself in a situation where a fire alarm rang or I had to call an ambulance, I would have changed clothes into something that at least acknowledged that the 1980s had turned into the 1990s before saving my life. After reading about some emergency or another where people had to flee their apartment building with nothing but the clothes on their backs, I had actually worried about how humiliating it would be if I were stuck in my exercise clothes.

Just recently, on top of all those aesthetic problems, elastics started dying. I was crossing my arms under my breasts and tugging my pants up. So I finally decided to splurge on new exercise clothes.

I got Secrets From Your Sister to fit me with an exercise bra which doesn't let anything move (while still giving me a decent line) and is a very fun shade of purple. And I got a simple black and charcoal yoga outfit with lines that flatter my figure. Even though I shopped well and got everything at significant discounts, that's still about $100 spent on clothes for something I hate.

What I didn't expect is how good these clothes make me feel. I look like I'm aware that the 21st century has started! I look like I have a waist! And a figure! If I were interrupted without a chance to change clothes, I'd look like a perfectly competent, fashion-aware person who happens to have been interrupted while exercising. And, underneath it all, a fun purple bra!

Attractive exercise clothes don't help the tedium or sheer hatefulness of exercise, but they do help mitigate the indignity of it all. My morning feeling of "Blah, ugh, I have to go exercise!" is now accompanied by a tiny little glimmer of "But I get to wear my purple bra!" While it doesn't make the process pleasant, it does make it less unpleasant.

If, like me, you feel utterly disgusting and hideous while exercise, I do recommend getting something attractive and flattering to wear. It does help, more than I would have expected.

Demisexual

I learned a new word today: demisexual. The description given in the link is an accurate description of my sexuality. However, I reject the term itself, because I don't feel that my sexuality is less than full and I don't care to have it defined by someone else's standard of what constitutes full sexuality.* I will continue to use my own coinages: "congenitally monogamous" or "orientationally monogamous". Nevertheless, it is interesting and somewhat gratifying to know that there's a name available in case I need it, and that it's common enough to get a name.

*Some might question why I would object to being referred to as demisexual when this term appears to originate from the asexual community, who apparently have no objection to being referred to as asexual. Why the objection to being defined as having half a trait when others have no objection to being defined by the absence of the trait? Here's an analogy: I am childfree, which means I have no desire or interest to have children. That is simply true, accurate, and, in some contexts, pertinent, so I have no objection to being labelled as such. However, there are some people out there who have very few children. I doubt they'd enjoy being referred to as "semi-parents". (Or, for a perfect analogy, "demi-parents", but I think "semi" sounds more natural.) They certainly don't feel they're less than full parents and wouldn't be best pleased if their parenting was defined as less than 100% just because other people parent more people than they do.

Horoscopes

The Star:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Thursday, Dec. 22, 2011: You might remind others of a cat with nine lives this year. Don’t push Lady Luck too far. An element of excitement also runs riot in your next year. Flex, detach and maintain a sense of humour. Stay grounded and realistic. If you are single, you could meet someone very important to your life’s history. After this year, look at this tie more seriously. If you are attached, the two of you really care about each other. Domestically, one element could shake up the status quo. SAGITTARIUS makes a great doctor for you!

G&M:

IF TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY:

It seems you are under divine protection. It seems you can do no wrong. Take a few risks over the coming 12 months. Do things other people would not dare to try. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

This is a particularly interesting set of horoscopes, because I've been considering buying a condo (with more seriousness than all the other times I've been considering buying a condo.) The mention of a doctor makes me a bit nervous though. I've had enough of doctors.

Why the idea of nominal fees for library materials grates

Recently, my city councillor asked for feedback on the idea of the library charging $2 to borrow DVDs. My visceral reaction was negative - a far stronger negative reaction than could be explained by the basic fact that libraries are meant to be free. At first I thought that this was because people who are least able to afford $2 for a DVD (like my grandmothers, for example) are also less likely to have the resources and the know-how to acquire movies for free through unofficial channels. But another aspect that grated was this treatment of certain library materials as Less Than other materials.

