Monday, 11 May 2009

M.E. Awareness Week 2009

For ME Awareness Week this year I thought I’d put together a summary of some of the happenings in Australia, the UK and the United States since this time last year. If you’d like to share what’s happening in your own region or country, please go for it in the comments section, we’re all ears. There’s also a collection of links to other posts at the blog for individuals promoting ME Awareness established by Rachel. If you’re new to the ME topic, my post ‘The Other ME’ is a basic overview.

The international community of patients are jack of being treated as second-class health-care citizens – nothing new there. For decades people have been rising from their pillows to engage in awareness raising or the odd skirmish as strength or inclination allows. What is new is that people with ME are more informed and better connected than ever, thanks to the internet. It’s been an eventful year.

AUSTRALIA: BELATED ENDEAVOURS BUT SLOWWWLY GETTING THERE.

Many people are diligently beavering away at the grass-roots level, but in terms of the national perspective, the main news is that the previously sparse ME/CFS Australia website was finally re-launched. It’s a good source of mainstream information for medical professionals or those newly diagnosed, referring people to the Canadian Guidelines as a primary source.

Ergo, ME purists (with whom I agree with much in theory, though I have serious and ongoing concerns regarding the practicalities, particularly when it comes to living in Australia), will not be satisfied because it uses the ME/CFS conflation, as do the Canadian Guidelines. The ME/CFS conflation is like when an unwisely married couple finally separate - the divorce hasn’t come through yet, and even when it does they’re still connected for a while due to prosaic factors. I’m as against the label and weak definitions of CFS as the next person, but given that many PWME in Australia are presumably living with a CFS diagnosis with no immediate hope for anything different, it seems to me that a generous dose of pragmatism is prudent and inevitable. I worry about people in small country towns with only one doctor who may want or need extra info, and I think that for those people a resource like ME/CFS Australia would be a very good starting point for both the patient and their GP – the info on it is up-to-date and significantly better than much I’ve seen on other websites.

I must note that not all of the individual state societies are part of the Australian affiliation, I’m not sure why. I do recall reading in one of the newsletters that there was some degree of conflict because some societies wanted to ditch the ‘CFS’ label once and for all, and others didn’t, but I don’t know if that has anything to do with it or not.

I’d love to see more national advocacy, and a new website is a great start.

Lastly, Australia’s own Alison Hunter Memorial Foundation are sponsoring the Invest in ME conference in London on May 29th this year – a conference that usually attracts an impressive range of speakers. It will be IiME’s fourth international biomedical conference. As a card-carrying, doona-swathed member of the 25% of people with ME who are at the severe end of the spectrum, I am pleased to see the planned theme for this year’s conference: “At the 2009 conference we will raise more awareness of severe ME - a group of patients who are not represented in research trials.”

GREAT BRITAIN: THE MOTHER COUNTRY, HOME OF GOOD PEOPLE LIKE BEATRIX POTTER AND BAD PEOPLE LIKE SIMON WESSELY.

The UK released the NICE guidelines for NHS doctors treating ME patients. The NICE guidelines were roundly criticised, and rightly so, they bore the distinctive and predictable whiff of outdated science and inherent bias. Two gentlemen with ME, Douglas Fraser (former violinist for the Scottish Phiharmonic Orchestra) and Kevin Short (an engineer from Norfolk), sought a judicial review of these which took place in the High Court, London. Go them good things. A statement from their lawyer, Mr Jamie Beagent, sums it up:

ME is a neurological condition that affects an estimated 240,000 people in the UK. However, despite being classified as a neurological condition by the World Health Organisation (WHO) and the Department of Health recognising this classification, the illness is still regarded by some medical practitioners as primarily a psychological problem.

Short and Fraser state that NICE has failed to give adequate diagnostic guidance to doctors and, most worryingly, has recommended treatments that are both unsuitable and costly, for which there is no sound evidence base.

