The Lesbian and The Mental Health Crisis Line

I was very upset, not upset but furious, in total rage when my friend told me “you should love your self”. But, I mean, this a question about self-esteem and to be honest with anyone here and there, I think I do, I love myself.

She sent an email giving the phone number of the Mental Health Crisis Line in Ottawa. I was in shock when I received that message…also, she was inviting me to have soup at her place…no way, driving at -30 for soup????? Well, I received the email just the next day because I shut down the laptop and my phone…I had enough for a rough, rough, rough day.

I was wondering and questioning myself about my friend’s word “how do you get grounded? do you go to a restaurant? do you do shopping? friends?” …For me, my cultural background, material things aren’t important, it’s important what you’re, what you feel, your connection and solidarity with reality…but going to a restaurant? That day I decided to go out to my second hand store…there was nothing and I was glad because I didn’t want to have more cd’s. I parked near a coffee shop and I decided to buy a cheesecake…the place was full of retired people, I looked like a baby there. In fact, I forced myself to buy and eat that because of my friend, apparently, seems average people do those kind of things to get grounded. I sat, I saw the cheesecake and its decoration…I tasted it…not that sweet, not that good enough, not for 5.45$, but the only think I liked was the place, the sun on the window and then I laughed at people outside walking at -26. Then I remember why I don’t go to restaurants in Ottawa….most of then their food suck!

I got message in my cellphone, my Swedish friend invited lunch with other people, her English boyfriend and her Lebanese friend who was his birthday. We went to the Fish Merival Market. We asked fish and chips….if that thing I ate was fish I’m Batman!!! Another reason I don’t eat that kind of fish, it was like eaten boxed fish, tasted nothing, almost cotton. At least I had company for a while. But I was feeling so exhausted, I went home and I crashed in my bed…until the afternoon. I didn’t want to do anything.

But at night, my friend’s questions were haunting me…I hated that…but I needed an impartial opinion…who to call…so I decided to call the Mental Crisis Line. I dialed and a guy said “so, what’s up?”. And then I started to explain my surgery, the hormone shots, feeling down, blue, my friend and sentences. I asked him “how can you know a person loves itself?”, he said “that’s a difficult question”. Well, if you don’t know how a call center like that works is basically this: no matter what question people ask you, you must try to be impartial, no to give too much advise, just listening. He did that all the time…and I asked him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to answer “why did she say I don’t love myself?, because I was down?, because I got low self-esteem?” and then I said “listen, my hormones are awful, put me down yes, but I take care of myself, of my cat, of my finances, I try to keep healthy, I’m almost vegetarian, I dress properly, not now because I’m at home, I know what I want in life, before I knew what I didn’t want, I’m gay, I’m trying to meet people but is very hard, I do some activities but even with that I don’t connect with people. Probably I don’t love myself 100% but I’m sure I love me at least 51%”, saying that I was upset and perplex…the guy on the line said “for me, it seems you got self-esteem and you know where you want to go, for me you did very brave things like doing activities alone and trying to meet new people”…and I said “so why did she say that to me? that I don’t love myself?”, he said “probably she was trying to help you but personally I try to remark the important things of that person”. I said …”I wanted to punch her!” ..”that is not a good idea” he replied  and then ” do you have a punching bag at home”?. Our conversation ended after 30 minutes…I felt relieved and I went to sleep with my cat…it was a cold night…-38.

This morning I went to look for second hand cd’s, I got Robert Palmer “Addictions Vol 1”, Robert Plant “Manic Karma, R.E.M. “Eponymus”, George Michael “Faith” and Dave Matthews Band “Busted” this time, both cd’s were there because I bought time ago this cd with only the DVD on it. Curiously, they were selling boxing gloves…I was really tempted to buy them but too expensive and I don’t do exercises now.


Lesbo Dental Breakdown

Yesterday was a horrendous night. I cracked down for many reasons. I’m lying, just for 2 reasons, ok, maybe 3 but that’s all.