I've finally figured out why this is bothering me so much. It all goes back to my letter to my 18-year-old self. One of the things I wrote was:

Read Harry Potter. Read the complete works of Miss Manners. Read the In Death series. Read Introvert Advantage. Read Malcolm Gladwell. Watch Eddie Izzard's comedy and every interview he's ever done. These will all not only entertain you, but help you navigate the world better.

All of these things were transformative. From Harry Potter, I learned how to do literary analysis (yes, this is AFTER an academic career that involved lit courses in four languages) and how to use the happy place fandom gives me to chase away my dark moods. From Introvert Advantage I learned how my brain and energy work. Miss Manners gave me much-needed perspective on real-world social expectations to counteract the skewed context I grew up in. Eddie and In Death made me brave (insofar as I am brave, which is still exponentially braver than I was before I met them). Malcolm Gladwell taught me about Entitlement, which also coalesced all the other stuff I'd learned.

All of these materials are rather lowbrow. Anyone could make a convincing argument that any of this stuff is Less Than and Unworthy. Despite the fact that I've been exposed to more than my fair share of Serious Art and academic writing, it was a children's book series, a newspaper advice columnist, a couple of pieces of mass-market pop psychology/sociology, a transvestite comedian, and a series of formulaic mystery novels that ended up being what made me.

(At this point, some of you are thinking "What kind of pathetic person gets life-changing inspiration from such banal material?" The answer to that question is, obviously, "Someone who very much needs it.")

So, you're now asking, what does this have to do with the library?

Like most people, I don't like to pay for something when I don't know if it's going to work. This means that I don't buy books, movies, or other art/entertainment/information media if I don't know if I'm going to like it or if it's going to teach me what I need to learn from it. I borrow it from the library instead.

I didn't know going in that any of this stuff would be transformative. I didn't even know if I would like it. I added it to my library list because it seemed like it had the potential to be mildly interesting, but I never would have bought it - not even for a nominal price. There's enough pop cultural comfort food to keep me reliably entertained that I don't ever need to try anything new. The fact that I could try them all risk-free is what made it possible for me to discover all these things.

On top of that, there's also the fact that these transformative works are far from the only things I borrowed from the library during that time period (the past 8 years of my life). Most of the stuff I borrowed wasn't nearly as transformative - I'm sure I don't even remember 80% of it! But, because I can borrow as much as I want, I get to separate the wheat from the chaff and become a better person in the process. Even a nominal fee would be enough make me think twice before putting a hold on something I'm unsure about, which would have been enough of a barrier to prevent me from discovering my true inspirations.

I'm sure no one else has my exact combination of inspirations, and many people have a similarly unpredictable combination of inspirations out there waiting for them. (And I sincerely hope there are even more out there waiting for me!) The world will become a better and better place as everyone expands their horizons and finds their way to their own inspiration, so we must not introduce any cause for hesitation.

My dreams are back!

For my whole life, I've gotten particularly vivid, interesting, and emotionally satisfying dreams right before I wake up naturally. That's why it's so important to me to sleep to completion at least once a week. My typical pattern is I sleep until early morning, wake up to pee, and, if I don't have to get up early that day, go back to bed for dream time. The dreams come at their best around 8-10 a.m., regardless of what time I went to bed.

But this pattern got disrupted when my GERD asserted itself this past summer. During the initial phase when I couldn't eat, I was going to bed early from fatigue and weakness and waking up early from hunger. After I was diagnosed, my diagnosis kept haunting my dreams (a recurring character was a demon with my face and a gremlin's body who had been sentenced to a hell where she was forced to eat the exact same quantity of the exact same dry, tasteless food every day, regardless of how hungry she was). The changes to my bedtime routine I made to trick myself into drinking less made me go to bed early, which made me wake up early, which made me miss peak dreaming time.

