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I wasn't reading for a while. Then I was, again.

I've actually read a fair number of books since my last Wednesday book post, which was.... A rather long time ago. May, to be exact. I won't bore you with all the books I've read since then, but I will give you the ones I've read this month.

Jayme Goh (ed.), Wiscon Chronicles Vol 11: Trials by Whiteness
Rosemary ​Joyce (ed.), Revealing ​Ancestral ​Central America
Rebecca J. Holden and Nisi Shawl (eds.), Strange Matings: Science Fiction, Feminism, African American Voices, and Octavia E. Butler
Katherine Burdekin, Swastika Night
Alison ​Weir, ​Katherine ​of ​Aragon, ​the ​True ​Queen
Keeanga-Yamahtta ​Taylor, From ​#BlackLivesMatter ​to ​Black ​Liberation
Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction

Books I am currently reading:

Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States
Ibram X. Kendi, Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America
Adilifu Nama, Black Space: Imagining Race in Science Fiction Film
Mitiarjuk ​Nappaaluk, Saanaq
Joanna Hickson, The First Tudor

There's a particularly interesting story behind Saanaq. It's been called the first Canadian Inuit novel. Written over a period of two decades, first in Inuktitut syllabics (published in transliteration in 1984) and later translated into French (published in 2002) and English (2014), it was commissioned by Catholic missionaries working in Nunavut, who wanted to improve their ability to communicate with the indigenous peoples living in the region. What they asked for was a simple phrasebook. What Nappaluk began writing was an episodic novel that, in telling stories about the Inuit people and their lives, served not only as a reading primer but a record of indigenous life in Nunavut and the arrival of Europeans in the area, from the rarely-heard perspective of an indigenous woman. It's written in a very simple, storytelling style, as befits a language primer, but it is both engaging and provides a fascinating glimpse at life among the Inuit just as Europeans were beginning to encroach on them.

What will I read next? I've no read idea. I seem to be drawn to non-fiction right now. Some of the unread books on my ipad that have been nudging me lately are:

Stephanie ​Coontz ​- ​Marriage, ​a ​History
Jill Lapore - The Secret History of Wonder Woman
Naomi ​Klein - This ​Changes ​Everything

So it coukd be any of those. Or something else.

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The ongoing health crises of the past two years seem to have had serious negative consequences for my ability to read in a sustained manner, but recently I've been having more success in managing to read.

I have liked to read multiple books at the same time - this allows me to pick the subject that most suits my mood when my brain goes "I want to read sonething now, please."

Current books in progress:
The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander
Strange Matings: Science Fiction, Feminism, African American Voices, and Octavia E. Butler, edited by Rebecca J. Holden and Nisi Shawl
First of the Tudors, by Joanna Hickson, historical fiction about Jasper Tudor, uncle of Henry VII.

And I've just begun reading Adilifu Nama's Black Space: Imagining Race in Science Fiction Film, which looks to be very interesting. As the author describes his work:

"The present work examines the symbolic discourse and ideological messages encoded into black representation, including its structured absence, across a multitude of sf films as a symbolic dialogue with the multiple racial discourses and ideas surrounding black racial formation, past and present, that are circulating in American culture. Moreover, sf films of the 1950s to the current moment are discussed in this book with an eye toward drawing connections between sf cinema, black racial formation, and shifting race relations in America over the past fifty years. Too often the sf film genre is regarded as addressing only signature divisions in the genre: humans versus machines, old versus new, individual versus society, and nature versus the artificial. In this book, however, I place black racial formation at the center of these common dichotomies. As a result, a more complex and provocative picture emerges of how sf cinema, in imagining new worlds and addressing a broad range of social topics, has confronted and retreated from the color line, one of the most troubling and turbulent social issues present in American society."

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If by some strange chance any of the sff fans reading this do not know that Farah Mendlesohn has written a major critical work on Robert Heinlein's opus, and due to contract issues has decided to crowdfund its publication.... Well, now you know.

If you like Farah's work, if you like Heinlein's work, if you want to give me a super present by helping to enable the publication of this work that I desperately want to read, please consider supporting this crowdfunder.