Monday, one root canal was performed. It went well, just the Dr kept me waiting for 30 minutes after he shot me the anesthesia (he said I’ll back in 15 min). He drilled the tooth, I was able to see everything on the reflection of that kind of binoculars (micro camera). I saw a big hole. He took some x-rays and pictures. Then, to seal the hole he put some cement….wait a minute. Cement? Not the final thing the dentist put? No, he put cement, later on I knew the I have to see Dr Marko to finish this procedure. Come on, I paid 900$ and he won’t finish the job? Not even in my country they do such a stupid procedure thing. But well, after I felt pain in my tooth that bothers me…I was crying of pain yesterday night. But not only that happened..something else pushed to my limit.

I spoke to person about how to meet girls or finding a potential girlfriend. She doesn’t know me at all, let’s say she’s kind of psychic and she said “you’ll meet somebody but pay attention, you jalousie will be a problem and you need to be loved is so high that cries out, also, be careful with your aggressiveness” . I was shocked when she said that. I was furious but why. Because she was right. Jealousy is a symptom of insecurity, I’m a insecure person, despite I thought I got solved all my problems. That was in the morning before my root canal. Of course I wasn’t concentrated, I just wanted my mind be distracted but how this could it be with a tooth pain?

I know somebody from Church and I knew she’d be in downtown. So I called her to meet. Eventually we did, she just made wait like 25 minutes and the parking police was walking around my spot…I didn’t want to pay parking because I’ve already paid at the Dr, 900$ plus 8$ at his office for parking, call me cheap, but I think I spent too much in just 2 hours and I’m not a shopaholic. When we met I talked to her about my dental pain, dental bill, loneliness and the coming back of my estrogen. I cracked…and I cried…it was too much. She asked me what kind  of things I do for taking care of myself. I said “what’s that?”, she said “like buying things, got to a restaurant, do sports” Well, I didn’t know what to say about it. I said “buying things? I bought cd’s but I felt empty later, I got a tooth problem I cannot eat with pleasure, and it’s bloody cold to do some activities”. So, buying things or eating is something under the label to take care or got grounded?.Funny, the things I hate the most like buying and eating outside…ironic. But to be honest, the thing that put me really down, in tears, what’s the fact I’m alone, and meeting someone will take time…long time, plus, knowing my own insecurities…I could hurt somebody…I could hurt the person I love the most.

That afternoon I was feeling so crashed, so down, so blue, so Miss Estrogen…so vulnerable and so violent…so bloody violent, I wanted to punch somebody, I wanted to hit the wall, I wanted to kick the table but since I’m still recovering from my hysterectomy my movements are limited. And since pain in tooth is there, eating is not so pleasant, in fact, I lost my appetite, in consequence..I’m weak.

At night things got worse. I called my therapist, incredibly she answered the phone, thing she never does. I asked for therapy, it’s almost like 7 months I haven’t got one. I remember I’m allowed to 6 sessions (insurance) and last time there was 1 missing, that’s why I called her. She said she didn’t count the sessions, that it would be better to call to my company and have a new assessment and then I could have a session. I was a shock and then realized why she always have financial problems if you don’t count the sessions…come on, it’s the minimum thing to do. She said “I can give you the phone of the company” I said “It’s ok, no worries, have a nice day” She was in silence and then she said “What am I supposed to say?” I said “Good bye” and I laughed. My eager desire to speak out all the things I couldn’t say to my friend in the afternoon were just frozen. I got so down, so clueless, so …alone. But at some point I was glad she didn’t fix an appointment. Probably she would recommended some pills or just do something about my situation. Then I remember what I read in “Are you my mother?” by Alison Bechdel, she said therapy is just for things in short term, dealing with some issues, immediate problems. For the deep issues you need a psychoanalysis or something like that. In fact, my therapist is more counselling and couching.

