Area 51 is just not open for business

So I missed the whole 'vajayjay' dust-up on/about 'Gray's Anatomy.' Which actually sounds like a pretty good show, from what I've heard. But apparently the hall monitors over at wherever they produce the show didn't like them using the word 'vagina' quite so much, so a while back the writers had a character -- a doctor who was also a patient -- use the word 'vajayjay' instead. In a medical show. During what I gather was an obstetrical-type scene.

Anyway, the term has apparently kind of caught on -- I gather even Oprah said it -- and I've been extremely amused by what folks are saying about it. It first came to my attention over at Feministe, but, I mean, it even made the New York Times, for dogssake. And them some whackjob columnist (and sometime co-host or stand-in for Bill O'Reilly) at philly.com by the name of Michael Smerconish weighed in with his opinion that, basically, vaginas are kind of gross. Or they are if you call them 'vaginas.' A 'vajayjay,' on the other hand, seems a little more accessible to him. More 'open for business,' so to speak (I don't make this shit up; he really said that). It seems to him that The Feminists want us all to use an intimidating word like 'vagina' to scare people away, because maybe we have some kind of 'proprietary interest' (his words, yall, not mine) in what goes in there. According to him and his man friends (whom he consulted on this topic), we (The Feminists, that is) don't want anybody to be attracted to our vaginas -- or anybody else's -- so we won't let them use any fun words for it.

Is it just me, or is this bizarre? Personally, I don't care what you call yours. What I call mine depends on the circumstances, obviously. It's not something I talk about frequently, to be honest. But sometimes 'vagina' is the right word. Like when you're at the gynecologist. Which, a few years back (maybe 11? 12 years?) I moved to a new town and had to see a new gynecologist. I picked this one guy because he was involved in some interesting, high-quality research and he had a good reputation and was said to be a great guy. And he actually is a pretty good guy, all in all, though I have a different gynecologist now. But before I'd actually met this guy, I saw one of the nurse practitioners at his office for some (sorry, TMI & all, but I do have a point here) minor itchiness in the aforementioned region. Was treated successfully. Went back a few weeks later for a follow-up visit/yearly exam. The guy looked at my chart, blushed bright red to the tips of his sticky-outy ears, and said, "so how is your, um, bottom?"

I didn't quite know how to respond. I probably said, "better, thanks," or something lame, but fought the impulse to say, "my ASS is fine, thanks, and the VAGINAL ITCHING has improved quite a lot since I used those VAGINAL SUPPOSITORIES youall prescribed. Say it with me, buddy: VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA." I mean, this poor guy is a freaking gynecologist, and he can't say 'vagina' without blushing? I'm thinking he needs a new line of work.

Because I do think that if you're going to be looking at, and talking about, and writing research papers about something, you should be able to talk about it. But maybe that's just me. I somehow don't think 'vajayjay' would have helped this guy.

But I do recognize that 'vagina' is a seriously taboo word. My first name, in real life, is 'Regina.' Which is frequently mispronounced, especially by people with clipboards in waiting rooms. Who have very loud voices. And everybody in the room gets kind of embarrassed, especially at the gynecologist's office, because nobody wants to talk about cities in Saskatchewan. Or something.

Call me Nora, please.

But the thing about vaginas, is that there are lots of other words available to use. Unless you are a gynecologist and you are talking about the particular girl part that is properly called a vagina. There are other words, clinical and specific just like 'vagina,' to describe other related and/or contiguous parts. But nobody, not even The Feminists, are forbidding people to use whatever silly word they want to use, in private. Sure, there are times when you need to be specific about what hurts or itches or isn't working right. Just like you don't want to tell your gastroenterologist that you have a tummy-ache.

And it's good to be able to talk about your girl parts, in a specific and intelligible way, when you need to, or want to. That's kind of the point of that whole 'Vagina Monologues' thing. But who the hell cares if I call mine a tweeter? Or a hoo-hah? Or a cunt, for that matter. It's mine. Plus I really did enjoy some of the words for girl parts that people shared over at the Feministe thread. Area 51???!!!! I haven't laughed that hard in a while.

Medico-cultural shock for the uninsured patient

Lymphopo, over at As the Tumor Turns, had a mammogram last week. If you haven't been following her story, she's a 50ish gal who, just about a year ago was diagnosed with a very aggressive Stage IV lymphoma -- sort of out of nowhere, as she'd been living the good life, well, all her life: a nonsmoker, eater of wholesome and organic food, an athlete. A bodybuilder, for dogssake.