But the past few nights, I've naturally stayed up late, and naturally slept later, and finally started having dreams like I'm used to. Vivid, interesting, plot-filled, satisfying dreams that I'm physically capable of returning to after waking up if I roll back over and close my eyes again.

Some might say that this isn't a good thing, that it was better when I was naturally waking up earlier without any particular incentive to go back to sleep. But my dream time is an important part of myself that I'd thought I'd lost forever, so I'm very glad to have it back!

Wherein I solve a mystery from half a lifetime ago

Despite the bullies I faced in middle school, I managed to develop a small group of friends. In retrospect, it was a rather rudimentary definition of friendship, but I had people to do school projects with and talk on the phone with and invite along if I wanted to go to a movie.

We weren't much in touch over the summer between Grade 8 and Grade 9 (which was normal - my family tended to go for long vacations), but then when high school started, instead of picking up where we'd left off as usual, they simply stopped being friends with me. They didn't fill me in on plans and they ignored me if I was there. They seemed to have rather quickly made friends with some girls from the other elementary schools, and some of those girls were mean to me - stealing my things, laughing at me as though I'd violated some rule I didn't know about. My friends had also become, for lack of a better word, coarser. They'd taken up smoking and didn't appear to have any objection to drinking or drugs, they swore more, they listened to ruder music, and they seemed to be interested in sex. And, on top of it all, they seemed kind of judgmental of me for not automatically having gone through the exact same changes. (Yes, I would later take up some of these habits, but I was 13 at the time of this story and not ready yet.) It didn't make any sense to me, and I didn't understand what had happened.

The end result was I spent the next two years literally friendless. I had no one to do projects with, no one to talk on the phone with, no one to go to the movies with. And I had no idea what had happened or why, which kind of fucked up my ability to develop other friendships.

But I was recently poking around on facebook, and, 17 years after the fact, discovered what had happened: the summer between Grade 8 and Grade 9, they joined cadets.

That's where they met the girls from the other elementary school who were mean to me. That's where they took up smoking and other coarse habits. And that's where they developed a whole other life that didn't include me, or even include treating me with basic civility once we were in classes together again.

Their decision not to ask me to join cadets along with them was completely reasonable and correct. I would not have done well in that context and we all knew it. But the irony is that some very vocal adults in my life kept encouraging me to join cadets, and later reserves, saying it would be good for me. As though there was something deficient in my character that would be remedied by sending me into a context where I had every reason to believe I would be bullied even more, among other problems. And all this time, it ended up being the thing that turned my perfectly nice, slightly dorky middle-school friends into coarse, unkind people that most adults certainly wouldn't want their kids to be, or to associate with.

Slice of life

The time: just days after my 16th birthday. The place: driving school.

The driving school has three teachers. Two are fat and one is thin. (Which is a horrible way to characterize human beings, but it is the characteristic that is relevant to this story.)

On the last day of our in-class instruction, we're told to go up to one of the teachers and sign up for in-car lessons. A large number of students flock to the thin teacher. My first thought is that they're discriminating against the fat teachers, so I should counter that by choosing one of the fat teachers.

One of the fat teachers taught our in-class sessions, so I decide to choose the other one so she'll get a chance too. And that's how I decided who my driving teacher would be.

Looking back with 20/20 hindsight, it is now apparent to me, based on my and my peers' experiences with the different teachers available, that the thin teacher was a better driving teacher. Everyone I know who had her said she was good, and they all turned out to be good drivers. Word had obviously spread about who the best teacher was, and I never thought to ask around because it never occurred to me that we'd get to choose our own teacher, or that it would even matter who our teacher was.

My teacher wasn't as good, in that she wasn't able to tell where I was at or what I didn't know. She assumed things were obvious to me that weren't, and gave me B's and C's on my in-car skills without telling me how to do them better. (And, me being my 16-year-old self, it never occurred to me that I might be allowed to ask.)