The interventions identified in the CG53 Guideline are Cognitive Behaviour Treatment (CBT) and Graded Exercise Therapy (GET), which patient groups and independent experts say are at best useless and at worst dangerous, especially as there is little or no medical monitoring of aspects of the illness such as cardiac problems and mitochondrial dysfunction. In biomedical research studies conducted in the UK, GET has been shown in to adversely affect patients with ME who perform exercises beyond their comfort level.

At the same time, NICE, in the CG53 guideline, has said that doctors should not routinely do extensive testing or use certain drugs for the treatment of symptoms. However, by not performing testing, patients with illnesses other than ME are grouped in the general classification and any analysis of treatment regimes can only become more confused.

The purpose of a NICE Guideline is to provide clinically excellent and authoritative information to NHS clinicians. Mr Short and Mr Fraser say that NICE has singularly failed to carry out this remit by ignoring the biomedical evidence and nature of the condition and concentrating primarily on recommending psychological management techniques.

Unfortunately, Messrs Short and Fraser lost the High Court Challenge. I was so dismayed I couldn’t bear to mention it en blogge.

Nasim Marie Jafry, author of a novel released last year featuring a main character with ME (UK news in itself), covered the NICE saga on her excellent blog and I encourage you to have a look. She is concise so it won’t take you long: this page shows you her posts on the topic. Ms Jafry’s book ‘The State of Me’ was described thusly by the ME Association: “A remarkable first novel … word perfect on neurological ME”.

I won’t point out every flaw of the NICE guidelines. Some sentences were sort of OK. But overall they were inconsistent and contradictory - unhelpful at best, negligent at worst. They read as though they were created in a specific context: not a context that is focused on helping patients optimise their functional ability or recover, but to consolidate an ideology that is still very much in fashion in the UK.

The UK is the rather fertile home of the psychiatric paradigm of ME and CFS. Whenever I get shirty about this I take a deep breath and think of Galileo: in the fullness of time, good science prevails. The catch is, good science has to be carried out for it to even come close to prevailing. At the moment, bad science is winning. Studies of random ‘fatigued’ people that don’t exclude those with primary psychiatric conditions, and who (surprise, surprise!) improve when treated with cognitive behavioural and graded exercise therapies are still prominent worldwide, and cited as evidence that these are appropriate treatment approaches for ME.

Shortly after the challenge to the NICE guidelines in the High Court was defeated, Simon Wessely, high priest of the psychiatric paradigm, was interviewed in the New Scientist. He has previously asserted that “ME is simply a belief, the belief that one has an illness called ME.” No doubt feeling bolstered by the outcome of the case, he was full of his usual illuminating commentary. When asked about people who are so severely ill they are bedridden, he helpfully responded: “In that kind of disability, psychological factors are important and I don't care how unpopular that statement makes me.”

I swear I could hear him crowing all the way here in Australia. I truly wonder what the colleagues in his profession who have declared me to be in excellent mental health would make of his pronouncement? I am confident that eventually he will go the same way as Roy Meadow, or Voldemort, as his horcruxes are destroyed one by one.

On the plus side, criticism of the NICE Guidelines for ME was extremely robust from many sectors of the UK health-care profession, and the compilation of this criticism makes heartening reading.

AMERICA: LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE, BIRTHPLACE OF THE CHARMING TERM ‘CHRONIC FATIGUE SYNDROME’. THANKS. NO REALLY, THANKS.

The history of the CDC in regard to CFS is dismal, beginning with assigning a name both trivializing and inaccurate, an inadequate and inaccurate case definition, misappropriation of funds and poor-quality research, in terms of both the focus of its studies and its methodology. The CDC has not had a meaningful or significant impact on our understanding of the illness or how to treat it.

-Katrina Bernes

Whew, where do I start with this one? The community of advocates in the United States are taking it up to the Centres of Disease Control (CDC), big time.

The CDC has a horrendous reputation when it comes to ME and CFS (read the riveting book ‘Osler’s Web’ sometime), and was the deserving recipient of a comprehensive blast at the Federal CFS Advisory Committee Meeting from Kim McCleary of the CFIDS Assocation of America about the CDC’s continued misuse of funds - or as she bluntly put it, “Let me introduce you to what I call the ‘Research to Nowhere’...”