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In Memoriam

Gregory Gerald Jodrey

Born in Gaspereau, Kings County, Nova Scotia, Canada on 9 Oct 1957, died on 8 Aug 1993 in Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Canada.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my friend Greg Jodrey (though I and most of his other friends called him Gregor). It's not really surprising that I've been thinking of him, his memory always seems to come to the fore around now, because August 8 is the anniversary of his death. It's been 24 years since he was killed, and I can still see him, smiling, moving with a gangly sort of lope - I used to think of him as 'bopping along' when he walked - and I can still hear his voice. We shared an apartment for a few years, were friends from the time I met him, in 1972, until his death, we even almost had sex once, but it was just too silly so we stopped and had another drink and discussed the meaning of life instead. I loved him like a brother, and there will always be a Gregor-shaped hole in my life.

I think that I've been thinking about him more than usual because of the growing sense I have that my queer friends in the US are increasingly at risk.

You see, Gregor was killed at least in part because he was gay and had sex with a man who didn't, or couldn't, think of himself as being in any way queer. And because the defense was 'gay panic,' his killer - a man named Larry - served very little time for taking the life of a beautiful, warm, loving, intelligent, curious, witty person whom I and many others loved very much. And that in itself had serious consequences.

I'm not going to say that I know everything that happened the night that Gregor died. There were only two people there, and one is dead and the other is - and was then - a tragically damaged person who may not have known his own mind. Because you can't really talk about the tragedy of Gregor's death without talking about the tragedy of Larry's life, they are intertwined.

Larry was an indigenous person who had been taken from his family because of abuse, some of it sexual at the hands of older men, and then fostered in many places before being adopted by a kind and loving couple, whose relatives both I and Gregor knew well and were friends of. But because Owen and Susan were white, they could never truly have helped Larry heal all the woulds in his soul, because some of those came from being removed from his culture. They coukd not heal those wounds, no matter how hard they tried - and I knew them, too, I know they did everything they could.

What we know about the night Gregor died is that he and Larry were drinking at the local tavern - the town they lived in was small, there weren't a lot of options - and later they both ended up on the dykeland on the other side of the train tracks from the town. Forensics said sexual activity took place. Larry's defence team said that he was sexually assaulted, and that he battered Gregor with his bare hands until the body was barely recognisable in self defence. Those who knew both men, who knew that Gregor was shy and diffident, and not very athletic, and that Larry was a martial artist and a man carrying a lot of anger, didn't see that as a realistic scenario. In the end, Larry pled guilty to manslaughter, and the judge came down somewhere in between, giving him a sentence so light he was out of prison within a few months.

What I think happened is that Gregor and Larry were intoxicated, and had sex, and that somewhere in the process, something triggered Larry's undiagnosed PTSD, and his own deep shame at having been a victim as a child - and maybe at having enjoyed sex with another man, or maybe just at having let it happen - and that triggering made him lash out and try to obliterate the evidence of some element, chosen or otherwise, of queerness in his life. And the evidence he obliterated was my beloved friend.

Larry's life continued to be full of violence, some of it sexual. In 2006 he sexually assaulted an 11-year-old girl. In 2008 he was convicted of the murder of a 92 year-old woman who had also been sexually assaulted.

It seems clear to me now that Larry badly needed help that he never received. And it also seems clear that because Gregor was gay, the degree to which Larry needed help was not identified then, when Gregor was killed, because killing a gay man who comes on to you seems appropriate to so many men.

There is so much tragedy here, that left two people dead, one person with the trauma of abuse, and one person in prison for life.

I used to be full of anger about Gregor's death - and in many ways I still am, because damn it, he was a beautiful soul and he deserved to live and I loved him so much - but in the years since his death, as I've heard more about Larry, I've come to see that this was a double tragedy, and that while gayness was a factor in Gregor's death, and how his death was understood and treated by the law and by society, Larry's life was a tragic one too, and that much of the pain he has caused can be traced to the ways that society and the law have treated indigenous people for generations.

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... But not in a good way.

So. I'm very conscious of the fact that the political climate in the US is going to hell in a handbasket made of highly flammable materials and that many people are already suffering, or afraid that they will be next. And that the world we live in is taking a decided turn to the nasty, with fascists and racists and all sorts of other truly scary types crawling out of the woodwork, empowered by the fact that something just as nasty as they are can be elected president of the United States. I post stuff about that on Facebook a fair bit, so if you're interested about my various concerns and responses to to world out there, you are most welcome, if you happen to do FB yourself, to connect with me there. I can be found under the name Morgan Dhu.

