Get out of my head! 


  I feel my otherwise optimistic world view being slowly crushed, especially after the recent waves of violence. What with the recent stabbings and acts of vehicular murder in Israel and then the international incidents of terrorism in Bahgdad, Beirut and Paris, this little bleeding heart has had about enough.  

 The other night driving home, I saw a shooting star, right in my path of vision. The wonder and awe of interstellar magic happening before my eyes! Instead of being like, “oh wow! What a beautiful coincidence that this beautiful natural display happened just as I was looking!” my first thought was “oh shit!!! Is that a rocket?!? It was headed right for our kibbutz! Should I call Yotam? Tell him to get him and the kids to the bomb shelter???” A few moments of silence and darkness led me to realize that it had just been a beautiful shooting star… That nearly gave me a heart attack! Sadly, this is not the first time this has happened. 
Those fuckers have gotten transmitted by media through their terrorist acts, directly under my skin. Into my head. Into my heart.  

Terrorism: the most effective modern tool of persuasion. 

It hurts to care


Empathy: the feeling that you understand and share another person’s experiences and emotions : the ability to share someone else’s feelings. 

  
But what if you don’t want to share someone else’s experience and feelings of hardship? What if it is just too fucking hard? Thinking let alone writing this most probably makes me a rubbish human being. But maybe I can still earn a modicum of cred for keeping it real? Maybe not…

There are reports that the third intifada is breaking out in Israel and Palestine as I write. For seven years I have lived in northern Israel, and for seven years I have protected my sensitive heart and soul by being staunchly apolitical and maintaining a firm ignorance of what was being projected by major news agencies. It’s not that I don’t care. I do care. I care so fucking much that it destroys my heart to see people living in squalor, grasping at straws in an attempt to provide for themselves and their families, and at times being maimed or killed in the process. To see the lifeless bodies of children, of babies, with their parents screaming at the fucking injustice of reality. 

The empathetic part of me demands that I recognize this suffering, if only to bear witness to it. The emotional part of me tells me that I cannot handle these agonies and that I had best look away. My cowardice most often wins in this battle of conscience.

  
Looking away is becoming less of a privilege that I can afford myself these days.

The fear is real. Terrorism is very effective in this way. 

The suffering is real. Knives and bullets, stones and rockets are very effective in this way. 

The people are real. All of the people. 

So I ventured into the news today, and was broken.

Often when I’m looking for information on current issues or news items, I turn to Twitter for a more on-the-ground, grassroots perspective.

Did a search for #intifada. 

The mechanations of fear, hate and violence appeared on the feed before my very eyes. 

Jihadist call to arms.

Videos of mayhem and destruction.

Dead fucking children. 

Dead. Fucking. Children. 

…Heart dashed to pieces…

Decided through my tears that I am too sensitive a soul for this shit. 
  
If anyone needs me I’ll just be over here with my head in the goddamned sand, waiting for someone to press the restart button. Because from this vantage point, “peace” is a laughable non-option and as a concept carries as much weight as a bumper sticker slogan. 

Meaningful movement towards any solution not based in war, terrorism and violence seems absolutely impossible. People only get more and more fearful, vengeful and distrustful as it is revealed time and time again how insecure life is here. 

Today was a hard day.

I hold out hope that tomorrow will be better.

You’ll excuse me if I don’t hold my breath while we wait and see though. 

Breastfeeding Hurdles


Holy sweet mother. Just got nip bit the worst that I can remember 🙀😵🙀 It was totally accidental (she was already sleeping), but still. Oww!

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Mika’s been sick this week and basically not at all interested in food (at least while I’m around) and also waking to nurse frequently during the night. During our month-long vacation, she was also asking to nurse a lot, during the day for comfort (new surroundings, Jetlag, etc.) and during the night because the kids bunked in with us, and I think that distracts her from sleeping.

So basically, I feel like I have been going above and beyond my regular milkmaid duties with my nearly 15 month old daughter in the last month and a half, and this bite (it still smarts!) has got me thinking; when, how and why will my daughter and I wean?

I have very little experience in the matter. With my son, the decision was made for us when he was 19 months when my milk went dry because I was pregnant. He was nursing twice daily at that point (in the morning and before bed) and didn’t seem to mind when my body decided for us that it was time for him to wean.