At night, not only was cold, -30, but is was darker in all senses. The death angel came to visit me. I called my friend again because I was freaking out. I was so down, and she said I could imagine (and my therapist told me the same time ago).to imagine somebody is hugging me (like a real mother) and that it had a neurological effect proved of relaxing and comfort. At that moment I thought of my tooth, taking Ibuprofen to calm the pain, for short term, the real muscular pain will remain. I didn’t say it was bullshit her idea but I was closer. Then I said “If I point an imaginary gun to my head…that will have a neurological effect of relief of pain and loneliness”. I think at this point she was freaking out. She thought  that I was totally suicidal. Well, the idea came and left quickly but I wasn’t that suicidal….probably a little bit but I just wanted to show her that her “neurological examples” were limited and relative. She said I had to loved myself, so that means…Do I hate me? If a suicidal idea shows up is just because I’m sick of pain (all senses) and I feel powerless…still, do I hate myself? I love enough for taking care of myself. I struggle Then I just took a Gravol and turn off my cell. The funny thing was in the morning I read an email from her giving me the Mental Illness Distress phone number and telling me to call if I was feeling lonely. I didn’t know if I had to laugh or just delete the email. When somebody seems blue in this country they give you a phone number to call, if you got a problem and need to see somebody you need to call an agency or simply look for some resources online. Friends, time to listen, to talk, to speak out…is not available in these times.

Years ago, a young kid committed suicide. His parents were members of the Unitarian Church in Montreal. They sent a letter that is read in the service. I was expecting something like “we didn’t have time to listen to our son, to talk to him, to be friends, to asking how he was doing” instead of that, in the letter they said “if you see somebody with visible symptoms of depression call this number….”. I got puzzle, no, no, I got scandalized. But those are the things are done in Canada…I got a number now…but…I think I’m going to hug my cat instead.

The Bitchy Estrogen is Back

It’s almost more than 2 weeks since my surgery. I’m doing really, I can do some little things on my own and I drive even if is -20c in Ottawa. I was doing really well in behavior and mood until today. Usually at this time I received my Lupron Depot, the shot that induced me to menopause…so, more shots…Estrogen is back slowly, with it, also moody and blues times are back…again.

I must admit I was very upset when the symptoms were more obvious. I was able to cry, I was able to feel down, just exactly as before surgery. I’m feeling kind of furious, irritate and frustrated. I want things happen fast. The dreams I had days ago mean nothing to me anymore. I sent to hell the concerns about other important things…I’m just want to punch something or somebody. I hate my apartment, I hate to being alone and I don’t have appetite. I went to the shower twice, the second time just for crying. At this point, I hate my life. I hate my estrogen. It reminds me the movie “Southern Comfort”, and I wrote about it before when the guy says the only feminine part of him was killing him, this feeling of loneliness is killing me too.

Of course, when you’re in recovery and alone, people suggested you to grab a bunch of DVD’s and books. Somebody drove me to the library and I picked up an interesting book, almost blow up my mind like Alison Bechdel. Her name is Jeanette Winterson. One the first books she wrote was “Oranges are not the only fruit” which in UK, made a tv series which a great success. I haven’t read this book because …I don’t know, I saw another book of her available and read a critic in a Spaniard newspaper.

The title was appealing “Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?”. Original, isn’t it? Winterson is a lesbian writer icon. I was so much impressed of this book for its biographical content. One of the anecdotes described in the book was when her foster mother (yes, she was adopted and I heard many girls who are adopted are mostly lesbians) when she found out she was lesbian, she called to church for an exorcism. As my mother, her foster mom was crazy about religion. Although, this woman was really a psychotic case, my mom was just schizophrenic, well, they aren’t that far from each other. Apparently in “Oranges…” she gives more details of her daily life. In “Why Be Happy…” is more analyzing the damage of this pseudo relationship between her foster parents, her homosexuality and religion. I know, I know, a very bad combination. It was impressive the way she gets undressed her emotions about this woman, her future girlfriends and her lack of capability to be loved. When you live in a family, that dysfunctional like mine, for so long, there is a moment you can’t imagine, that is unthinkable other way of living is possible. You got your scars on your skin, you got more relationships in the future and without noticing, you sabotage them.

