Another great video for trans information from a medical provider. She talks about a lot of subject trans people face and have to deal with along with offering advice and support. Hugs
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This morning Ron and I said goodbye to Tupac as we helped him walk the rainbow bridge. The best figures are that he was at least 17 years old and in very bad health. He had humans who provided for him, then they lost him and went away without him. He was adopted by a couple who loved and provided for him but then the woman he loved died. He was again on the street homeless with massive health problems. At one point in his life he got hit by a golf cart. We know it was a golf cart because he has massive damage to his spine and ability of his intestine system to process food and poop and he is terrified of golf carts but not cars or trucks.
So Tupac was living outside when we first met him. He had a female companion, and they were fed by the surrounding neighbors. But as I was getting up at 3 and 4 am in the morning I would open the door to our east room that opened on the carport and feed them. The cat we named Tupac was so skinny despite how much he ate. In fact we had to put down two bowls because the bigger female would eat most of a single bowl leaving little for the small skinny cat.
So during the hurricane Ian James got Tupac in, he was used to coming in to homes while his companion had only recently started coming in to our east room after being bribed with food. But she was ferral and wouldn’t let us anywhere near her while Tupac would let us pet and make of him. After the hurricane Ron wanted to adopt him. Ron named him Tupac and the cat wanted a home. He came into our home we kept him in the east room until we had him checked out by our vet.
That was when we learned that he was clear of parricides and other communicable things, but he had a serious thyroid issue and if he did not get medication right away he would die soon. His thyroid was racing far too high and it would kill him. Ron wanted him and just looking at Ron’s face I had no hesitation. I asked the vet to prescribe the needed medication and we moved Tupac into our entire home full time.
He took to being an inside cat with outside privileges right away. He soon learned that he needed to be in at night, as soon as it got twilight. He loved the constant food and got very affectionate as he had his place on pillows in the center of the bed. He would get us up twice a night for food as he was sure he was hungry. But we soon learned the bad part of his bowel issues. He couldn’t move his poop out to his butt and when it got there he couldn’t exspell it. His poop was a square rock-hard thing you could step on that wouldn’t even squise under your foot. He was leaving poop smears everywhere he sat.
So another trip to the vet. The vet explained we would have to give him soft food and lots of powered fiber. We did that and with the thyroid medication we paid for him he flourished. He filled out a little but never much, he stayed thin and small. Over time we had to increase his thyroid medication. Everyone in the neighborhood understood and agreed he was now our cat and we were his humans.
Over the next few years he became incontinate and started leaking pee all the time. So we started covering everything with towels including our bed. Then it got worse. So we bought puppy pads and built a tower of towels and pads in the center of the bed. When I would wake up I would check them and try to remove the wet ones. He was happy. We were happy. He loved that I went to bed early and he came in to sleep with me and then when I got up early he would come to my office and get up on my desk and go to sleep while I posted. He would get upset when Ron got up and we started speaking with each other.
Over the last year we noticed he was getting thinner and weaker. Any touch on his lower back would cause his back legs to buckle. But this weekend things went bad fast. He started peeing with blood in it. He as always would try to get to his box but would leak constantly. On the towels he laid on or the floor he leaked bloody urine.
We already knew he had a tumor in his bladder because we had him checked twice a year by our wonderful vet clinic. But what we did not know was that recently the tumor grew fast taking over most of his bladder. It accounted for his incontance and his now peeing urine with blood.
This morning before the vet opened Ron called them and left a message. As soon as they opened the office they called back. Bring him in right away. Ron took him in while I waited at home. I still hoped even if it was bad we would have a few more months with him. It was not to be. Ron called me, Tupac had only days and those would be very painful for him. The tumor had taken over most of his bladder. Ron said the vet recommended for Tupac’s own good that we walk him across the rainbow bridge. Ron asked if he could bring him home, and the vet told him it would only be for a few days and Tupac’s pain would grow exponentially.
I asked Ron to ask them to wait until I got there. I have been with every furry friend since I was a teenager as they walked the rainbow bridge. I wanted to be there for Tupac. In the room they let us have some time with him and he rubbed on us and we gave him plenty of pets. In a way it seemed he was OK with what was to happen. They gave him the first injection, and we watched him fall asleep. Then they asked us if we wanted to stay which both did. The doctor gave Tupac the next injection and we touched and petted him as he went to the next place. I am an atheist but if I had a heaven it would be a place I would be joined by all the wonderful furry family members I have had to hold and touch as I eased their pain and helped them cross over.