The story of her year-long oddysey through medical diagnosis and treatment was harrowing enough, but, as an uninsured freelance writer (I think), she was forced to seek treatment at an institution she referred to as "Our Lady of the Damned Charity Hospital." Not one of your nicer facilities, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, she educated herself about her illness, the available treatments, and became a fierce and articulate advocate for her own care. Talked back to the authorities. The "squeaky wheel" procedure does help, sometimes. It's not something that everybody can do (nor should they have to) while gravely ill, though.

It was not pretty, (nor in fact cheap), and she still ended up deeply in debt and having to sell her gorgeous, funky old house. And her personal relationships suffered, not uncommon when someone faces a life-threatening illness.

But, hideous as that chapter in her life was, it's turning out to have a happy-ish ending; she is cured of the lymphoma. It's gone. Except for the fear that many cancer patients experience after successful treatments: every little change, every twinge of pain -- is that more cancer? She is still trying to recover from the effects of the treatments she underwent, trying to pull her life back together, trying to regain the muscle mass and strength she lost.

Plus she is expecting her first grandbaby, studying art, making plans. Adopted a beautiful new dog. All in all, hers is an amazing story. Inspirational, even, in a way. Certainly sheds light on the hideous inequalities of our medical system. Especially the mammogram story the other day.

See, she didn't go back to Our Lady of the Damned; rather, she went to the new-ish "Deep Inferno General Hospital" facility, where she'd been a few times before the lymphoma diagnosis, and which she'd previously found nice enough but unremarkable. But her experiences at the publicly-(under)funded charity hospital had changed her. The differences between the two places -- from the ease with which she found a parking place to the clean floors to the current issues of magazines in the waiting rooms -- were mind-bending, causing her to burst (publicly) into uncontrollable, snot-spewing laughter:

"Is there a word for this, a clinical term, for a semi-hysterical reaction to the culture shock of being swung like Tarzan on a vine across the nation's great yawning medical gap, flying through the air and landing with a thud on its radically, irreconcilably opposite shore?"

Alas, my friend, I can't think of any such word. Most people don't have the opportunity to see it up close and personal like that. It is shocking. It isn't fair. It is not right, not on any level.

Did you want fries with that data?

I've mentioned the good work of Sandy Szwarc over at Junkfood Science before. She's just posted two articles about the findings of the dietary intervention study that is part of the ongoing Women's Health Initiative. Here is Part One and here is Part Two. It's fascinating. You want the details? Go over to Sandy's place, but here's a quick summary:

The Women's Health Initiative study itself is huge, and was set up to examine a large number of assumptions and hypotheses. In this particular case, researchers were able to look at the effects of "healthy eating" on a wide range of health problems, including cardiovascular disease, a variety of invasive cancers, and weight loss. Earlier, smaller studies had found correlations between "unhealthy eating" and all of these health issues, suggesting there might be a cause-and-effect thing going on.

And given our willingness to ascribe virtue to "healthy eating," I think we've all (scientists and the rest of us) taken it as pretty much a given that eating virtuously will protect us from cancer, heart disease, obesity, and moral decay. This particular study was designed to get the numbers to back that up. Well, maybe not moral decay, as such. But certainly, if health risk can be attributed to personal choices, then we can blame sick people for their problems, right?

The deal was this: a very large group of women were taught the precepts of "healthy" eating, and most were remarkably compliant throughout the study period (which was about 8 years). An equally large group, matched to the first in age range, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, and so on, served as a control group and was allowed to eat whatever they wanted. There were in fact real, statistically significant differences between the diets of the two groups: the "healthy eaters" ate much less fat, much more fiber (including whole grains and vegetables) and fewer calories overall than the control group.

The differences at the end of eight years? Extremely minimal, and not even remotely statistically significant. The two groups had very similar incidences of heart disease, cancers, and obesity. Some of the women in the "healthy eating" group lost weight initially, but had gained most of it back by the end of the study.

There were some suggestions in the data that some of the cancer risks, for example, changed a little over time; it would be interesting to see a longer study period. I think that there are some folks who would maintain that the "healthy" diet was not restrictive enough. And there are others who have been saying all along that dietary changes are not by themselves sufficient. But what's most fascinating is how the media and some of the researchers alike are grasping at these tiny differences as if they are a sure ticket to good health. And, of course, virtue.

Again, go check out Sandy's posts: Part One and Part Two. She's got links, statistical explanations, you name it.

How I almost bought an iPhone last night

Maybe I've mentioned before that I have narcolepsy. I've been taking medication for it for many years, and it worked really well. But it's the kind of drug that, over time, your body starts to require more and more of, and I was taking a lot of it. Like, enough speed to keep four truckers on the road all night, but I took it every day.

