On being pregnant at Christmas

I'm only writing this because I was surprised to learn that Christmas is different when you're pregnant!

Christmas Food

I didn't think this would change that drastically for me (I don't eat ham), but eating on Christmas was still trickier than I thought it would be.  My Christmas lunch consisted of green salad, snow peas (which I love) and boiled potatoes followed by fruit and jelly.  Being predominantly vego and gluten free always limits what I can eat, but what I hadn't taken into account was the whole dressings and other cold meats factor.  These days I do eat a little white meat (cravings following breaking ankle) but being knocked up, can't eat it cold.  And being polite, I didn't want to ask for a microwave just to eat something that I didn't need to.  After having the mayo speech given to me a bazillion times I was afraid of all salads (except those that were nude, or dressed by my mum) which limited my limited fare even further.

Dinner was easier as our family are slightly allergy-centric (there were gluten free Christmas mince tarts).  I made a dessert and main for this meal (an AMAZING nut loaf which I will be making annually henceforth), so knew I'd have food regardless.  I had plenty of options, all vegetarian.  But as a lapsed long term 'proper' vegetarian, this suited me just fine.

The best thing about restricted eating, is I didn't get the dreaded Christmas Bloat.  On the way home, Murray was complaining about 'Food Sweats' -  I suffered from no such ailment.  Following Christmas dinner I felt full and happy and still-able-to-breath-cos-stomach-not-compressing-lungs.  

Christmas Presents

Again, I never thought this would alter with only being 17 weeks pregnant at Christmas, but I was wrong.  I was spoilt.  There were a few extra little gifts from 'Santa' including a notebook to help my baby brain and an AWESOME t-shirt with 'Private Property Please Don't Touch' on it (Auntie Santa's rule).  And the foetus got some very thoughtful presents too!  I felt so loved by my family.

And although we didn't get unwrappable presents from Murray's family, what we got was just as awesome.  Great chats with his cousin and cousin's wife on things pregnancy (and not TMI with opinions), and a big offer to lend us some essential (and expensive) baby things.  Which means that we hardly have to buy anything now to prepare for the arrival of this kid.  Which means so much less to stress about.

I had feared that my interactions and gifts would take a slant toward motherhood, and was so grateful that on the whole they didn't - my immediate family treated me exactly like normal and bought thoughtful things for me.  Many things around pregnancy make you feel less like an individual and more like a vessel.  Not just in terms of your body, and the obvious life-style changes required (because you do become a vessel), but in terms of how people perceive you, how your stomach (it seems) becomes public property and how your way of thinking is questioned.  Some normalcy, especially in a time where you are dealing with many people who unintentionally challenge your right to be an individual, is probably the best gift I got this Christmas.  

Christmas Crash

Despite the fact that recent Christmas's are simpler logistically than they've ever been, at the end of our two day Christmas blitz I was suffering.  On Christmas we only had to go to two houses.  I didn't have to cook full meals, and we were home by 10pm Christmas night. 

By Boxing Day I was screwed.  Boxing Day is when we traditionally spend time with Murray's mum's family.  We were home from brunch by 2pm (after a quick Boxing Day shopping errand).  I almost fainted during the errand, holding onto my purchase as a means of propping myself up.  On arriving home I napped for as long as possible before heading over to Murray's parents to Skype his brother in Canberra (first Christmas away from home) and exchange gifts.  We couldn't even stay until 9pm when catch up was to begin, so we missed talking to Alan which was sad.

Christmas Future

The scariest thing about Christmas was the realisation that in choosing to become parents, we are now naturally a part of a different social group within our families.  That in itself isn't that scary.  The scary part is realising that this means, like all the other parents in our generation, that we need to consider all the other children in the family (our 'child's' peers) at Christmas.

Within our families, that's a huge realisation.

I've never thought about how much time, money and effort our cousins have put into thinking about all the kids at Christmas time, and this realisation has given me so much more appreciation of them.  Within my extended family, we have thirteen children in the next generation.  In Murray's family, there are another eight.  If we spent just $10 on each child next Christmas, that's an extra $220 to budget for next year, and an extra twenty two little (or not so little) people to think about.  It's a big deal.