All day today Ron and I have been talking about Tupac and things we would expect, like when we heard thunder outside we looked at each other and said better get Tupac in as he was terrified of thunder and boomies. I tried to pick up and do all I could to take care of his stuff because Ron was more emotional than I. We got it all done. We have two boxes of food we bought for him that we will give to a person we know with a cat who is on a very limited budget. I think Tupac would like that. When we got home I had to remind Ron that he had no more pain, he had no fears, no issues. Hugs
If you have read the recent comments you will notice they have dealt with self-improvement and taking control over ones life. I strongly believe this. I know it can be done because I did it. I had a choice. I could be like my abusers and be what they wanted to make me. Or I could make sure I was never like them in anyway. I chose the second one. I think I made the correct choice. I prefer to help others than hurt them; I don’t need to harm others to make myself feel better. I like being kind and nice. I like lifting others up even if it is just with a hello and a smile. I treat the people I meet in my life as the humans they are with feelings and needs, not just objects to my own goals. Yes, I think I made the right choice. Hugs
Perhaps a silver lining in this day of hate and corruption masquerading as patriotism is the crashing realization that one day we will leave this world. Many will stumble upon a very uncomfortable discovery that their friends and neighbors would not be so very sad to see them go.
I write this today having found out that my neighbor passed away last night. She was one of those people who very acerbically met life on her own terms: loud, bitching about seeming everything, but loving anyone in need and being one of the funniest people I’ve every met – if unintentionally. And, further, she liked my dog and my dog liked her, so –
I recently had the opportunity to watch some of the interview/debate of Neil DeGrasse Tyson on Ben Shapiro’s show. Ben was really trying to push this idea that Neil could speak on the science of transsexuals’ gender, etc. One of the greatest things I took from that was Neil asking him what he was really attempting to accomplish with his banging of the gong? ‘We supposedly live in a free country. No one is obliged to be more masculine or more feminine for you, and they have no right to ask it of you’, he said.
That one line from Neil completely changed how I heard the interview. I realized that Ben spoke with a quickness and decisiveness that projected strength to those who are desperate to hear it – but was really a desperation to control something that wasn’t his to control. I found myself asking Neil’s questions of Ben, and others who seem intent to dictate how people live, how people love. What drives this desperation to dominate others? What is in that morning mirror that scares people so that the only way they can manage is to be sure others meet their rules and expectations rather than find their own?
When I think on those people like Ben Shapiro, Donald Trump, Marjory Taylor Green, Mike Lindell, Rudy Giuliani, Jeff Sessions, their lives are often filled with beautiful arm candy, money, and a dark heart that destroys them in time. Like a poison they’ve taken in, living a life of hate and corruption seems for them like a recipe for eventual disaster. But, like moths to a flame, repeatedly do these people line up to destroy their peace, their credibility, their future until only regret and hate visit them.
As a country, we lost something special and unique when Donald Trump became more than just a spectator and buyer of the political tragedy. Somehow ignorance became a virtue, and being loud meant you were right. Intelligent conversation and caring about others became synonymous with communism, or whatever the boogieman is now. Somehow we in America are supposed to despise the poor and glorify the wealthy, told it is the height of patriotism. We lost our light, and now it seems we can only find our path by blindly swinging at those stuck with us in this morass.
-randy
I watched this three times because the message is so good. The fact that the reverend of this faith can rejoice in diversity makes me wonder what hater preachers and haters get out of their faith, out of their hate? I have been listening to the book Separation of Church and Hate by John Fugelsang. He is like Dan McClellan in that he is a biblical scholar; he knows the original manuscripts, times of use for each edition, and where different translations screw things up, and Fugelsang is a comedian, so he can throw it all out there with humor. I recomend everyone try to find the book or the audio book. He has whole chapters taking on the different haters and the clobber verses of the bible. He shows what the original meaning, as far as can be known of each of those verses was, correcting the misunderstand and hate. He like me feels that Christians follow Christ, biblcians follow the bible and they get that wrong because they don’t know the subtext or original intent; they hear only what the weekend preacher said who is preaching his version of the bible, not Christ’s. Happy Pride week Halifax. Long may your flags fly. Hugs
OK this won’t be a full post on my abuse because Ron is terrified of my being emotionally upset before my surgery tomorrow. This female sibling was pregnant at 13 and married at 14. But while she was in the house she was the defacto caregiver to me. She was the one who tied me to a stair banister and let her boyfriends and other boys rape me. Her soon to be husband wanted more so she arranged for him to force me to give him blow jobs and rape me in other places / context. He had a fascination with buttholes so you can guess what that meant for the 3, and 4 and 5 and 6 year old me.