But here I'm sort of more into talking about myself, I guess. I might get back into political rants someday, but right now, I have no energy for that.

About a month ago, I was admitted to the hospital in kidney failure. Turns out I have kidney stones the size of small mountains partially blocking both kidneys, and they had gotten very sick as a result. The kidneys, in fact, are so badly off that doing anything right now to remove them - it has to be an operation, you see, not ultrasound, because the stones are too big to break up that way - because an operation might put too much stress on my kidneys, and in my condition that could kill me. (Also, the specialist who does the operation is booked months ahead anyway, because so few people need it these days that there;s only one guy in town who's really good at doing it.)I also have gallstones, in fact, I had a very unpleasant attack while in hospital, and it seems that my gall bladder will have to come out - but they can't operate on it either because my kidneys are so screwed up that doing it might kill me. There also seems to be a small mass on one of my kidneys that they can't examine closely because all the techniques available might hurt my kidneys and, well, kill me. And there's another mass that looks like an ovarian cyst, but they can't do the investigation necessary to be sure because (you guessed it) the investigation techniques available might hurt my kidneys and kill me.

So... After three weeks in the hospital, during which tubes were inserted into my gallbladder and kidneys to drain off the bile and urine, which supposedly will give my organs a chance to rest and hopefully heal up a bit, I am at home, peeing through tubes in my back and waiting to see if my kidneys are going to get sufficiently better that all these issues can be dealt with without killing me.

There is some good news. When I went into the hospital, the definitive blood test for identifying kidney damage, creatinine level, was 370 (in the units Canadian labs use, which are not the same inits American labs use) - the normal range is under 100 - and that was apparently a very scary number. My last blood test (last week) showed that creatinine was down to 170, which is not great, but is at least a largish step in the right direction.

I am almost completely without energy - I'm even finding reading hard. I watch movies and play mindless games and hope that somewhere inside my kidneys are healing.

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Somehow I spent all today thinking it was Tuesday, and so, not that it is technically Thursday where I am, I may as well make a Wednesday book post.

Books read:

James S. A. Corey, Leviathan Wakes
Max Gladstone, Three Parts Dead
Max Gladstone, Two Serpents Rise
Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda, Monstress: Awakening
G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel Vol 3
G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel Vol 4
Fran Wilde, The Jewel and Her Lapidiary

Currently reading:

Judith Merril, The Merril Theory of Lit'ry Criticism
Ben Aaronovitch, The Rivers of London

Up next:

The next volumes in the Expanse and Peter Grant series, because i want to read at least two volumes in each of the Hugo nominated series.

Also, I should catch up on the graphic novel series Saga - I read volume 3 when it was nominated, and I should read volumes 4 and 5 before I read volume 6, which was nominated this year. I'm waiting to see which of the nominated graphic novels will be in the Hugo voters packet, hoping not to have to buy them all.

I also still have to read Traveler of Worlds: Conversations with Robert Silverberg, by Robert Silverberg and Alvaro Zinos-Amaro. And i'm going to take another stab at Ada Palmer's Too Like the Lightning. I tried to read it earlier in the year and bounced off hard - I simply could not get into the story or the characters. But it's been so well received I should give it another shot.

And that will finish up the Hugo reading. Other hooks I hope to get around to soon are The Winged Histories by Sofia Samatar, Wall of Storms by Ken Liu, Core of the Sun by Johanna Sinisalo, Penric's Mission by Lois McMaster Bujold and a host of other things - including, I think, more of the October Daye novels, the Expanse novels, the Craft Sequence novels and maybe the Peter Grant novels.

So many books, so little time. My ipad is full of books I want to read and haven't had the time to.

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So, last time I posted, I was lamenting that I just couldn't seem to read any more. Well, as suddenly as if someone flipped a switch in my brain, it's come back. I'm almost afraid to talk about it, in case it runs away again.

But, it's Wednesday, and for the first Wednesday in some time, I have books to talk about.