I'm certainly not under the impression that it's my teacher's fault that I'm a bad driver. I'm inherently nervous and skittish and clumsy. I'm not that good at manoeuvring my own body in space, never mind a giant metal machine. I find the act of driving exhausting, having to be so alert to so many things all the time. But sometimes I wonder if things might have turned out if I'd made a better decision in choosing my teacher.

One more complaining post, then I'll blog about something different next

People I know who have serious or chronic medical problems complain that they feel betrayed by their body. Their body has always been strong or beautiful or fertile, and then suddenly it's not and it betrays their vision and sense of themselves.

I've never felt strong or beautiful or fertile. I've never needed to play sports or wear small clothing sizes or bear children or perform fantastic feats of sexual prowess or walk long distances or lift heavy things or be energetic or any of that stuff. I've always been quite willing to cheerfully admit that my body is pretty much useless for anything except sloth, and I have no problem with that.

Similarly, I've never been a terribly indulgent person. I'm an introvert with low novelty-seeking. I don't need to travel the world or climb mountains or set world records. I'm happy alone with a good meal and a good book. My happy places are food and fandom, and food is the only one over which I have control. (Fandom is dependent on other people creating new stuff - whether it be canon or forum posts - whereas I can just go buy a slice of cake whenever I want.)

This bastard knew just where to get me where it would hurt the worst.

Why I find my reflux disagnosis disempowering

The problem with reflux management protocol is that most of the lifestyle changes are negative. Don't eat this, don't eat that. Don't eat at these times or under these circumstances.

This is why I feel disempowered.

I felt empowered after my initial appointment with my doctor to treat my swallowing problem. He examined me, ordered some tests, and prescribed the most likely useful medication (which he totally got right in one!) I then had things to do. Go to the lab, drop off this culture, and give them some blood. Go to the pharmacy, fill this prescription, take it as directed. The results will either be useful or informative. Report to this location at this time to drink barium. I was helping generate data and find solutions.

One thing I found very useful in managing my weight was eating a salad when I got home every day. It wasn't a don't. I was totally allowed to eat whatever I wanted. I just had to have a salad first. And, over time, I could see a tangible achievement: look how my weight is dropping!

That's also how I manage my money. I divert a certain amount from each paycheque into a different, less accessible account. I'm not telling myself I can't buy stuff. I can buy whatever I want! I just have to move that money aside first. And, over time, I could see a tangible achievement: look at my life's savings!

But what are my achievements in managing reflux? I didn't eat tomato sauce today or yesterday. My morning coffee was 25% smaller. I didn't have wine yesterday. Those aren't tangible, and if I think about them too much I'll feel deprived. And the best possible result is I'm not feeling this little feeling that isn't even painful and is barely even present but makes me paranoid (although it was less present and paranoid-making today than yesterday.)

So I somehow have to figure out how to turn all the thou shalt nots of reflux management into positive actions to take.

I have a small, initial positive step. Traditionally, while I do my evening wind-down, I drink a glass of wine, a glass of milk, and a cup of sleepy tea, all over a period of two or three hours. The prospect of prohibiting wine is too overwhelming at this point, so what I'm doing is changing the order. Now it's milk, then tea, then wine. This means I might be ready to fall asleep before it's time for the wine, so I'll be ready to go right to bed without actually using self-discipline to deprive myself of the wine. It worked yesterday, while watching a comfort-food movie and doing my bedtime ablutions during commercial breaks. Will it work consistently? I have no idea.

Ironically, my high rate of tomato sauce consumption was originally a small positive step in eating healthy. I found myself craving pasta with tomato sauce with some frequency, so I decided to routinely eat it every day in as healthy a combination as possible (multigrain pasta, low-fat cheese, sodium-free tomato sauce) and eat it for breakfast. That nipped my craving in the bud and got a large, healthy breakfast into me so I could be alert for work and eat less later in the day when it's less healthy to do so. And now it looks like it's been hurting me all this time.