Philosophically, I am partial to child-initiated weaning. I believe strongly in the physical and mental health benefits of breastfeeding for mother and child, and neither of my children have had formula (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) However, when my daughter screeches like a banshee every time she sees me, and pounds my chest demanding milk, or throws all of the food off of her tray because she’s more interested in nursing, or wakes up consistently throughout the night for a series of midnight (+2am, +4:30am, +6am, +7:30am) snacks, my otherwise strong philosophical stance begins to wilt a bit.

Sometimes, I just want a little bit of alone time, if not actually alone, just not being touched/climbed on/pinched/groped etc. and it seems nearly impossible at this point.

I believe strongly that a nursing relationship, especially after the first six weeks and absolutely after the one year mark, needs to be mutually pleasurable. Not in every moment, not even every time, but generally. If mom is consistently resentful of and exhausted by nursing, that’s being passed on to baby, and it’s not good for anyone.

I don’t feel like I’m quite at that place yet, and admittedly, the last month and a half have been extraordinary, but I am starting to feel my breastfeeding determination and strength dwindle. All the while, Mika’s appetite for milk only seems to be on the rise.

Any positive advice, anecdotes or encouragement for a mama in need? I feel like this is just a hurdle, and I could use a little support in clearing it….

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But, it’s just a game!


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“#GamerGate exists so that gamers may enjoy an unbiased, objective appraisal of video games.

#GamerGate exists so that gamers can enjoy video games without ideologues, hipsters, and cultural critics and their buzzwords of privilege and moral panic echoing in our ears.

#GamerGate exists so that video gaming culture can continue to grow naturally, and not forced by the words of a cowardly cultural critic who cannot answer criticism and their legion of well-meaning but ultimately destructive followers.”

Source: Feministing.com

Words from one of the allegedly more “moderate” gamers from the now infamous Gamergate debacle.

It is the same movement from which threats of assassination and mass murder were made regarding the planned lecture by Anita Sarkeesian at Utah State University last week.

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And she is not the only one who has received direct threats against her life concerning her work in relationship to video games.

Yes. Video. Games.

What, the actual, fuck.

First of all, I will come out with a full disclosure that I am not a part of the gaming community and therefore admittedly am an outsider commenting on and critiquing the seemingly rampant sexism and misogyny present in the gaming culture.

I am however a member of the human community and more importantly the female portion of said community and being a member of this oft pissed-upon, denigrated and abused group I must call fucking shenanigans on this, and share my outrage.

Bullying is a real thing. Individuals are unfairly targeted by mean people in any number of settings, at any given stage in life. This sucks. Victims of bullying, abuse or any form of physical or emotional violence will often seek camaraderie amongst others, whom like themselves, have been unfairly targeted and abused. Their bond may be strengthened by a mutual interest in music, food, locale, or say, video games. Totally understandable.

When members of this sub-culture collective begin hinging their identity upon the exclusion, ridicule and actual bodily threatening of other members of their own community they must be called out A) because intimidating people through threats of violence is not cool regardless of how much you were tormented in high school and B) because they are just games.

Seriously.

With all due respect to sub-culture community and its therapeutic benefit to targeted individuals, they are just games. And no matter how good the game, and how much one has found ones self and ones tribe through that medium, they are just games. And no matter how attacked you feel personally when your community/favourite game/character/what the fuck ever is being criticized by the media, or other gamers or gaming critics, they. are. just. games.

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I recognize I am coming to this subject with a whole whacking load of privilege – white, upper-middle class, English-speaking, Western-bred, ablebodied privilege. I was only marginally excluded and teased in school, and do not have lasting emotional or physical scars from those encounters. I recognize this privilege and with conscious and cultivated empathy charge that, they are just games. All of the pain, all of the exclusion, all of the social torment and angst will not be solved through the violent exclusion and targeting of vocal female gamers. Shooting up a lecture hall or blowing up an awards ceremony will gain nothing aside from fearful notoriety, judgement and further social exclusion.

So what’s the point?

After all, it’s just a game.

Just angry


Please be forewarned that this post is a rant. A rant of epic proportions.