Read in the past week:
Seanan McGuire, Rosemary and Rue
Seanan McGuire, A Local Habitation
China Mièvile, This Census-Taker
Kij Johnson, The Dream-Quest of Vellitt Boe
Aliya Whiteley, Brushwork
Lois McMaster Bujold, Penric and the Shaman
Kai Ashante Wilson, A Taste of Honey
Seanan McGuire, Every Heart a Doorway
Becky Chambers, A Closed and Common Orbit
Liu Cixin, Death's End
Jean Roberta and Steve Berman (eds.), Heiresses of Russ 2015

Also, some assorted short fiction (stories and novelettes), including Ursula Vernon's The Tomato Thief and Nina Allen's The Art of Space Travel.

Most of this reading has been for the Hugos. I am feeling much better about actually being able to do the reading necessary to make informed voting decisions.

Currently reading:

I'm slowly making my way through The Merril Theory of Lit'ry Criticism, a collection of essays, articles and anthology introductions by Judith Merril, published by the most wonderful Aqueduct Press.

Up next:

More Hugo reading. I still have the graphic novels to read, and a few of the novelettes. Plus, at least one or two books from the remaining Best Series nominees - James S. A. Corey's The Expanse series, Max Gladstone's The Craft Sequence, and Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London series. Also, in the Related Works category, the Silverberg book.

Once @i finish all of that, some friends made me promise to give something by Brandon Sanderson a try, and there's at least a dozen novels from last year, plus some novellas and shorter fiction. Then, try to catch up on the new and interesting stuff from this year....

But at least there is reading again.
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My medical issues over the past year (yeah, i'll soon be a year since I was diagnosed with hypercalcemia and my life turned into one medical nightmare after another) have severely interfered with my new identity as a Hugo voter. Over the course of last year, I didn't read nearly as many well-recommended works as I'd wanted to. So when January rolled around and nomination season was gearing up, I made lists of the books and short fiction I hadn't read but that sounded really interesting, and tried to push my way through those lists. A few years ago I could have done it easily. This year, I barely read a handful of what I wanted to, though I did read enough, I felt, to make some good nominations in most categories.

And now the finalists have been released and there are many I haven't read yet. I'm working on them, of course, but it's so hard to just focus and read these days.

It's disorienting, like losing one of the core parts of my identity - which I suppose it is, I have no memory of a tine when I did not read, and read extensively and quickly at that. I'm told that no one knows when I learned to read. Like many kids, I would often look at my books even when I wasn't being read to from a very early age, but it was assumed that I was looking at the pictures or making up stories, as kids do. It wasn't until my mother started listening to me muttering things when we were out driving that she realised that - at not yet three years of age - I was reading billboards and window signs. And that at some point, I had actually begun reading for myself, not just following along as she read to me.

So it feels very strange not to be reading very much. As though I'm not myself. I keep expecting the real me, who focuses easily on her chosen reading material and moves through it like a fish in water, to resurface. Maybe she's just taking a time-out, getting used to operating while in constant pain and without much sleep. But I fear more and more that she's gone, and won't be coming back.

I miss her very much.
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Somehow I have gotten into the habit of Facebooking without saying things here, which doesn't really make much sense as the two platforms are very different and theoretically should both have their uses.

And since so many people are moving here from The disaster that I hear LiveJournal has become, I really should pop in here more often.

Not much to say right now, as I have been struggling with some very nasty escalation of pain and other mysterious symptoms that have plagued me since my parathyroidectomy last November. But I intent to post more here, if I can think of things to say.
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The week started well for reading, but degenerated rather sharply toward the end, as my unending medical woes took a turn for the worse and my brain became unable to deal with anything more complicated than endless games of Bejeweled.

Books/novellas completed:

Laurie Penny, Everything Belongs to the Future
Victor LaValle, The Ballad of Black Tom
Mary Robinette Kowal, Forest of Memory
Mary Robinette Kowal, Ghost Talkers
Roshani Chokshi, The Star-Touched Queen
Charlie Jane Anders, All the Birds in the Sky
André Carrington, Speculative Blackness: The Future of Race in Science Fiction

Currently Reading:

N. K. Jemisin, The Obelisk Gate
Diana Pavlac Glyer, Bandersnatch: C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and the Creative Collaboration of the Inklings


More from my Hugo reading list.