My 2008 New Year's Resolution was to step back when I'm feeling frightened and overwhelmed and use the tools at my disposal to restore my mood rather than trying to push my way through dark moods (which, I'd discovered, just prolongs them). This has served me very well and made my life much easier. But, I've discovered, one of the most effective tools to make this happen is comfort food, all of which is now contraindicated.

Diagnosis

So my barium swallow found that I have gastroesophageal reflux disease, commonly known as acid reflux. I should be happy about this - no narrowing of the esophagus, no damage, no mysterious lumps, the little valve between my esophagus and my stomach is just refluxing some. But I'm finding it disproportionately and irrationally upsetting.

The first reason why I'm upset is that I wasn't feeling any heartburn, I was just having trouble swallowing (apparently the reflux was causing my esophageal muscles to spasm, which explains why applying icy hot to the outside of my neck helped food go down smoother), so now every time I feel any little thing in my upper torso I'm all "OMG, is that heartburn?"

The second reason why I'm upset is it's chronic. I've had it for an unknown period of time (possibly even my whole life, we have no way of knowing) and it won't ever go away. I've never had that happen before. Every physical ailment I've ever had has always gotten better. It's a stupid thing to be whining about, I know, and many many people have chronic conditions, but it's a bit of a mindfuck and a paradigm shift.

The third reason why I'm upset is the list of things that contribute to it is rather extensive. From the literature my doctor gave me: "Alcohol, being overweight, smoking, citrus juices and tomato products, chocolate, tea, coffee, carbonated drinks, fatty and fried food, highly acidic food (pickles, sauces and vinegar), peppermint, onions, garlic, spicy foods." I don't smoke and I'm slowly and steadily working on the being overweight part, but I love everything on that list! When I'm stupidly stressed or upset like I am now, (and, ironically, one of the recommended lifestyle changes is to reduce stress) I reach for a glass of wine and some comfort food. They're now contraindicated. And when I eat something on that list (which even includes my fricking salad dressing because it has garlic and vinegar in it!) I get in this loop of worrying about every little thing I feel in my upper torso, then worrying because I'm getting stressed.

Intellectually, I know that I don't have to cut the contributing foods to zero. I know from experience in many areas of life that small changes can make a difference. I've been mindlessly eating tomato sauce pasta dishes every day of my life for the past 15 years. I can easily get that down to twice a week, and might even be able to get it down to once every couple of weeks. That in itself should make a noticeable difference. I can cut out mindless afternoon coffees that I don't really need. I can cut out spicy foods that I have no particular enthusiasm for but end up eating from time to time because I feel like my taste in food should be more worldly. But emotionally I still feel bad and guilty and like I'm doin it wrong for not being able to do it perfectly, and emotionally I'm still mourning the loss of so many of my favourite foods even though I don't have to lose them entirely, and then I feel bad for stressing because I'm not supposed to.

Intellectually, I know that I'm not even feeling pain (just freaking out over every tingle and itch in my upper torso) and that the purpose of the recommended lifestyle changes is to reduce discomfort, but emotionally that isn't making it any less overwhelming.

Intellectually, I know that this is a good diagnosis for the symptoms. My esophagus is not damaged. I don't require any procedures where they stick a scope down my throat. But I wasn't emotionally prepared for something that won't go away ever, even though it's minor.

Intellectually, I know that the medication I'm taking (Dexilant) has gotten excellent results so far and is going to fix my esophagus even more during the one-month course I'm taking. Two weeks ago I was physically incapable of eating more than four strawberries. A week ago I was eating normal amounts but having various side effects. Now I'm eating normal amounts and not having the side effects that I was having a week ago. If these silly little feelings that are making me nervous are in fact in my esophagus, this medication will make them better before I finish. I know that if, once the medication stops, I start having further difficulties, I can easily get more of it. But I can't seem to make myself be patient.