It's a big deal because not only do you need to think about Christmas time, but also birthdays.  Birthday's mean not only buying presents for each child through the year (doubling extra spending to $440 PA on a tight budget), but also REMEMBERING each birthday.  This is yet another excuse to create an Excel workbook - I'm going to have to spreadsheet this stuff otherwise we'll be totally screwed.

I'm not even a parent yet and already working out there is WAY more to this parenting thing than I ever thought about before.  I am grateful for this Christmas realisation now, when I have time to budget (and spreadsheet).

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

So that was my Christmas - over all, pretty awesome.  I am so grateful for our family, and the little traditions we have.  And although some aspects of next Christmas will be different, I'm sure most things will be much the same, and that's a relief.

On Being Knocked Up

I know being pregnant is supposed to be natural part of life (duh), but my first instincts on pregnancy:  it being unnatural, and terrifying, were right all along.  I'm sure for some women it is a magical time that they treasure forever, but I am not one of those women.  Don’t get me wrong, I'm looking forward to getting the baby at the end, but I am really not enjoying being pregnant.

Here are the top five reasons why I think pregnancy sucks:

1)      I am completely brain-dead.  And in our household, this is a measureable fact.  Murray and I play a LOT of board games.  One of these games, (Dominion) we keep a tally of.  Since falling pregnant, my ability to beat Murray at Dominion (or any other game for that matter) has fallen dramatically.  It was lovely keeping a tally as we usually win equally as many games as each other.  It’s not any more.  Instead of winning around 50% of the time, I now win closer to 25% of the time.  This is depressing.  I like being an intelligent human being capable of equalling or besting my intelligent significant other.  What’s more depressing is we can’t even PLAY most of the time because my brain can’t focus enough to allow it.  It’s like ‘the dumbening’ Lisa Simpson discovered on that episode of The Simpsons, only it’s real.  And it’s going to be like this for the next nine months.  Probably even longer.

And because my brain doesn’t work properly, I can’t do most of the things I enjoy without frustration.  I can’t write well, I can’t spell or type properly, I can’t play games good (or format sentences correctly), I can’t focus on work or conversations with others for long periods of time.  All I am good at is watching TV and reading The Daily Mail.  Baby brain is real, and it really, really sucks.  I want my brain back.

2)      I'm exhausted.  I only work around 30 hours a week, and even this is hard.  I honestly don’t know how grown up women with ‘real’ jobs cope.  And I find it even harder to understand how women who already have children manage to do all that needs doing and not fall down.  These women are super women and I have the utmost respect for them.  I have to put caveats around my social schedule as I cannot do nearly most of the things I normally would and still cope with work.  This is kinda good as I cannot remember most of the things I'm supposed to do anyway, and am likely to go to the wrong place at the wrong time to see the wrong people.

And what aids and abets my exhaustion is that I've developed insomnia.  This is another ‘normal’ part of pregnancy which seems completely unnatural.  If you’re tired, surely you should rest to help grow the tiny human inside you?  Why won’t my non-functional brain shut down when it’s doing nothing useful anyway?  Is it trying to make up for its dysfunction by just staying on longer?  It’s dumb.  I'm over it.  And you can’t take meds or alcohol to help -  although I have occasionally been cheating and taking Phenergan (harmless antihistamine) as it helps knock me out.

3)      There are lots of other gross things that happen to some women’s bodies that people don’t tell you about.  I am glad I watched What To Expect When You’re Expecting – it’s made me feel normal (I’m the blonde lady at the beginning of the trailer)   People tell you about the morning sickness and exhaustion, they don’t tell you about the other stuff.  They don’t tell you about the constipation and gas and extreme vaginal discharge that you may experience, or the bleeding gums (no-one believes me, but this really is a pregnancy thing and not just poor dental health.) And although everyone knows your boobs get sore, I don’t think you realise quite how sore until you experience it.  And they get big, which means it’s easier for your significant other to accidentally smack them, or roll over onto them when you are sleeping, which is a bad thing, and can cause disharmony in your relationship.