When I tried once, a coupla years ago, to have the prescription filled at a new pharmacy, they refused. Thought it was forged. Told me this was the wrong dosage, that this was an overdose, that my insurance wouldn't cover it. In a total panic, I took it to my regular pharmacist, who explained about the tolerance thing and calmed me down. And of course my insurance would cover it. And, with the support of my doctors, I experimented to find the lowest effective dose possible.

Even so, over time, the side effects became intolerable, and I started skipping doses, not taking it on weekends, sometimes not taking it for days at a time, or taking only half. Or drinking shots of bourbon to relax enough to un-clench my jaw, undo the knots in my back. Don't even talk to me about the fractured teeth. And then my face started twitching.

Taking it was starting to feel worse than not taking it. Predictably enough, my sleep cycle, always eccentric to begin with, got further disrupted, and the whole thing spiraled a bit out of control: memory problems, general flakiness, inability to track things, perception issues. Oh, and weight gain, which is not my favorite thing in the world. I have some issues about that. Despair all around.

So we tried some new drugs. I am now taking #5, and it's working moderately well, and the side effects are tolerable. Yay. Better living through chemistry, etc. The first three things I tried did nothing, and the fourth worked OK, not great, but the side effects were unacceptable. I am still uncomfortable with the idea that a drug-free life is probably not possible, not if I want to remain employed, have friends, etc.

I'm lots better, but I'm still flaking out a bit -- some of the same old same old, and also in some new (for me) and exciting ways. I've locked my keys in my house about 5 times in the last month (plus lost the key that I'd hidden outside in case I locked myself out). The parts of my work that I normally find the most fun and satisfying are nearly impossible to do. My coordination is bad (which is saying something, as I've always been a bit of a klutz).

But that's not what this post is about. I'm telling you all of this because it's background for a kind of funny story. Funny interesting, more than funny haha, but what happened is last night after work, one of my colleagues invited me to join her and some others for a beer & a snack at the restaurant/bar down the hill from our workplace. I said yes, because it sounded like fun, and she's invited me a bunch of times before and I almost always say no, because this place is usually so loud and chaotic right after work. So we had a beer, and part of another, and then everybody wanted to head over to some other event, one I didn't want to attend, so my friends dropped me off on their way.

No biggie, nothing terribly unusual, really. Not my usual routine, but I can handle it, right? So I fed Ruby and we were hanging out in the back yard and I checked my cellphone to see if anyone had called. That bar was so loud I'd never have heard it, even in my pocket.

No cellphone in my pocket. Or my pocketbook, for that matter. I'd just that afternoon switched to a new one, so I thought it might be tucked inside some internal zipper pocket or something. I love zipper pockets. It'd turn up, I thought. Someone'll call, and I'll find it. It's got a nice loud ring that sounds like an old telephone (and only rings one time). And then I started thinking where is it? what if I left it somewhere? what if I need to call someone and I can't find it? I tore the place apart, looking for it. It was not there.

What to do? I couldn't call the bar to see if anyone had found it. I couldn't drive back there to see if it was there, because I don't actually have a car. Couldn't call a cab. Didn't want to walk because it was dark already, and what if it wasn't there? What if I'd dropped it in my friend's car? She lives miles & miles away, and I don't have her phone number because it's, um, programmed into the damn cellphone.

I decided that if it didn't turn up I would buy myself an iPhone to replace it. I was kind of hoping it was really lost, for a minute there.

But then I got obsessed with finding it. I emailed all my friends, and sat there waiting for someone to respond. I actually opened all the IM clients I usually ignore and messaged a friend on the West Coast about my woes. She was still working. Nobody else was online, as it was Friday night and all. Miss Magpie was quite sympathetic, and I'm sure would have been willing to call the bar, see if my phone was there, and then call me a cab. And another friend came online who would've also been happy to help, but just at that moment, Julie emailed back. She'd arrived home and gotten my message and then tried to call me to see if I needed help, which we both thought was pretty funny. So I walked over there, borrowed her car, and drove back & got my cellphone. Which the bartender had found and set aside for me.

And it didn't work. Maybe I could have an iPhone after all?

It appeared to have battery power and a signal, but no calls would go through. So I turned it off and then on again after a little while and it worked fine after that. Go figure.

But the whole incident really surprised me. How isolated and vulnerable I felt sans cellphone. Stupid, yeah, but this was about more than just losing my keys, or my place in the book I'm reading, or where did I put the soda I'm drinking oh hell I'll just open another one.

Maybe a landline is a good idea, for security porpoises. But no iPhone, not today.