Intellectually, I know that life is basically the same. I've already had reflux for some time without knowing it, and I'm actually more empowered know because I know what it is and how to prevent it and what meds to take if it gets unbearable. But I suddenly feel disempowered, like it's completely outside my control.

And, intellectually, I know that at least half the people reading this are dealing with some worse medical condition. But I still can't turn off the useless part of my brain that's stressing needlessly and making me whine to y'all.

My barium swallow experience

My doctor ordered a barium swallow as one of the tests to diagnose my difficulty swallowing solid food. Obviously the first thing I did was google it, and read many scary things. Turns out it wasn't nearly as difficult or uncomfortable as the internet suggested. Here's my experience:

The referral went through in one week, and my test was scheduled two days after that. It was scheduled for 8:15 a.m., and I was instructed not to eat or drink anything after midnight the night before.

Once at the clinic, I checked in and had a negligible wait in the waiting room, and was then taken to a dressing area (co-ed, but individual stalls with curtains for doors) and was instructed to remove all clothing and jewellery between my shoulders and waist and put on a gown. The gown as big enough to wrap all the way around me once I could figure out how to tie it properly, although an older gentleman who was in at the same time seemed to have trouble getting his to tie properly and his was gapping. I was then taken to another area (had to walk in gown and pants through an area populated by medical professionals and gowned patients of both genders) where I was shown to an examination room. The only people in the examination room were me and the doctor, and the room had a door that closed.

The doctor had me stand on a platform, took some images before I drank the barium and some pictures after I drank the barium. He then had me drink something fizzy and took more images. Then he told me to hold onto the edges of the wall behind me, and, to my surprised, it started tilting backwards until I was lying on a table. He then had me move into different positions, tilted the table to different angles, and had me drink barium with a straw followed by drinking water with a straw, taking images all the time. This process lasted about 15 minutes, after which I was directed back to the dressing area, changed into my own clothes, and was free to go. I left the clinic 23 minutes after my scheduled appointment time.

The internet told me that the barium would taste chalky and kind of gross, but to me it tasted like nothing. The adjective "chalky" suggested to me that it would make me even more thirsty than I already was (remember, I hadn't had anything to drink in 8 hours), but instead it made no difference to my thirst - neither quenched it nor worsened it. Basically, it didn't make any difference to me whatsoever whether there was barium in my mouth or not.

I found the test easy, noninvasive, and completely free of discomfort. I wasn't entirely thrilled with the co-ed dressing area and walking around in a gown (I'm accustomed to changing in the examination room) but nothing went amiss in the dressing area and, since I could keep my pants on, I was actually more covered in the gown than in my street clothes. If changing clothes in one co-ed area and then walking to another area is in fact logistically necessary, they could resolve my privacy concerns by installing doors with locks on the stalls (like most clothing stores have) rather than using curtains like they do right now.

But, overall, it was no big deal and if I ever have to have one again I will have no dread whatsoever.

Takeaway:

- Time between GP appointment and being informed of barium swallow appointment: 1 week (7 calendar days, 5 business days)
- Time between being informed of barium swallow appointment and date of appointment: 2 days
- Time between test and when I was called with results: probably 1 day. (My doctor's office called me the day after the test, but I wasn't able to get back to them before closing so I don't know what it was about yet)
- Preparation: nothing to eat or drink after midnight (for an 8:00 appointment)
- Time in waiting room: negligible
- Total appointment time: 20 minutes
- What it tastes like: nothing. It neither quenched or worsened my thirst
- What to wear: separate tops and bottoms, because you're allowed to keep your clothes from the waist down
- What to bring: apart from whatever paperwork you need, bring a full bottle of water because you're going to want to drink water when it's over.
- Recovery: negligible. You'll probably need some food and water because you'll have been fasting, but you can walk right out of the lab and straight back into real life.