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i've been feeling very unwell this week, so my reading was somewhat slowed.

Books/novellas read:
Andrea Hairston, Will Do Magic for Small Change
Bao Shu, Everyone Loves Charles
Matt Ruff, Lovecraft Country
Nisi Shawl, Everfair

In Progress:
André ​Carrington, ​Speculative ​Blackness: ​The ​Future ​of ​Race ​in ​Science ​Fiction
Everything Belongs to the Future, Laurie Penny

What's Next:
I'm reading for the Hugos, so whatever is next will be something from my Hugo reading list.
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It's so hard to hear all the voices asking where was I when POC were marching, with the implication that those who do not march, do not demonstrate physically, put their bodies visibly on the line, are betraying all struggles except their own.

Please remember that some of us cannot march, cannot even walk. We do what we can. Believe me, I would give anything to have been able to stand physically, visibly, with others in the struggle for social justice for everyone.

But I can't.

And I hate feeling guilty for being too disabled to walk with all of those I support.

And yes, I do feel guilty that I can no longer stand and protest. I'm ashamed that my body will not let me do even the simplest of things to back my intent with action. It's been years since I was healthy enough to do more than write letters and, when I was able, contribute financially. Now that I'm no longer able to work, even from home, and am living on disability insurance payments, I can't even afford to support in that way.

i know I csn no longer contribute to the world in any meaningful way. I know I have nothing worthwhile to give. I have no value to offer to the struggle.

And it makes me feel guilty, and powerless, and ashamed, and unworthy.

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Sometimes I do art. This is what I did today. It's called "Resistance."

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Both my reading page here and my Facebook feed are overflowing with accounts of marches from all over the world. I haven't seen this strong a spirit for resistance and change since the 60s, and I hope that the sheer size of the response means there is that critical mass of committed activists and participants to keep the spirit strong and growing.

I couldn't march here in Toronto, but friends in Boston and Victoria offered to carry my name in their pockets, so in a way i did march with them, and with all of you who stood up today for human rights, for human dignity, for cherishing the earth and all its peoples, for democracy and freedom of speech and all the other things we must fight for in the midst of this savage move toward fascism that's oozing out of the deep recesses of our past in places around the world.

We've made our opening statement, fired the first rally in this war. Let us continue as we have begun.

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trying to get into the swing of things.... This is a good way to start, I think.

I've been too sick to read much of anything for months, but even though I'm still feeling hellish, and my blood tests agree that there's some bad shit going on inside me, I'm pushing myself because the Hugo nominations are coming up fast.

In the past week, I've finished two books that I'd been reading through at a snail's pace, Nancy Ordover's American Eugenics, which is an important but very painful book to read, especially if you are a person of colour, a person with disabilities, or queer. I also finished Margot Lee Shetterly's Hidden Figures, on which the unexpected blockbuster film is based, and was given some hope along with the stories of struggle.

Begun and finished this week:
Lois McMaster Bujold, Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen
Kameron Hurley, The Geek Feminist Revolution
Sofia Samatar, A Stranger in Olondria

Currently reading:
André ​Carrington, ​Speculative ​Blackness: ​The ​Future ​of ​Race ​in ​Science ​Fiction
Andrea Hairston, Will Do Magic for Small Change

What's next:
Novels, non-fiction and novellas from my Hugo reading list. Probably either The Merril Theory of Lit'ry Criticism by Judith Merril, Octavia E. Butler by Gerry Canavan or Words Are My Matter by Ursula K. Le Guin for the next non-fiction book. In novels, I'm thinking Matt Ruff's Lovecraft Country or Nisi Shawl's Everfair. Novellas, Victor Lavelle's The Ballad of Black Tom, Kai Ashante Wilson's A Taste of Honey, and the two Penric novellas by Lois Bujold. Plus, of course, a scattering of novelettes and short stories.

If anyone else is reading fir the Hugos and has some graphic novel recommendations, I'm still adding to my reading list in that category, as I am woefully ignorant of who's writing what that's really good. Do suggestions are welcome.