Bill Reeves, nimrod and erstwhile boss of the CDC CFS program (hopefully not for much longer), has still been touting his empirical definition of CFS, as if we didn’t have enough diluted CFS definitions around already - about seven, at last count. Onya Bill.

This study points out:

Findings indicated that 38% of those with a diagnosis of a Major Depressive Disorder were misclassified as having CFS using the new CDC definition. Given the CDC's stature and respect in the scientific world, this new definition might be widely used by investigators and clinicians. This might result in the erroneous inclusion of people with primary psychiatric conditions in CFS samples, with detrimental consequences for the interpretation of epidemiologic, etiologic, and treatment efficacy findings for people with CFS.

-Leonard Jason et al

In the current medico-political climate, using the Canadian ME/CFS definition and refining it further seems like the most realistic alternative to the other diluted CFS definitions. It needs improvement, but it’s the best mainstream definition currently available. The reality is that the US CDC has enormous influence, and if it adopted the Canadian definition, that would be a giant leap forward for everyone, in comparison to what’s happening now.

On April 27 this year, the CDC had a public-stakeholder meeting where they got to hear first-hand from many affected parties. They gave the nonsensically short-notice of one week for this meeting, a laughably transparent snub to a patient population who they know usually need more than a week to prepare for a simple luncheon, let alone something as important as this. Luckily there was still a commendable turnout.

One of our blogging crew who made it to the meeting has posted her testimony on her blog tumblyday, and Hilary Johnson, author of Osler’s Web and long-time ME and CFS superhero, wrote a brilliant and compelling report on the meeting on her new blog. If you only read one link from this post, do try to read Ms Johnson’s report, it’s zesty, funny and incredibly moving.

DON’T WORRY, I’M ALMOST FINISHED.

People with most other medical conditions are not subject to the controversy and subsequent stigma that people with ME are. It is heartbreaking to be yanked off stage-left by an illness, and then, while trying to make the most of a frustratingly limited life, to sit by and watch bizarre medical politics play out across the globe, the outcome of which flows through and trickles into our daily lives, prejudicing and confusing our doctors, bewildering our family and friends, undermining the support we need on so many levels and leaving us to fight for every skerrick of medical and welfare support we do or don’t receive. It’s a travesty.

Things could be different. The clinical and research history of ME could be properly recognised and built on. We need international consensus on a strong definition for diagnosis and biomedical research. We need funding for this research, and studies on patients who actually have ME, not just on anyone who’s ever yawned.

It’s my birthday this week. We’re not having a family meal to celebrate because I’m not well enough, just a quiet cup of tea with one person at a time instead. I love a good cup of tea. As each birthday passes I’m aware I’m getting closer to the line in the sky where I will have been sick for as long as I was fit and healthy. I never thought it would be this way, I really didn’t. I’ve never embraced the beast, although in recent times I’ve been working on a prickly kind of truce in the apparent absence of other options. I continue to actively pursue treatment, and always will.

I was talking to my granny on the phone this morning, it is rare for us to discuss health matters, there are many better topics (tennis, quinces, Jane Austen’s writing desk, cryptic crosswords), but it came up in relation to whether I had celebratory plans or not.

Out of the blue she asked, “Are they any closer to finding a cure?”

I had to say no.

Thursday, 23 April 2009

One lonely papadum, brave chickpea flour

On Monday morning I nibbled on a leftover papadum and thought happy thoughts about the weekend social extravaganza conceived by mastermind friends, wherein we went on a splendid outing in the lounge room. We ate a sensational feast of home-made Indian food: you should have seen the table. I love menus (back in the day I read recipe books like novels), so I will tell you that we ate dry lamb curry, chicken saag, raita, naan, papadums, tomato, onion and coriander relish, and I have to make particular mention of the fried aubergine coated in turmeric, cayenne pepper and salt. It was textural perfection - I have never eaten aubergine so sublimely fluffy. We looked at travel photos, wore surprisingly comfortable beaded finery, played an accompanying soundtrack, and the others almost danced but the boss dancer ended up being too tired to lead the troupe. He did a few desultory hip and shoulder wiggles and then lay on my daybed. After all that, I’m not lonely, but the remaining papadum was, so I ate it. Dipped in raita and delicious.

fork, knife, spoon on red patterned clothHere’s to good people and good food. And if you’ll excuse me and my wrinkly table-cloth, I must go back to being pole-axed.