There but for the --

For the what? Bloody goddamn fucking hell. There is no such thing as grace, and there sure as hell is no justice. You can't tell me there is. I want to puke and cry and I feel a little ashamed to be so grateful for my happy lucky little life, but also there's this plain old blinding rage.

I love this woman for documenting it all so honestly and speaking for all those who can't or who don't or who haven't yet, and for making the rest of us so goddamn uncomfortable. She's a wonderful writer, gloriously articulate, hilarious, and her blog As the Tumor Turns is indeed not for the squeamish or faint of heart. Now writing as lymphopo, the blogger formerly known as grannyvibe is:

"A single woman in my fifties, in debt, no income, no health insurance, and then that grapefruit-sized tumor wedged between my lungs turns out to be a malignant high-grade highly aggressive stage IV lymphoma. How much worse can it get? Bwahahaha! Stay tuned and find out."

Her son's blog, the highly excellent finnegan's wake-up call has a donation link, if you're so inclined.

This shit happens all too often. To too many people. And I'm not talking about just the serious illness part of the picture. "Will anyone ever believe me if I tell them that the cancer is ofthen the least of my worries?" lymphopo asks here. And answers: "In all honesty, I feel more debilitating anxiety over my financial disaster; deeper heartache over my foundering relationship; greater terror over the state of the world."

Yeah.

Thanks, belledame, for the link.

Friday alternative health diagnostic quiz

Can't afford a trip to the doctor? Believe they're lying to you/ripping you off/in bed with big pharma/ignorant of the new quantum unified theory of self-healing anyway? Well, don't waste your time going from one alternative practitioner to another, free colon-cleansing herbs or not. Go over to the Woo World Self Treater and answer a few questions and concentrate on the vibrational level of your illness to get a FREE analysis of your auric field. Here's my reading:

"Quantum-consciousness analysis of your auric field shows you are suffering the symptoms of women's health issues, which is commonly seen among multigender entities born under the sign of Taurus. This may also be due to alien implants. Spiritually Guided Surgery has been shown to be effective* in relieving the symptoms of women's health issues and allowing the body to heal itself. You can also boost your immune levels by remembering to live a divine life, and commence colonic irrigations to remove toxins.

Since you are vaccinated you are also strongly urged to contact a naturopath or kinesiologist to test whether you have autism.

*Based on user testimonials."

via Orac at Respectful Insolence

Words fail

I know I'm not the only one who's done this in the past few days:

I was wondering what's up with Liz and the lymphoma, and has her painter dude decided whether to phone or get out of the booth, and how's her garden, and what's she got to say about the world today? So I click on the Granny Gets a Vibrator link and freak out totally because it goes to some page full of dumbass sex toy links and I figure that she's gotten blogjacked or exceeded her bandwidth or gotten sick of advice (and/or scolding) from well-meaning fans & yanked her blog offline, or maybe she just needs to be quiet for a while.

I figured I'd worry about it later, when I had more time. I figured news of her would surface somewhere, maybe in somebody's comments or somewhere. Plus, I mean, I don't even know the woman, not in person. I have a few other things to worry about right here; I can't worry about everybody, although I do make an effort some days. And it's not like she's the only uninsured person in the world with a serious illness.

Or even in Deep Inferno, for that matter.

Is that really the name of a town or did she make that up? I think she made it up.

All the same, I was wishing I had written down her email address somewhere just in case I ever thought of anything useful to say to her. She's my total shero, not only for her fabulously skewed take on the world and her great writing but also her compulsive haircutting disorder (my admiration of which has led me so far astray) and her weightlifting.

Anyway, Twisty had a similar experience trying to get to the GGAV site, and she commented on it here, whereupon Sara & Joanna left links to this post on Liz's son Finn's blog: Finnegan's Wake-up Call (which I think is a great blog name), at which you can leave comments for Liz if you're so inclined. There's a paypal link on the sidebar and I'd like to encourage youall to send the gal some money. She's got no health insurance.

And did I mention the fucking lymphoma? That shit ain't cheap.

While you're there, I also encourage you to read young Finnegan's entire blog. The kid's clearly a chip off the old block, and enormously smart.

Got a little extra money?

Give it to Gary Farber of Amygdala. He's really smart and interesting and has a great blog and no health insurance. He might spend the money on hookers and single malt, but it's more likely he'll put it towards more frivolous things -- like food, rent, prescription drugs -- you know what it's like. Plus, if you like pledge drives, don't miss this special temporary offer courtesy of the mysterious Alameida at Unfogged. Ask for the Fafmix.