One of the passages that grabbed me from my neck was: “But mother is our first love affair. Her arms. Her eyes. Her breast. Her body. And if we hate her later, we take that rage with us into other lovers. And if we lose her, where do we find her again?” This is simply true. Even she, as Bechdel, they mentioned Winicott and Jung in this special, dark relationship in psychology. Her relationships with women, her ex, her tentative of suicide reminded me so much to my last years, living in the darkness. So hard to get out of that black hole. Right now is very difficult to me to articulate my post. I wanted to attach my mother, my ex, her relationship, her similarities, her parallels and I can’t.

Jeanette with brilliant agility was able to do it in this book. She mentions her redemption, her struggle, her fight for fighting her biological mother and the disappointment.

Just my previous post I wrote how I finally closed my mom’s chapter and my ex’s chapter of my life…what about my own chapter? I know I want to move on, but somehow, I feel I felt in mud pond, moving slowly, dirty, tired, frustrated, every step I do seems not leading me anywhere.

Mom+Ex= Missing person=me. This equation is full of women, women I loved, that betrayed me, that hurt me, punished me physically…of course this was their way to love…with Jeanette Winterson I just realized I don’t know how to love either.

Post Anesthetic Dreams…Or Nightmares

It’s has been exactly one week since my surgery. The only remarkable thing about that is the dreams I had after waking up…this is the first time I feel conscious about the post effects of that thing. The first day I was sleeping like 1 or 2 hours because the nurse was coming and going giving me painkillers. I remember dreaming about faces, crazy little things, I guess I had like 11 dreams but I only got on my mind the one that  I had to prepare my taxes. When I told the nurse about it she said “the time is coming soon”.

When I got home I had two metaphorical dreams. It’s been like 5 years since I’m single, single because I got scared to get hurt, single because is difficult to me meeting people, single because life has no challenge in that way and so you’re not a loser but you just live, single because I didn’t want to dare or because I just abdicated before fighting. This dream was in fact a daily thing of my life with my ex, her frustration with my country and the way she was treated …the dream start like this. I see her, she is in a kind of studio, sitting and writing a list of things she spent money that “helped the Peruvian economy” and saying at the end ” I spent X amount of dollars in this country” , she was almost crying, so frustrated. This happened in our real, daily (and deadly life…so heavy to hear her every single time the same story). When I woke up I was first puzzled. Why did I dream of her? And second, I was disgusted to hear again complaining her American squared way of thinking, not because you spend money with people it means they will respect you, in some poor countries people will laugh at you and will steal you money so easily. That remained me the movie “Cooking with Stella” where a Canadian diplomat is constantly robbed and fooled by his two Indian servants …it was labeled as a comedy…a comedy for Indians since you see how stupid Canadians look and a drama for Canadian audience. Anyways, that dream had a signification that I will tell later when I write about the second dream.

The night after this dream, I had another more disturbing and meaningful dream. I was in Peru, in a the jungle, where, I’m not sure if subversives or militia group was training. I was with them. To be honest, it looked like Cuba, at some point the Che Guevara image showed up. Then, we heard we could leave the country because we were too subversives. So, at the heliport, yes, where a helicopter was waiting for us, I was standing there with my backpack and a rifle on my back. I saw my mother, I spoke to her and I hugged her saying her ” I have to go, this is my life”, I was serious when I said those words, my mother was emotional but I don’t remember if she cried when I said and then  I just left. I didn’t feel any particular emotion when I hugged her, I meaning, nothing at all.