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Frohe Ostern! (Happy Easter!)

Frohe Ostern!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Righteo everyone, warm up your telly, a fab friend has made a gorgeous doco.

A large group of more than fifty family and friends have camped in the same spot on Australia’s Murray River every Easter for the last 40 years. Within the very Australian Easter tradition of camping holidays, their own German and unique rituals have evolved. Frohe Ostern! (Happy Easter!) is a high spirited micro-history.

She’s a talented writer and director who crafts stories with sensitivity and a lovely aesthetic touch, and says:

Over the production period of getting to know the campers and their histories, poignant tales of migration rose to the surface. Encased in the story of their camping traditions every Easter since 1969, is the story of the gradual evolution of identity from German to Australian. Although many tales of migration to Australia are characterised by hardship and struggle, Frohe Ostern! deliberately celebrates the positive aspects of migration to Australia’s multicultural society. With Frohe Ostern! I was compelled to make a film that is about time, place and above all, people.

It will be broadcast on SBS this Friday evening at 7.30pm.

Here’s the trailer for a sneak peek.

Frohe Ostern!

Monday, 16 March 2009

Happy birthday, doglet

These are the lyrics I like to sing to her, to the tune of Norwegian Wood:

I once had a dog,

Or should I say,

She once had me.

She showed me her ears,*

Isn’t it good,

Snicklypud.**

* Or tail, paws, snout, whiskers…

**Or other terms of endearment ideally rhyming with ‘good’.

On the weekend it was Ochre’s 12th birthday; that’s 84 in human years. Long live the hound!

The family got her when I was in Victoria visiting nana (yes, at the now non-existent house). After the excitement of hearing the magical word “puppy” down the phone line, I got no sleep for the next three nights.

When I returned to Queensland I disembarked from the plane, collected my luggage, and waited for dad by the carousel, noting it was weird he hadn’t met me at the gate.

I eventually spied him hovering near the entrance, carrying a small backpack in front of him, the zip gaping open at the top. I strolled over and we hugged, but I wondered why he was being so quiet and careful.

He gave me a look of triumph, and gently placed the backpack on the ground. A brown and black puppy stepped gingerly out and looked up at me. I almost exploded with joy.

We drove home in the white van via the bakery, where we ordered 3 pasties, one each. No sauce for the dog, thanks.

She and I spent the next years together at home, sometimes in bed, sometimes on the couch, sometimes on a yoga mat on the verandah, sometimes eating sandwiches in the front seat of the second-hand car I bought to learn to drive in.

My photos are all in storage, so I don’t have any to hand of her as a small pup, but here’s one of her as a young thing that a lovely friend found for me when I was making a slideshow for the wedding.

big puppy

And here’s a recent photo of her. Older, wrinklier, greyer, not the least bit wiser. She still likes a snooze with her front paws tucked under her.

old girl

I love that dog.

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Blossoming bedroom

We all know I lie around all day, plotting world domination and concocting interior design ideas just in case I ever own my own home, right? Right.

All this goes on in my headquarters, the bedroom, my room of choice on account of the heavy curtains over the window. The bedroom is a lovely dim cave. Like many PWME I’m light sensitive, too much light and my fronds shrivel. I save my light exposure for when friends are over and we hang out in the lounge.

My dear friend came over some weeks ago, bearing a magnificent lunch and decals for the wall at the foot of the bed.

She set to work while I hopped on and off the bed with the camera, fretting about whether we should draw out a plan on paper first. My perfectionism didn’t perturb her, she said it was best to whack them on the wall organically and proceeded to do so.