An explanatory note

I recently experienced some kind of medical problem that made it difficult for me to eat enough. My doctor promptly prescribed a medication that has made it possible for me to eat normally again, and I'm in the midst of a battery of tests that's intended to diagnose the specific root of this problem and determine what treatment is needed, if any.

I'm writing this because I intend to blog about my experience with some of the medical tests (to make the kind of info I was looking for going in googleable), and I might blog about some thoughts arising from some of the symptoms. And I know it all sounds kind of scary when I'm sitting here saying that I couldn't eat properly, suddenly obsessing about medical tests, and not yet having a name for my ailment.

So here's the takeaway: nothing to worry about. I am now able to eat properly, I'm receiving appropriate medical care in a timely manner, and it's quite possible the medication I'm already taking is the actual solution to the problem. If not, it's going to be either an additional medication or a routine outpatient procedure.

This is getting blogged about because it's all very new to me (this is actually the first time in my adult life I've gone to a doctor without already knowing my diagnosis and necessary treatment), but as medical treatment goes it's objectively unremarkable and all this blogging is just my usual self-absorption.

Coalescence

Several years ago, I think I was about 23 at the time, I was talking to someone who had been professionally trained to administer certain personality tests used in HR and counselling and various things like that. She was telling me about how once she was administering a test, and the person being tested asked "Should I answer like I am at work or like I am in private?" That made perfect sense to me. My answers would have been different too if I'd been answering like my work self vs. my private self.

I just realized that now, at the age of 30, my answers would probably be the same.

I'm not entirely sure how that happened. I certainly wasn't being inauthentic when I was 23. I wasn't really faking my personality or hiding my true self at work. I was just a different self in different contexts. And now I'm the same self. Weird.

In appreciation of my Grade 6 Music teacher

One of the things my Grade 6 music teacher had us do was formal analysis of Bohemian Rhapsody. She basically walked us through it socratically, identifying the genres of the different sections and then pinpointing precisely what characteristics made it that genre. We also read the lyrics, described the plot, watched the music video, and sang through the song ourselves a few times, having fun with the "Galileo! Galileo!" bit and headbanging à la Wayne's World. Along the way, she gave us a brief overview of Queen's other work, including We Will Rock You and We Are the Champions, which came in handy for sports tournaments. It was a good approach that music analysis more accessible and comprehensible than the traditional approach of using classical music, and it got us listening to and appreciating music that was slightly before our time, which is rather a big thing for a teacher to achieve with 11-year-olds.

It wasn't until I was well into adulthood that I learned that Freddie Mercury was queer and died of AIDS - and, actually, he died of AIDS probably just months before we started looking at his music in class, and this in a time and place where that would have been rather scandalous. My initial uncensored internal mental reaction (which I know is inappropriate, that's why it stayed uncensored and internal) was "But that's the guy who wrote the music we used for headbanging and sports!" I was rather shocked that I'd been enjoying his music all these years without having any idea that he was queer or that he had AIDS.

Which, now that I think about it, was probably a very deliberate choice on the part of my teacher. That time and place were more homophobic than I care to admit, and, while I didn't grok AIDS yet, I'm sure people were far more judgemental about it than they are today. But my teacher helped her students escape from this closedmindedness by choosing music that was pedagogically ideal for teaching analysis, unquestionably a cultural touchstone, and just happened to have been created by someone who was later diagnosed with AIDS. She never got into the private lives of the artists, we looked only at the music. But she got this particular bit of rock canon into our heads and normalized, setting us up for an "ah-ha!" moment at some undefined point later in life, when we'd learn that he'd died of AIDS and go "Whaaaa? But he was just a guy!"

Exactly. Point made. Well done, Ms. L!

The other scars of bullying

Sometimes when I tell people that I was bullied, and that "just ignor[ing] it" didn't make the bullying stop (at least not for years and years and years), they respond with something like "But it made you stronger, right?"