I live in the north of Israel. Much like in Canada (my motherland) in Israel universal health care is in place, and the level of treatment is generally quite high. This I glean from hearing about other people’s experiences. Thankfully I am healthy and only have to navigate the hell that is the health care “service” here infrequently.

Today I was supposed to have my first prenatal appointment with my new ob/gyn. My first women’s doctor for my last pregnancy is featured in the dicktionary next to the definition for “Asshole.” Never want to see that slimball again. Second doctor mysteriously went on sick leave never to return. Pity. She was great. Hope she’s ok. Third time’s a charm?

I am 17 weeks pregnant. I booked this appointment with lucky number three one month ago. I am not one for the medicalization of pregnancy and birth, but am also not out there on the frontiers of crunchy momdome, I felt like it was about time to see someone, and make sure everything is ticking away as it should. Two hours before my appointment, the doctors office called and cancelled. Bummer. Had to book this appointment a month in advance, and was really beginning to feel a bit anxious to check in and see that everything is alright, and they cancel. Awesome.

A little background on the lumbering dysfunctional mechanisms that comprise Clalit medical care. One has a health card and number, a user code and a password with which to book appointments online or through a central booking agency. There is little to no personal culpability. There is no calling the receptionist at your doctors office. Your doctor doesn’t even necessarily have an office. He/she travels from location to location, but you are encouraged not to visit them at more than one location for although all of your personal information and medical history is entered into the computer system, it is not centralized. So if you have your blood taken at one clinic but see your prenatal nurse at another location, she can’t access your results. How efficient. If you book an appointment online for, oh say a month from now because that’s the earliest appointment that exists, you can’t log back in and check for earlier appointments/cancellations until canceling your existing appointment. Getting Radiohead tickets is easier.

So back to the matter at hand.

Nearly in tears at having my long-awaited appointment cancelled, I ask the woman calling me what I am to do, explaining that I am in my second trimester and haven’t seen a doctor yet, and that through the system I can only book another appointment another moth in the future. Without. Word, she transfers me to someone else. “Shalom?” “Hello?” “Yes, I can hear you what can I do for you?” I don’t know?! No idea who I have been transferred to, what the story is here, I explain, from the beginning once again what my issue is, and she semi-resolves it by booking me an appointment for a week from now. Ok. Not bad. But there is the nagging concern that has been occupying a small corner of the back of my mind that even though I felt tons of movement previously, I have felt nothing for the past week and a half. Knowing that stress is one of the greatest problem makers in pregnancies and in life, I had kept this concern at bay with the resolution that I would be seeing he doctor. Today. But now I’m not. Now I have to wait another week. 18 weeks and no prenatal care. No movement. Starting to freak out a bit.

Decide to go and see another doctor closer to our home just to be sure that there is a heartbeat and movement. This little process involves it own lovely little set of acrobatics. If you don’t have an appointment (which I couldn’t have, not without canceling my re-appointment from above) you need to show up, ask the receptionist to see the nurse, wait for a long-ass time until the nurse shows up, decide by asking various strangers in the waiting room who happen to be in the vicinity of the nurses room if they are there to see the nurse too, so you know who you are to succeed, talk to the nurse, explain why you want to see the doctor, have her decide if your reason is valid, and then get referred back to the receptionist who will swipe your card, book you a same day appointment and then direct you to a machine where you use your card to access your appointment number. Then you wait until the doctor calls your number. Which doctor? Why Dr. Asshole of course! Which other doctor wouldn’t have ANY other appointments because he’s effectively made a name for himself as a prenatal terrorist?!

Ok. It’s ok. Deep breath. Just need to be sure baby has a pulse and I can leave. Enter. “Hello” “Didn’t you hear me call your number?” “Yes. Yes, I did.” Swipes card.