Below are pictures illustrating before (plain wall stunningly accented with two switches), during (herself at work) and after (unfinished in that picture, it looks even better now, but you get the idea).

before during after

I’ve always adored botanical motifs, it’s lovely to look at these.

Thursday, 12 February 2009

Flame tree

The temperature in Victoria last Saturday reached 47.3°Celsius, the most scorching on record.

I spoke to my grandmother that day, she said it felt like the hottest place on earth. The countryside has been in extreme drought for many years. She held the phone up to the window and asked, “Can you hear that terrible wind?”

That evening there were sudden raging bushfires, the landscape smote.

My grandmother’s house, owned and lived in by our family for three generations, is gone.

The flames leapt and swallowed 140 years of our family’s domestic detritus, treasures lovingly kept and collated, every item an anchor that held down memories, my entire paternal family history.

Irreplaceable family photos, old super-8 video, my grandmother’s wedding dress, my great-grandmother’s piano, vintage Wedgewood dinner sets, war medals, decks of cards, portraits, sheet music, painstakingly compiled family trees, school reports, silverware, jewellery, satin ball gowns, bicycle frames, the old stables. It’s all grey, black, stinking ash.

Nana keeps wistfully mentioning the marble fireplaces.

Bizarrely, the bunya pine is still standing – she says she would have been quite happy for that to burn down, it dropped too many prickles.

Yet we are truly some of the lucky ones: many people have lost everything. Family, friends, neighbours, pets, houses, livestock, livelihoods - entire country towns have been razed. The scale of the destruction is apocalyptic.

Nonetheless, we lost my father several years ago, and to lose the remaining artefacts of his life in a bushfire seems nastily capricious of fate. It’s as if the last skerricks of him have been erased.

My brother had been to the house the day before the blaze, and taken two dictionaries from dad’s belongings, one for each of us, and some of his cycling medals.

He is helping sift through the embers and rubble this week. The ground in some places is still so hot the rubber soles of his Dunlop Volleys were melting. Nothing has been salvaged, the flames made a ghost of everything.

dad's old dictionaries

Thursday, 5 February 2009

Evening sky

evening sky

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Interview with Greg Page on Orthostatic Intolerance

Greg Page Greg Page

The above links to an interview with Greg Page (retired Wiggle) about his experience with orthostatic intolerance. It’s fantastic that he’s speaking about it – I can’t tell you how helpful it is for the rest of us – he’s doing a great job in Australia for public awareness. I was speaking to disability services on the phone recently and they actually knew what I was talking about. He’s also started a research fund. Thanks, comrade Greg.

“I thought I must be getting unfit…

I’d be told that ‘you’re really healthy, there’s nothing wrong’…and you’d think, well it must be OK, or my imagination, or just something that’s not a real issue so just push through it…

I couldn’t walk properly, I’d get off balance, I’d walk into walls…”

I think many of us can relate to being told we’re totally fine when we’re as sick as a dog. Plus it’s always heartening to hear someone else talk about walking into things. I have bruises in the strangest places. Oy.

There’s also an earlier interview here. I thought I’d already mentioned it, but I searched my blog and there’s no sign of it.

OI is extremely common in people with M.E. See also my previous post here with links to further info at the end.

Friday, 30 January 2009

On Wednesday I called my doctor ‘Margaret’.

I said it with great confidence.

His name is not Margaret.

I was a bit dysautonomic at the time.

Thursday, 15 January 2009

Memoria, a ladybug, and a fledgling year

Happy new year, all. It’s still January so I think it’s not too late to be expressing new year verve. 2007 wasn’t that flash. 2008 was delightful. I’m pumped about 2009 and the adventures to be discovered therein. Sometimes you can feel a good year coming, like a train rumbling in the distance.

So far this year I’ve listened to ‘Dreams from My Father’ on recommendation from a thoughtful friend – was fascinating – and the perfect antidote to ongoing Christmas payback. (Am reassessing future Christmas involvement.)