As ever, more in depth comments on the books I've read can be found on my book blog,

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I've mostly been reporting on the state of my health on Facebook, but seeing that I haven't posted here for a while, I figured I ought to try to bring the saga of my deteriorating state of health up to date.

So... Back in late May I was diagnosed with primary hypercalcemia, which means that something had gone haywire with my parathyroid glands and they were producing too much of a hormone that leaches calcium out of the bones at a rate that is not only very bad for your bones, but cannot be properly excreted. As calcium builds up in the blood, you get increasingly sick, and can end up having seizures and nasty life-threatening shit like that.

They did various kinds of imaging on my throat and while the pictures were a bit inconclusive, they figured it was provably due to one or more adenomas, non-malignant growths on the parathyroid. So they put me on the list for a surgery slot to have the adenomas excused from my parathyroids, and monitored my blood calcium closely.

While waiting for surgery, I fell and broke my foot. Back to the hospital. My foot was placed in this rigid boot that has a heel and unbalanced me to the point that even after I was ok'd for weight-bearing exercise, I couldn't balance on my uneven feet well enough to stand.

After about three weeks in the hospital, during which I developed a nasty UTI that would ultimately stay with me for the next four months, still unable to stand, I was transferred to a rehab hospital where I would receive regular physiotherapy. which would be of very little use because I'm still wearing this big-ass boot that destroys my balance. In the meantime, i get shuttled back to the hospital a few times, to have my calcium levels lowered (intravenous drugs plus massive IV fluids to make me pee out the calcium) and to have my foot monitored.

Once the boot finally comes off in late September, I start to make real progress with the physio - I'm shaky, but walking. Then.... Remember that UTI? They've been giving me courses of various antibiotics to try to kill the bugs in my bladder, and it's been coming back every time. They try a new drug, to which I have a seriously bad reaction. For about a week, I'm so weak I can hardly move, plus nausea and a bunch of nasty stuff. Can't manage the physio - haven't enough strength to stand.

It's now mid-October. They decide to send me home from the rehab hospital because I'm no longer benefitting from treatment. Once I get home, and get over the drug reaction, we find a private physiotherapist and start working on walking again. i just start to get my strength back and I'm walking a bit, when I get the call that I have a surgery date. November 17. Back to the hospital. UTI is back, too.

The surgery ends up being much more complicated than expected, because once they have my throat slit and they can see the parathyroids, they discover there are no adenomas. While adenoma is by far the most common cause of primary hypercalcemia, if it's not adenomas, it's probably hyperplasia of the parathyroids, for which the surgical solution is to remove 3.5 of the four parathyroid glands, a sonewhat longer and more difficult operation.

I come out of surgery with unbearable pain in my abdomen and groin, for which they plug me full of fentanyl, which does nothing. Eventually, they try something in the same family as ibuprofen, but stronger, which works some. Recovery is slow and problematic. The fentanyl gives me very bad constipation for three days, the abdominal and groin pain lessens but does not go away, I'm weak as a kitten and.... My calcium levels are not falling as they should. They do the IV drip to lower my levels again and after a few days, they send me home to recuperate, ordering continued monitoring of my calcium.

Meanwhile, I'm developing painful bedsores on my butt - a new thing, even though I have been pretty much confined to bed fir years. And the UTI is still bothering me. And I'm having fevers and chills snd on-going abdominal pains and all sorts of stuff, and I just can't seem to get any strength back. My doctor prescribes a long course of yet another antibiotic, which seems to finally mostly clear the UTI. All the other symptoms continue, and despite doing all the right things, my bedsore do not heal.

Regular blood tests show my blood calcium is still rising - and now there's a new twist. I'm suddenly seriously anemic, my hemoglobin is way lower than it should be, which is probably the reason for my extreme weakness and the impairment in normal healing.

Which brings us to now. The last blood test showed a very small drop in calcium levrls, I'm on iron supplements which should bring up my hemoglobin over the course of 4-6 weeks and hopefully help me regain my strength snd heal the sores, and my doctor is working on getting me a consult for the hemoglobin issue.