What is my unconscious trying to tell me? Trying? Not at all, it’s just crying out things to close…closing some painful chapters of my life. The meaning is clear now, finally clear. I realized the grieving period is over. At first I knew the things I didn’t want in life. Now, I know the things I want in life. It sounds a game wording but isn’t. My ex, her life, the way she controlled everything, my life, my feelings, my way to see the world, the way to see (and judge) the others…was suffocating me…choking me…and of course, after choking you get half paralyzed, handicapped, now is totally clear, totally over, I don’t want that in my life but at the same time I was putting all women in the same bucket. Not all lesbians will control you or will treat you miserably (some in Ottawa do but I won’t go to meet that group where being in their ghetto gathering is so marginalizing). I want to meet somebody but at the same time I’m starting to opening myself to people at work, at church, building some kind of friendship. It’s working, at turtle’s pace but is moving. Meeting people and have social life is a challenge.

The second dream is more significant to me. I cut all relationship with my mother since also 5 years ago since she didn’t accept my homosexuality. I don’t cry for that, I don’t care about it anymore. My father told 2 weeks ago she has been very sick but now she’s doing better. When he said that I wasn’t that concerned. There are things in life you can’t stop, life goes on, when you get older, your body is not the same. And if something tragic happens to her I won’t be that surprised. She has been mean but I feel compassion for her. I understand now many things about her, her modus operandi in love, and manipulation….just like my ex…I couldn’t defend myself because I was a kid, I couldn’t defend myself of being beat or insulted or compared or just being insulted…to be inferior, to make me feel inferior towards her and she could feel superior. Those days are over now. Life has been very hard here in Canada as an immigrant and as a lesbian…, that’s the metaphor of being in training and being subversive, to have my gun on my back, and my backpack ready to leave…to take the helicopter and change my life forever. Time to say good bye, to really say, bye to all that. My mother will never recover me, I will never have a mother, that space sometimes is fulled with my therapist’s role…a fake mother but a positive female image. Yes, I started to believe and think women aren’t evil or mothers aren’t all monsters, inheriting pain, traumas, psycho dramas or bad karma to their offspring, she, the therapist, without knowing it helped to believe and not generalized all people are bad, or, in my particular, women are bad, clueless or just manipulative people. I learnt finally a big lesson after this surgery, not only a big fibroid was extracted …I felt that my own body needed a new fresh start…from scratch. I didn’t have cancer or something like that…but I got the lesson of all this.

Life, destiny or the universe can express itself in different ways. My body suffered a positive transformation…my mind joined in this request…changing the direction, changing for good, changing, finally changing, finally nasty chapters were closed for changing and build something different and new.

My 20 Staples War Scar Surgery

Well, I’m home since yesterday, I didn’t write anything since I was very tired and of course, getting back to my “normal” pain life.

Last Sunday many people at Church were wishing good luck for this surgery, even the Minister of the Unitarian Church phoned me, my pseudo Japanese friend, who’s in Vienna on vacations, sent me an email wishing me the same, the phone didn’t stop to ring like never before, a member of the caring committee gave details about the before, during and after surgery, I really appreciated this since she is a retired nurse and at the same time she’s taking care of her husband who has a heart failure. Knowing hospitals have bad reputation regarding food, I had my last supper, I felt like Jesus before crucifixion, so I tried my first Ontarian vegetarian pizza….it was good, I bought a small one and I left 2 little slices on the fridge

Monday came, for me, very early, at I was already awake and took my last shower. My Swedish friend came around 6am to drive to Ottawa Civic Hospital, just 5 minutes drive where I live. She kissed me twice and wished me luck. I wasn’t nervous, I wanted this thing done!!! I went to the 3 floor where 1 day surgery section is. A nurse put me my ID bracelet and I went to another room. They took my information and I had to undress just to wear that awful hospital robe where you can hide your butt. They make millions and they can’t invent something less humiliating.

And there I was, in the pre operation room, lying on the bed and a nurse came introducing herself and asking me all kind of questions, if I had a heart failure, pace maker, removal teeth, contact glasses, any illness lately, which to all the questions the answers were no. I asked her to take a picture of me which I put on my Facebook, I had to take off my glasses and watch, at some point she asked me again “did you remove your false teeth?” We just laughed, I just removed my glasses. She took my blood pressure and temperature. I saw other patients laying in bed too were leaving to the surgery room. And me turn came too.