No, it didn't make me stronger. It fucked up my interpersonal interactions until well into my twenties. But I haven't figured out a way to successfully explain this to people who want to impose the "made you stronger" narrative on my life.

Fortunately, Rachel Simmons, author of Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls, can explain it more articulately than I can:

These girls described feeling unfamiliar with the most basic rules of relationship, things taken for granted by any socially adjusted person. They no longer feel certain of what makes people angry or upset, not to mention how to tell when someone is feeling that way. Their emotional radar is incapacitated. This can turn a girl into a cautious ghost of her former self, stifled and silenced by fear.

This fear is felt by degrees among girls who struggle with everyday conflict. One of the chief symptoms of girls' loss of self-esteem is the sense of being crazy, of not being able to trust one's own interpretation of people's actions or events. Did she just look at her when I said that? Was she joking? Did she roll her eyes? Not save the seat on purpose? Lie about her plans? Tell me that she'd invited me when she hadn't? The girls I'd interviewed confirmed a similar unrest, the disturbing belief that what they were sure they knew or saw wasn't that at all, but was in fact something quite different. In discord between girls, gestures of conflict often contradict speech, confounding their intended targets.

I always felt like society was operating on another secret set of rules that was completely different from what I was being taught, and I had to guess what was really expected of me. This feeling didn't start to go away until I was in my mid-20s, a decade after the bullying ended, and nearly 200% longer than it lasted. This is what bullying does to people.

How I trick myself into eating healthier

This is a recent discover and it's working well, so I thought I'd share it.

A while back I was visiting family, sitting in the kitchen chatting while dinner was being prepared. Some cut-up veggies were placed on the table within my reach, and I mindlessly scarfed them all down while chatting. I didn't particularly want them, they were just there within reach, so I ate them all.

So I decided I need to channel that into my everyday life. I already buy pre-made salads, but I don't always end up eating them. So what I decided to do is when I get home, I have to put some salad in a bowl and put a fork in it. (I am permitted, but not required, to add dressing, and any salad-appropriate ingredients I fancy.) I then put the bowl by my computer. I'm not allowed to turn on the computer unless there's a salad sitting by it.

I don't have to eat the salad. I can start preparing whatever I'm craving or go straight for the chips. But it's there, within reach, while I stare at the screen. So I end up eating it mindlessly, which fills up my tummy and leaves less room for less healthy food.

A plot hole in my childhood

A couple of times a year, we'd go up north to visit my great-grandparents. (Three were still alive when I was born, the last passed away when I was about 13.) I found this boring. We had to sit in their house and do nothing while the grownups talked about boring things that I didn't understand, and I always felt awkward and vaguely humiliated because it seemed like they didn't want me there. So one day I asked my father (whose grandparents they were) why I had to go. It really didn't look like they needed me there, I had to just sit there and do nothing. "Because it makes them happy," he replied.

What I took away from this at the time is that it makes old people happy when I'm feeling bored and out of place and awkward and humiliated.

But thinking back on it with an adult perspective, if you're an adult and it does in fact make you happy to see certain children that you're related to, wouldn't you engage with them somehow? Talk to them, ask them about their lives, offer them treats, get them to show you what they can do and praise them for being able to do it well?

At the time, I felt guilty for not knowing what to say or do to engage with them, but looking at it as an adult, they should totally have been the ones to engage with me! They had multiple children and grandchildren (obviously), they'd been children themselves, they'd been alive for 10 times as long as I had (and no, at this point they weren't losing their faculties like the other elders I've been blogging about recently). They were the ones empowered to initiate and facilitate the relationship. But they gave me less than I give my co-workers' stray children when they wander into my office.

So the question is: did it actually make them happy to see me and they had an odd way of expressing it, or was my father lying to me about that? Not that it makes much of a difference to me either way, but it's a mystery.