Oh yes, during all of this I've lost about 20 kilos, which when added to the 50-odd kilos I've lost over the past few years has resulted in a lot of loose skin that tends to crease and fold in an extremely painful way. Add to that the pain from the bedsores and I'm having extreme trouble sleeping. I'm lucky if I get four or five hours of sleep in 24. So I'm now exhausted and almost braindead. I'm in great pain all the time, from half a dozen different things that are going wrong. I'm depressed and just plain tired of trying to keep going, to the point of wondering how I might go about persuading someone that I really am a good candidate for assisted suicide, which is now legal, though under very limited circumstances, in Canada.

As the title says, life is hell.

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So, my health is kind of falling apart, even more than before. My trip to the hospital revealed that I have developed parathyroidism, caused by tumours on my parathyroid glands. Surgery is the only treatment.

Problem is transport. While provincial healthcare will cover an emergency ambulance transport, it won't cover something scheduled, like surgery. And because I am heavy and of very limited mobility, I need an ambulance and four people (two crews) to get to the hospital, and private ambulance services are expensive.

And I don't have any extra funds for something like this, and I've researched every personal and organisational angle I can think of. It's a hole in the system - my care is covered if I can get to the hospital, but getting to the hospital isn't covered by anyone.

So, I've started a crowdfunding effort to try and defray the transportation costs. I don't know if anyone out there is able and willing to toss a few pennies in the pot, but if anyone is.... You will have my eternal gratitude.


May. 21st, 2016 03:46 am
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still alive. Still in hospital.

I have hyperparathyroidism, caused by adenomas of several of my parathyroid glands. Surgery is needed.

I'm liveblogging the fun and games at my Facebook account - Morgan Dhu. Y'all are welcome to drop on and say hi.

Note: I have wifi, but only web access, no email.
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I had some bloodwork done yesterday. My doctor contacted me first thing this morning to let me know that some of my results were highly alarming (as in "are you sure you're not having convulsions?") and she wanted me in the hospital asap, so I will be heading into the hospital tomorrow for more tests and treatment if necessary and appropriate. Don't know if I'll have access to wi-fi there so it could be a while before I can post anything. If worst comes to worst, my partner will let folks know what happened.

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So, The turning of the year has come and gone. Our celebration was as always quiet, perhaps more so this year because we have had an annus horribilis which has only just barely begun, we hope, to improve.

So we sat in the living room and exchanged gifts and ordered a feast of Chinese food and watched the Doctor Who Christmas special, and the Murdoch Mysteries Christmas special, and had a lovely time.
My prezzies were wonderful.

A long list of ebooks:

Andrea ​Hairston, ​Lonely ​Stardust ​
Carter ​Scholz, ​Gypsy
Charles ​Saunders, ​Abengoni: ​First ​Calling
Charles ​Tan ​(ed), ​Lauriat: ​A ​Filipino-Chinese ​Speculative ​Fiction ​Anthology
Chinelo ​Okparanta, ​Under ​the ​Udala ​Trees
Craig ​Laurance ​Gidney, ​Skin ​Deep ​Magic
David ​Pilgrim, ​Understanding ​Jim ​Crow
Deborah ​J. ​Ross, ​The ​Heir ​of ​Khored
Deborah ​Wheeler, ​Collaborators
F.H. ​Batacan, ​Smaller ​and ​Smaller ​Circles
J.M. ​Frey, ​Hero ​is ​a ​Four ​Letter ​Word
Jackie ​Hatton, ​Flesh ​& ​Wires
Jeanne ​Theoharis, ​The ​Rebellious ​Life ​of ​Mrs. ​Rosa ​Parks
Johanna ​Sinisalo, ​The ​Blood ​of ​Angels
John Miller, Judi Dench: With a Crack in her Voice
Katharine ​Kerr, ​Dark ​Magicks
Marge ​Piercy, ​My ​Life, ​ ​My ​Body
Michelle ​Sagara, ​Cast ​in ​Honor
Minister ​Faust, ​The ​Alchemists ​of ​Kush
Rachel ​Pollack, ​Alqua ​Dreams
Sheree ​Renée ​Thomas, ​Shotgun ​Lullabies
Silvia ​Moreno-Garcia, ​Signal ​to ​Noise
Sumiko ​Saulson, ​Things ​That ​Go ​Bump ​In ​My ​Head

And the extended version DVDs of Hobbit II and Hobbit III

September 2017

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