A woman in her fifties wearing green surgery clothes (of course, they don’t have notion of fashion in hospitals) came asking for me, the nurse pointed at me and she said hi and moved my bed. She, and only she, was leading through the automatic revolving doors, we passed the food machine and I said “OMG, fooooood”, I wasn’t allow to eat after midnight or drink any water, so, seen bags and bags of Doritos and Chips was a feast for me. Then, we arrived to the Surgery Section of the floor. She left me near a wall that said “surgery room 16″. I was there some minutes when I young man came to ask me how I was and telling me the procedure, he was nice”. Minutes later I saw my butcher, Dr Gagné, wearing her mask, she just said hi, now I can say her social skills are zero, never talks or if she does, it’s only to give some advises or pointing things. Then the anesthesiologist came. And old man who asked me if I had a surgery before which I answered yes, my tonsils. He said “Do you know the risks of anesthesia?” I said “if you give me too much I’ll be a vegetable”, he smiled and said that wouldn’t happen.

Finally, around 8.30am they gave the order to put me in the surgery room. The moved the bed and I just walked to another bed in a T shape….it seemed more like those bed when they want to execute death penalty. I was there, and I said to Dr Gagné if she could take a picture of the fibroid, she said yes, and I pointed that I didn’t want she forgot anything inside my body. I saw the 2 doctors talking to each other when suddenly the anesthesiologist put me the mask just like that, my first reaction was “what are you doing?” and he just said, “it’s smells funny but just breath”, I wasn’t panicking but should have told me before he was trying to do….seconds later…lights were off.

I don’t remember to be moved to the observation room, I woke up in my semi private room, which in fact, I was the only person there, privacy was absolutely. I don’t remember what time it was, since I didn’t have my watch, I think it was almost noon. A nurse introduced herself but I didn’t pay any attention, I was groggy and tired, I just wanted to sleep. Which I did and I woke around 5 pm, in fact, they were waking me up every 4 hours to take my blood pressure, oxygen, and temperature. I had the oxygen cable on my nose despite I’m a mouth breather, another cable attached to my arm and to my friend painkiller machine. They explained quickly there were 2 bottoms, the red one to call the nurse and the blue to give me more painkillers. At night I was still confused and I wanted to call the nurse but I pushed the blue bottom several times thinking “damn, the nurse take her time to come” but at the end it was a good idea because the pain was bearable after. I had pain to turn left or right in my bed because of the staples (yes staples, in total 20, I look like a steampunk rag doll). I noticed too I had a catheter that was connected to a bag…it was my urine. I found very practical, at least for the first day, you don’t have to go to bathroom. The funny thing in all this was all personnel was concerned about my farting. In surgery bowel are pushed away, farting is a sign bowels are working again. It was funny to see who nurses where with hers stereoscopic listening my belly.

After a while the surgeon came just to say hi, the uterus was removed, the fibroid too and that she took a picture of it. Then, she disappeared. Around 7 pm they did the change of nurse. I met Karen, who took care of me, even better than my own mother. I can’t believe how committed she was, explaining everything, chatting, washing my legs, changing the pee bag, I mean, she did it as I was a special patient, or probably she made me feel special. At some point, I thanked her for taking care of me, to be alone in this country and you received that service, you just felt blessed. She worked 12 hours shift and then Marleen came to replace. With her, I did my first steps to the bathroom. Catheter was removed and I started walked without any help, it wasn’t that painful as I expected, probably to much painkillers but I felt fine. In the afternoon I was more active and I authorize to take a shower (a real privilege in that condition). Since any doctor came to see me and since I was feeling to well, I asked the nurse if I could go home….that night was very long…but well, the discharge time came on Wednesday. I met a new nurse, Jewel, a super cool woman, and she gave last advises.

My Swedish friend came to pick me up and I when I got home, my cat was happy to see….my friend and not me. Anyway, nothing is perfect in lesbian daily life I guess.