    Throws

card across table. (Asshole!) Looks at me expectantly. Gulp. I explain why I have come. Who is my doctor? Where do I live? Have I moved? Why am I going to a doctor in a different region and not to him? Because I decided to?! “Yes.” “Fine, on the bed. There, you see?” Son screaming because he is old enough to know what happens at the doctors office, and he is afraid for himself, or for me, or for both. Thanks honey. I see a little blinking something on the fuzzy grey screen. “So, everything is ok?” “Well!” He is about to launch into a dramatic speech about how only rigorous prenatal testing, (which of course I have don’t none of because I am a bad person of faulty character) could possibly determine such a thing. I stop him before he get too excited about shutting my little plea for reassurance down. “There is a pulse?” I rephrase through clenched jaw. “You don’t see?!” Like its the most obvious fucking thing in the world. Like it would hurt to give someone a little sliver of calm or peace. He roughly pushes the monitor back, bumping the bed in the meantime. “Oh! I didn’t hit you, did I?” This creep clearly knows the difference between passive aggressive and just plain aggressive and on which side of that line the lawsuits begin to fall. “I’m fine.” Goes back to his desk. Look at him as he sits down. “Good luck” he says, completely deadpan. Thanks. Thanks a lot asshole.

I went in to seek a little bit of care and reassurance from a medical professional that my unborn baby is not in distress, and while I left with the information that he/she has a heartbeat, I also left in tears and in a state if heightened anxiety and very real anger.

Would it really hurt to build a little bit of personal responsibility and personal care into the health monolith? I am seriously considering suspending all prenatal care and just ‘going with God’ on this one because I cannot, will not, subject myself to that kind of inefficient, impersonal, impractical, rude, unprofessional and highly stressful “care” just because that is what is available. Fuck it.

Seriously longing for a state in which midwife prenatal care was even an option. Already have my beloved goddess of a mama midwife booked for the birth, but their care is private and only starts from week 36. What’s a woman to do?!

Comments, commiseration, and comfort most wholeheartedly welcomed.

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Please excuse me while I rant for a moment…


Everyone is entitled to their opinion. In the world of blogging, social networking and other forms of personal publishing, anyone with a computer, hell anyone with access to an internet cafe can broadcast their opinions near and far for the low, low cost of free. This is fine by me. Sometimes people write really interesting, thought-provoking, insightful things. Other times, they write blithering, bigoted garbage. Sometimes it’s just boring and irrelevant. All of this, is fine by me.

What I cannot tolerate and abide by however, is the improper use of other people’s online social mediums to sell their shit. Without permission! To sell their ringtones, their weight-loss videos, their workshops, their bloody hipscarves. This really irks me, and in Facebook land anyone who has the audacity to advertise their crap on my wall gets blocked real fast. No questions asked. Only assholes pull that, and I don’t need any virtual asshole friends, thank you very much.

But this is not what triggered this post. No. Something even more insidious, and apparently much lower and more time consuming inspired this little rant.

Driven to read someone’s blog post about Brothers and Sisters through the “Freshly Pressed” listings on the WordPress home page, I found myself wandering through the Fibromy-Awesome blog… the author’s tag line on her blog is “Yes, I take 25 pills a day. Boom.” Interesting. ‘Why, pray tell, do you take 25 pills a day?’ I found myself asking. The “Hey Dude, How’s Your Health?” page seemed like it might answer my little query, so I navigated hence. I read her post about what conditions she suffers from, written with humanism and humor. I always like reading people’s comments as well, I find it to be kind of like a social thermometer, when low and behold BAM! Spam attacks.

Some jerk thought this  woman’s personal telling of what she suffers from on a daily basis would be a great place to advertise her stupid, new-agey, gimmicky book. This asshole thought that it would be totally fine, within the range of basic human courtesy and potentially profitable for her to post a comment detailing the book that she authored “through my 6th sense.” Yeah. Awesome. Sign me up for a copy! No wait, sign me up for 10 so I can give them to all of the flakes in my life.

As if this hadn’t sufficiently commandeered the blog for her own profiteering purposes, this person then proceeded to reply to no less than FORTY-THREE (count them! 43!!!!) of the people who had commented to the original blog, commiserating and relating their personal struggles with all sorts of life-long health problems and diseases. In her replies, Asshole claims that her book can heal everything from depression, to Celiac to auto-immune deficiency. Riiiight. All from buddy’s 6th sense.

It’s a free world, and a free market so if some touched lunatic wants to publish his or her rantings, well, they’re allowed to. While I understand that cyberspace does not have the tangible built-in boundaries that real, physical space does, I would have thought that human decency and discretion would step up and delineate where it is and is not appropriate to advertise.

Apparently, I have once again given humanity too much credit.

Rant concluded. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.