Today my friend brought lunch around and gaily said, “Meals on Wheels!” as she came in the door; my cousin emailed; and there was a ladybug walking daintily on the office wall next to the bed.

Am about to have an online-chat with the fam to coordinate my ‘care’ for this year. (Shall I put in a special request for pavlova?)

Will leave you with last night’s riveting late-night discussion with my living aide-mémoire, he who shields me from total confusion. Behold my razor-sharp mind.

him: what time did you get up this morning?

me: rrrr, not sure.

him: hey, thanks for your text today!

me: did i send you one?

him: yep.

me: was it a nice one?

him: yeah, it was actually.

me: that's good!

him: did you email the GP?

me: i did not. is it on my list?

him: yes.

me: which list?

him: all the lists. white-board, laptop and next to your bed.

me: maybe i’ll look at the lists and remember tomorrow.

him: good night, wifette.

me: good night, life partner.

him: HUSBAND!

me: hooo that’s right, i forget we’re married now!

him: you didn’t forget that, and you know it!

me: [that noise your cheeks make when you smile in the dark]

him: i can hear you smiling!

ladybug

Here’s to good memories, meanderings, and little flapping wings.

Sunday, 11 January 2009

Life goes on

Saw the link to this organisation on the SA ME/CFS Society’s site, it seems like a great resource:

Life goes on - Strategies and choices for the seriously ill and those who care for them.

It looks like a positive and helpful organisation. They offer telephone counselling for patients and carers for the cost of a local call – and the counsellors themselves all have personal experience of serious illness. There’ll be online counselling in future, too. As far as I know there hasn’t been anything exactly like this in Australia before. There is Lifeline of course, but this one is targeted specifically at sick folk and carers. I have no personal experience with them, nor do I know anyone who has, but it looks good. Just mentioning in case it’s helpful to anyone out there: if not you, then perhaps a loved one, or if you work in healthcare, your patients/their families. Sometimes half the battle is knowing what resources are available!

Tuesday, 6 January 2009

The twelve seagulls of Summer

12 seagulls by river

On a sweltering, overcast day in December we went for a wheel down to the river. We ate fish and chips with friends under a cotton tree with wide, spreading branches and yellow flowers; saw sea gulls, ibis with curved bills, slender she-oaks, and water lapping gently at the shore. My feet touched grass.

Thursday, 25 December 2008

Giddy up, jingle horse, pick up your feet

And I thought I lived with the most enthusiastic Christmas elf of all time. But no, a household in BrisVegas have synchronised their lights to music. Ye gods. Yes. That is some serious Christmas spirit. Not quite my taste, but they're raising money for charity so I won't say a word about Kath and Kim.

Merry Christmas, joyful holidays, have a lovely Summer solstice, happy Hanukkah – however you do or don't celebrate in December, I wish you a beautiful 2009.

peace


Wednesday, 24 December 2008

Podcasts and me: a love story

I’ve always liked the word ‘pod’, a little kernel of potential awaiting a bushfire, or soil and rain, to explode into life. I was initially a little dismayed when Apple hijacked the word (even though iPods are wonderbunk), but I’ve come around again because podcasts are my hourly companions.

I still can’t read much in print form, I’ve almost abandoned audio books due to the difficulty of maintaining a regular supply, and podcasts are free and easy to get hold of. Radio National is my first love, but it’s mighty handy to be able to hear shows on demand. Like when I’m awake at 3am with a towel under my head, wondering what purpose night sweats have in the scheme of things.

If you’re listening to podcasts in bed I recommend ditching the crappy generic headphones that came with your mp3 player and investing in a comfy pair of canalphones like these, that can be used even if you lie on your side. If all headphones hurt, I suggest a cheap iBoom rip-off from somewhere like K-Mart so you can listen through tiny speakers on your bedside table.

My days and nights would be very much the bleaker without podcasts. I love you, little sound pods, little poddie sounds, little wonders of interesting international minutiae and mutterings of humans Out There. Go forth and multiply so I always have abundant listening mulch.