She was the one who farmed me out to the guy across the street at age 3 who was a real little boy lover so while he used my body he never made me hurt like I was being hurt at home. He often got upset at my bruised body. He often gave me the only real affection I felt at that time. I just had to let him use my body to gain it.
She tried to get me removed from the will due to the fact I was adopted. In her own writings she said I was never a part of the family so shouldn’t have a share of the inheritance. She failed to mention how badly I was treated by the family for some reason. The courts disagreed with her. Her husband was the executor of the estate and he was informed and needed to be ordered by the court to change the legal paperwork to reflect my new legal name, but in her obituary she used the family name of my abusers. She knew better at this point, as did her husband who once was said to be a corrupt cop.
I am going to try to keep my mind from it. But what Ron doesn’t know is my mind went there last night. Just not bad enough for me to yell / scream out. I will have to deal with it soon. But not hopefully tonight the night before my spine surgery. Hugs
I recently had a somewhat uncomfortable conversation with my Dad. At 88-years old, he is understandably considering what comes next, and knowing that I’m a ‘blowhard democrat and therefore think I know everything‘, lol, he made it part of my own considerations – at least out loud. But, as we talked, I began to realize that how we look at “what comes next” truly inspires how we view this thing called life, what we value and hold dear.
When I was much younger, I had the opportunity to read Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. I think I’d like to read it again. It was a story that had a great impact on a young troubled life, and while I am sure I didn’t get nearly as much from the book as was offered, I still carry some of that book within my thoughts nearly 35 years later. Chief among those ringing ideas was the consideration that we are on this world to be excellent, to fly free and powerfully, to be our best selves. It is an idea that gives me hope and conviction on the same blade, for I’ve not made much of myself. What I have done, perhaps better late than never, is I’ve begun to understand what is important to me and I’ve tried to adjust my life accordingly.
During my studies of different religions, I found a great deal of beauty. It is probably shocking to some, but Muslims have a beautiful religion filled with dedication to their God, peace and humility. I recently heard a person of influence, a politician, say publicly that he “hated the Muslim religion”. I thought that was tragic. He has painted a billion people with a the same brush and feels fully justified in his self-righteous hate. His words did not influence me to hate Muslims, they only brought me sadness. Here is a man who hopes to profit by hate, and I can only imagine what those wages bring.
Over the years, I’ve come to find a lot of hope in the Christian Faith, but I don’t find myself deluded into thinking that the Bible is definitive or that the Pulpit is infallible. Clearly humans have left their mark on both, and both have gained their insecurities and foibles. Unfortunately, most religions are marked by the greedy and deluded powerful who are sure that they know what is best for everyone and damned be those who disagree. As a result, parishioners lose their search for what is beautiful and magnificent in whatever may come next. They instead follow a set of rules, a kind of club, a group identity. They have given up on God and hope only to please the pastor and Sister Bertha Betterthanyou. They have forsaken courage to seek for the safety of the flock.
Perhaps this is just what we are. How many of us are caught in this idea that by hating someone else, we are somehow doing as God would want? I would be very curious to ask them what they value, and then would I be so brave to ask how their spoken values reflect their current words. Do they value freedom, or just their own freedom? Do they value love, or only for those like them? Do they value hope, but do performative acts some man told them would get them into Heaven? Do they seek or are they comfortable in being told what to think, what to feel, what to do? Do they look for what comes next or are they seeking identity and safety in a church, a political movement, in the acceptance of someone seeking to control them?
I don’t know what I would tell Dad if he asked me again. I don’t think the answer is in religion, any religion. I do think there is something that comes next, what I would loosely if respectfully refer to as God, and if I could quote Ghandi I’d say that God is not restricted by any single religion. I want to believe that this beautiful thing called life doesn’t end. I want to believe in Love. I want to rest in Hope. I want to live a life absolutely riddled with awe at how fabulous humanity can be, rather than live a life of judgement and insecurity. And, when I regard my final days I hope I am looking forward with eager anticipation for all the wonders I will experience.
-Randy
I’ve heard a number of commentators and politicians over the years. One of the striking things that rings in my ears is how some are interested in caring for others while others are interested in excusing the abuse of others; some are interested in caring for the hungry while others are bewailing the “cost” of feeding their neighbors; some are interested in the healthcare needs of our people and others are interested in the tax reductions of the uber-wealthy. I don’t know the political right or wrong of things, but I sure know what I value.
Choose Love.