I’m Not Hysterical, I’m Just Having Hysterectomy

Well, I’m just few hours before the bid day. I’m listening Heavy Metal of the 80’s in my favorite radio station online (Kool Rock Radio). I’m not anxious or nervous, what bothers me until my bone is my teeth issue.

I called Dr Marko to tell her about my last visit to Dr Thompson….and she was expecting to check my pain, thing, of course, he didn’t do it. So, what I wasn’t expecting was the possibilities I have to do about this muscular pain: she said to go to see another specialist, to remove my wisdom tooth, to put a plastic thing on my tooth and so other things she said without even seen my bloody tooth. So, also, she added if I was experiencing more pain is because I was nervous because of my surgery, thing true. However, just that night I went to a pot luck at Church, a feast in support of aboriginal people. I ate like a pork…and pain disappeared for 2 days, the more I chew, the muscles, I think, get better, today I had a bit of pain and after to eat my last decent meal (vegetarian pizza) I feel great. This situation comes and goes, not funny of course but after surgery I’ll have to take more antibiotics and painkillers (good thing).

I went to see my therapist…It was funny because when she saw me she was writing on a paper and I said “but this is not therapy” , she said “I thought we meet because of that” I replied, “no, no, you said you wanted to see me”, “yes, because I got your Christmas present”. It was cute, she was clueless, and I was right, she brought me a big bag. The first thing I noticed was a little thing…it was a catnip!!! I loved it, and of course my cat too, she is now high!!!!. Also, she gave me a painting saying “Friendship isn’t a big thing, it’s a million little things”. I really love my gifts…and there was a card with a little chocolate attached and what she wrote really touched me…” You’re too kind to me, I’m glad to have you in my life”. We were talking about my surgery (I cried), about my dad, my mom, the therapist’s family and her recent family lost. She looked sad and she’ll grief for a while until she readjust her concept of family and Christmas with family. I was happy to see her and to see the orchid I gave her last year was alive and blooming. She said I’d be in her prayers for my surgery.

Today I went to Church and the members of the caring committee were over me. Asking lots of questions and giving me more advises for tomorrow. The Minister called me saying he’ll pray for me, to be honest I thought we wasn’t that religious because he’s Unitarian but who cares, he was kind. He also asked me to write something about me for the introduction to the congregation, since I’m a new member. I sent him what I wrote in my blog in the section “About”, he loved and he said it was the funniest thing he read in long time.

Now, let’s be serious. Last time I had surgery I was 9 years old, my tonsils were pulled out. I remember my father, who worked at the hospital in the accounts payable section (just the same section I work in my office here in Canada), he knew all the doctors and they allowed him to go to the surgery floor. I remember he was wearing his Summer uniform, I was in stretcher, we crossed one revolving door, I saw the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, we crossed another door and in the third floor, somebody told him “this is sterilized zone you can’t cross” and, as in the movies, I saw my dad’s image disappear behind the revolving doors…then “one, two, three” two nurses put to another stretcher or table. The anesthesiology was looking for my vain…I cover it with my other hand, another nurse pulled my arm back and I saw a needle with a green cross shaped cap. Then…”count until 10″ and the now even I said one and the lights were off for me.

Tomorrow dad won’t be there, nobody but me. I’m feeling I’m a real adult.