***

The list waxes and wanes, but here’s some I regularly listen to:

Sunday Night Safran

Unconstructed radio ostensibly about religion, politics, and culture. I enjoy the relationship between hosts John Safran and Father Bob, except when John speaks harshly to Bob. They mostly ramble on and conduct shambolic interviews with guests. Bob is like an inquisitive prattling Australian Yoda. John seems to be more obsessed with race than religion, unless the religion involves magic underpants.

The Writer’s Almanac

With Garrison Keillor. Soothing.

Enough Rope

Andrew Denton gives good interview. They’ve just cancelled this show, so get 'em while you can.

Late Night Live

Phillip Adams, Australia’s favourite leftie, talks to illuminaries and interesting persons from near and far. I get a little thrill just from the theme music.

The Bugle

Hilarious audio newspaper by two British comedians, Andy Zaltzman (London) and John Oliver (New York). Even has a cryptic crossword to make mere mortals feel foolish. I can’t do cryptic crosswords, but my Granny does. She’s a bona fide genius, so I don’t compare myself to her.

Ouch!

Non-earnest coverage of disability issues, including a quiz called, “Vegetable, vegetable or vegetable?”

Father Bob

Tireless Melbourne social activist and maverick. Devotes every waking moment to helping people in need or brainstorming more ways to help people in need.

World Book Club

I’m all excited if they discuss a book I read in the past, it’s proof I once had a brain. (“I would while away the hours, conferrin’ with the flowers…”)

The Book Show

OK, it’s a bit masochistic listening to the book shows, but I like to keep abreast (abook?) of things.

Dr Karl on triple j

I love Dr Karl. He's been described as 'an answer looking for a question' and his show is fascinating. I’ve heard the BBC one too (Naked Scientist) but this one’s shorter - Zan keeps things moving right along. Did I mention I love Dr Karl?

NPR – Fresh Air

Great mix of topics and guests. Host Terry Gross is an intelligent and curious interviewer, and sometimes emits an endearing little snort when she laughs.

Stephen Fry’s Podgrams

The Adventures of Mr Stephen Fry.

Sydney Writers’ Centre

Substantial interviews with authors.

Grammar Girl

I’m of the generation that was intended to magically absorb grammar by osmosis. It didn’t work, so we need all the help we can get. Grammar Girl would choke if forced to read this blog.

Multiple Choice

With Susan Maushart.

Diddy Wahcast

Carefully crafted podcast of mp3 gooduns. I don't listen to normal music radio because I refuse to sit through five crap songs to get to the good. Plus I'm a softie for some warm vinyl crackle. Our family had a massive record collection when we were growing up, my brother and I played them constantly.

***

I’m listening to a lot during the silly season. People keep asking me what I’m doing for the Christmas period. You know me, convivial to the end: short bursts of socialising and sugar-eating, but otherwise tucked up in bed in a dim room, soft cloth over eyes, with an earplug in one ear and a headphone in the other. Business as usual, baby!

What are your favourite podcasts?

If anyone feels a burning urge to recommend any, I’m always looking for more!

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Heimlich in the kitchen at noon

I have in recent weeks been bragging to my partner that my tablet-taking skills are second to none, demonstrating how many I can get down my gullet in one go, like a boaconstrictor swallowing six pigeons.

I came undone last weekend. I was taking my after-lunch tablets, and was up to the acetyl-L carnitine - I always leave it until last and gulp it solo – it’s a whopper and deserves to be treated with respect. I don't know how it happened, but I choked on it. I’m not talking about the choking where you splutter and things sort themselves out. I’m talking about proper choking: complete airway obstruction and ungraceful neck grasping.

I leapt from my daybed and turned the water-filter on, thinking to get some water. I started to feel faint – I'm familiar with this feeling and can estimate how long I have until I pass out. I thought maybe 15 seconds. Apparently orthostatic issues don't combine well with choking. Water from the filter gushed pointlessly down my legs and over my feet, and it occurred to my unoxygenated brain that if I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t drink.