-randy
I have sorrowed in confusion and anger watching those who profess themselves to be Christian and speaking with those who say that they love God confidently support the very worst in humanity. I have impotently stood by as those who say they are Saved celebrated the wonton destruction of life, of home, of health, of community and future suffered by those whom the ravagers declare lacking. It has been a shattering of my Faith to see those tragedies encouraged, applauded and justified by the very same who share a pew and who stand behind a pulpit.
In the last decade and more, we have all found ourselves faced with the loud declarations of pastors and congregants who believe themselves wise attacking the struggling, the different, the ‘stranger’ and believing themselves righteous in their condemnation. It has been difficult for me to hold to love for those being so inhumane, especially for family and friends of whom we thought better.
I was taught better than to do that in my Church, in my Sunday School and in my Confirmation Classes. I was told that was just who were meant to be. I wanted to believe it. The Reality of my life hurt and I needed to believe that there was some-thing, some-where better. I needed to know that the failures in my life, the struggles in my heart and in my mind, were not my definition, my destruction. I was failing in Faith because of my own limitations and realities, but I held onto Hope. I held onto that Hope that Something Better would come.
Hope is a difficult word. Prisoners hold onto hope that Freedom will come. The Sick hold onto hope that a cure will be discovered. The Hungry hope in Finding their needs met. The Hurt and Abused hold onto hope that someone will come to save them. Hope holds out a hand, praying that someone will come to be with them and believe they are worthy of life, of love. Hope looks into the mirror and begs for a better existence, strives for a better life, makes better choices and dreams of better days.
In my adult years, I’ve heard the church talk not about Hope but about Faith. Faith is described as the assurance that all has been done, the Price has been paid, the Contract is signed and no more needs to be done. I’ve heard the church talk about being justified by Christ, that sins are washed clean, and yet at the same time I hear that same church talk about the filthy, the sinful, the unworthy. In short, they claim forgiveness due to their faith and judge others for their sin. Such “faith” has brought them arrogance, impudence and presumption that calling themselves “christian” and sitting in a pew on Sunday justifies ugliness and hate.
I believe. I want to believe. I want that “unbudging” Faith that allows me to stand before the mirror, maybe one day before God. But, part of that faith was imparted to me by the church, one that willingly stands in judgement for the destruction of those who don’t love the same, live the same, believe the same. It holds a congregation of those who would condemn, deny, celebrate the pain their greed engenders. And so, my Faith is broken. I hold onto Hope.
-randy
Scottie posted this meme yesterday and it prompted a further exploration than seemed easy in his list of images.
I think I’m going to shock some people here, maybe even get someone mad at me at this writing. I have to tell you all, I’m kinda a shy person. So, I’m not comfortable with some strange transgender person staring at my pecker when I pee.
I’m really just not comfortable with that. But, you know, I’m not comfortable with a strange man staring at my pecker when I’m trying to pee either. Nor am I comfortable with a strange woman staring at my pecker. In fact, I don’t flaunt my pecker about when I pee. And, I feel somehow disenfranchised because I don’t find the bathroom a place to flaunt my privates, yet the way some on the right talk about it there must be things going on in there that I’m not contributing to or enjoying. What am I doing different than those who are worried about this happening?
Some may also find this startling, but I heard that this person was found in the women’s bathroom. Many accused homophobes feel that people should not “pretend” to be a woman for the sole purpose of going into the women’s bathroom.
And, some uptight karens would say that the prevalence of this very person in a women’s bathroom is indicative of just how far things have come that “she” would feel comfortable going into a women’s bath. They say we should be shocked and outraged at Sports Illustrated for publishing these pictures.
And others would be wise to tell you that this is ILONA MAHER, a phenomenal women’s rugby star and arguably the best in the world. I would tell you that she is very strong, very aggressive, and very beautiful, and I would tell you that hassling Ms. Maher is surely contraindicated for a long life.
The uncomfortable facts are that sexual assaults perpetrated by trans people is extremely low. And, let’s consider just for a moment the great deal of bother a person needs to go through to transgender, and there are those who think it’s so they can go look at girls?! Further, the uncomfortable fact remains that 85%-90% of all sexual assaults are perpetrated by someone known by the victim — ie: not strangers, and often they are family members or close family friends and DO NOT happen in a public bathroom. And finally, a great many lgbtq folks actively avoid bathrooms, no matter how desperately they need relief, because they are all too often the victim of assault by other bathroom goers.
Personally, I’m not going into the bathroom to make friends, to admire others or to find comparisons to determine where I fall in the pissing contest of reactionary karens. I don’t care. We are all human, and like the kid’s book says, we all gotta poop.
Randy