D- At -17

Well, finally we’re 2013. Temperature in Ottawa this week has been between -12 and -17 (with wind sensation of -26). As the tradition says, celebrate and wish everybody even your lousy friends and awful boss, all the best, health, money, love, xxx movies and so on, I did it and I participated in this ritual. I tried to talk to people at work if someone wanted to party (to get invited) but nothing happened. I just slept watching a good movie…”The Last Circus” (Balada de trompeta triste, real title). I had several components of Tarantino movies. This film is landscaped in Spain, during Franco’s revolution, one of the most violent era in history of Spain…the result was a movie so fresh, dynamic, violent and with a dark sense of humor. Excellent. So, after watching this movie it occurred to me to go to cinema to watch “Django Unchained”. I will say is much better that “Magnificent Bastards”. Something typical of Tarantino is the famous gathering of character to talk about something nonsense that finally had a connection with the movie plot. We saw that in “Pulp Fiction” and “Reservoir Dogs”. In Django, he does it like 3 times but not in that puzzle dialogue complexity. Here is more light and dynamic but well…He described the way  slaves were treated in a raw version of violence. Human degradation or inhuman behavior. Again, he uses a sarcastic character Dr Shultz but the gags and jokes aren’t that strong like in other movies. Almost at the end, the story runs to get quickly to ….a happy end. I saw in Rotten Tomatoes and IMDB they gave it 8 stars. Too much for me. 6 or 7 are ok. Try to compare these two movies….and you’ll know what I mean.

I went to work early because I needed to leave early to see the specialist Dr Marko asked me to see. I decided to check before my result at college for my Finance course….I was a bit, just a bit surprise…I was expecting a C-, but I got D-, that means I did 52%, yes, I passed…but I’m not proud of that poor performance. I said before to have the Ontarian accountants exception for this course in B-…shame, shame, shame. I called my Swedish friend and as a confession, I told her my result. She said not to give up. Other things happened to day that made me forget this anecdotal incident.

Minutes later my therapist called me saying when I called her, December 27th, and she didn’t answer wanted me to know the reason of my call, it’s January 3rd…so I told her everything that happened…she felt sorry and we’ll meet tomorrow, she will give me a gift…I hope not chocolates.

But let’s started with the most important thing. Some dental updates. After seeing Al-Mullah, my bite goes super well. Less pain and numbness, I think after 5 weeks without chewing my jaw and face had to re-adapter its normal functions. I had to admit that even the idea of chewing scared me. I had to deal with that, it became more psychological I think but what happened to day put me a bit angry and all changed the perception of health and diagnostic in Ottawa. At the very beginning I was feeling this awful pain…and Dr Marko was concerned about some root canals performed in Peru that at least one was getting an infection. Today I went to see Dr Thompson, specialist in Endodontics (vulgarly known as root canal).First, his assistant took several x-rays, digital x-rays (so high tech that office), I explained the problem of my pain that I wanted to check my bite again…so the girl agreed and took several x-rays. I asked about Thompson and she said she had like 8 years of experience in this field. Later on, he arrived….an he didn’t want to take a look on my bite he said…”we don’t do that here” I begged him, and he said no. At the point I was thinking of Dr Marko…why? I waited 5 weeks, I made an emergency call to meet Al-Mullah, she dismissed from her office just giving me for almost 2 weeks a cocktail of antibiotics and sent me to this Dr to check on it…and finally…he’s not the specialist for that thing (glad my pain is almost over). Thompson did some test on my front teeth and determinate one nerve was dead..infection was around it, so, root canal needed. Why is this required? Because if don’t, the bone will disappear and my teeth will drop.He also added there is 85% probabilities of success. Ah? what? 85%? I said “So it means you do the root canal and if it doesn’t work you just take my money”, he said laughing “basically is that”. The estimation is 1677$. I’ll see how much insurance will cover. To be honest, I was expecting a higher amount. It’s expensive but not that much. But still…I was left with pain and Marko just left me dying. If I shouldn’t have called Al-Mullah probably I would cancel my hysterectomy surgery because I wasn’t able to eat (by the way, surgery will be this Monday).

Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I have to call the hospital to know what time my surgery will be, I need to do more groceries, I have to do a “just in case” physio session since one of my knees was a bit in pain, also, I have to give Sarah, my physiotherapist a little gift, the chocolates that my pseudo Japanese friend gave me and a little plush flower with a big smile on it. Her birthday is the 27th but I won’t be able to visit her because of my condition after surgery. Then, at 6pm I have to see my therapist just talking not therapy, and the only thing I want from her….is what my own mother can’t and will never give, listening and a loving not toxic hug.