My partner had his back to me, doing dishes at the sink with the tap on, and I couldn’t get his attention because I couldn’t make a sound. He would’ve assumed I was still on the daybed. I rushed towards him and grabbed his shoulder. He turned and saw my face turning from bright red, to blue, and shouted with terror, “What do I do? What do I do?”

I couldn’t answer, just clutched at my throat in a deranged manner. His CPR training kicked in and he belted me five times on the upper back, and when that didn’t work, successfully executed the Heimlich Manoeuvre with textbook aplomb.

Afterwards I was perfectly fine, though sore from being thumped. My lovely rescuer was freaked out, but found comfort in chocolate and double-checking the first aid book. The surreal interruption to domestic life was over as swiftly as it began; within ten minutes I was on the phone to my brother, advising him to choose the Sony Ericsson over the Nokia mobile phone.

I told you I like weekends – imagine if I’d have been home alone? I’d have had to throw myself over a chair like Liz Lemon on 30 Rock.


video

ps. Brush up on the Heimlich.

Friday, 19 December 2008

Yahweh, I know you're a pear

God songs from school, they stick in your head. Askew, but they stick.

I saw a bass clef today and it took me two hours to remember what it was. For a goodly while I thought it was a rest. Then I thought, no, it's a fermata; then I thought, well whatever it is, it looks familiar. When I did remember, I was horrified. Fancy not recognising a bass clef. In my very feeble defence it wasn't in context, it was a tattoo on the nape of someone's neck.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

good things

picnics in bed

ginkgo tea brewed in the little white teapot

Fleet Foxes

cherries

white cotton sheets

Multicolr Search Lab - Idée Inc.

cool breezes

rose hip oil on dry skin

Christmas trees and fairy lights

beautiful news on the blog of Ciara

pelicans in flight

Sungha Jung rocking it

Sunday, 14 December 2008

Windows Live Writer

Windows Live Writer

Just thought I’d mention I’ve been using the above program for blogging for a while now, and I love it – it makes everything so much simpler. You can write, save and organise drafts offline, which is faster than working online in a web browser: speed and ease of use are of the essence if you have limited productive time. Theoretically you could do this in any word processing program, but in WLW you can preview exactly what it will look like in your blog before you post it. I appreciate this feature because I used to have constant formatting problems which drove me round the twist.

It’s compatible with most of the major blog platforms. If you run Windows on a PC, or on Boot Camp if you’re an Appler, it’s well worth a go. (Though if you're an Appler you'll hate it because it's Microsoft, so I don't know why I even said that. Sometimes my Operating System Agnosticism seeps out in public.)

There are plenty of WLW tutorials around the place, too.

Saturday, 13 December 2008

Lynn Gilderdale

Awful news – Lynn Gilderdale, a young woman with severe ME whom I’ve briefly mentioned previously, has died. My heart goes out to her loved ones. Gill Swain, the journalist who wrote the article I linked to last time, has written about Lynn again:

In my 35 years as a journalist, the story of Lynn and Kay Gilderdale was one of the most affecting cases I had come across.

Friday, 12 December 2008

Geckofabulous (3)

I thought the gecko was gone for good, but the other day I was on the phone to my brother, and absent-mindedly caressed a Christmas present I’d just wrapped. A brown speckled gecko scuttled out from beneath the red ribbon and I swore down the phone. I’m a bit scared of reptiles, even small ones with pretty toes. My shock didn’t impress my brother: he’d had a recent run in with a funnel-web spider in his bedroom. A funnel-web fright trumps a gecko.

Today I grabbed the tray that stores the IV equipment, and she darted out from beneath the cloth covering. I dropped the lot and she sat perkily next to the tourniquet, oblivious to the effect her sudden appearance has on my nerves.

I asked my beloved to please remove Geckofabulous to the balcony, so she could be an alfresco gecko and stop scaring me. Then I relented and decided I’d be happy for her to stay inside, it’s comforting to think there’s another living being at home with me. But I admonished her to stop jumping out from under things when I’m not expecting it, and also suggested she take up strolling. Scuttling is creepy.