     Pregnancy just makes me feel gross.  I do not feel like an ‘earth mother’, I feel like a murderous ball of gas and gross and foetus that people should be wary of.  It goes without saying that I have zero libido because all I can think about is work and how gross and tired I am.  I think that whole pregnancy hormone randiness theory is a myth designed to con men into wanting to knock up their ladies.  Because if they knew what actually happened when they knocked them up, there’s no way any sane man would do it.  And the human race would fail to exist.

And I’m one of the lucky people who didn’t get bad morning sickness.  Imagine how grumpy and gross and not sexy those very sick pregnant ladies feel?  Imagine how their partners feel? 

4)       Once you tell people you are pregnant, THE ENTIRE WORLD knows you are pregnant.  This has already caused a terrifying encounter for me, also known as Murray’s Work Christmas Do.  EVERYONE at his work knows I’m pregnant (he only told three people), which meant PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW hugged me and touched my stomach (weird and inappropriate).  I had to do my utmost not to punch someone or burst into tears – both being things I know to be inappropriate to do.  It is strange enough when it is people you know, but so much worse when it is people you don’t know.

And as a linked aside, I realised as we saw each other across a crowded room, that one of his workmates is one of my old workmates.  She also just happens to be the owner of the very pregnant belly I saw twelve years ago that was what put me off having children.  We were in a meeting when she was about eight months gone.  And her baby was kicking, so she lifted up her shirt to show us, and I honestly saw its foot.  That was the moment I realised that growing a baby is housing a parasite.  And it reminded me of Sigourney Weaver in Aliens.  And I never, ever wanted to be Sigourney Weaver in Aliens. 

So there was also that.  And the food was bad.  (On another, happier aside, Murray’s boss feels EXACTLY the same way as me about babies/parasites/Aliens, which has reassured us that I can feel that way, and still be an awesome parent, and survive this pregnancy thing.)

I am also not one of those really-excited-oh-my-God-this-is-amazing-and-the-only-thing-important-in-my-life kinda people.  I am not clucky.  I am doing this because this is necessary for us to be parents, and I think we’d be good parents.  When people go all gooey, or talk to me differently because I’m pregnant, it makes me want to puke.  I’m pregnant.  I’m housing a parasite until it’s big enough to make it on its own and comes out as an independent little person.  This is not cute.  This is necessary.  I am glad that you are glad I am pregnant but the foetus doesn’t care if you are baby talk at my stomach.  The foetus would care more if you didn’t cause my adrenals to go haywire and speed up its heart rate by weirding me out.  And it might care if you gave me a strawberry.  Or some chocolate.  Or maybe a foot rub.

I am grateful that all my close friends and family are aware that I will feel this way and although they are definitely excited, they are not acting like freaky weirdos.  Thank you awesome people. 

5)      Once everyone knows you are pregnant, they have opinions, advice and ideas.  Sometimes this is helpful, sometimes it isn’t and sometimes it is just overwhelming.  Becoming pregnant when you are not someone who’s into babies, means stepping into a foreign and scary world of learning, which is especially hard when your brain isn’t working. 

There are so many things to think about, and many things you have NEVER thought about.  All these pregnancy classes available: yoga, massage, acupuncture, antenatal and other stuff I’m sure, and all these things cost money which wasn’t budgeted for because I didn't know I needed to.  Is any of it necessary (besides antenatal classes)?  I honestly don’t know.  I am terrified of the labour part and want my body to be as prepped as possible – but who has time, money and brains for these things?  I also know I’m going to go to one of these classes and it will be full of more people I barely know who will share opinions and advice which will fill my brain with even more stuff.  And then my head will explode and the foetus will die.   

And if the people are being open, and not sharing their opinions yet, they’ll ask you about yours. Sometimes it’s about a topic that you didn’t know existed and you’re only answer is ‘ah, we’re still deciding’ because really, what you mean is ‘I’m going to Google that when I get home’.  Then other times you do have an opinion, but you know it’s not going to go down favourably with this person-of-a-different-generation and you just don’t have energy for debate (cos no brain and exhausted) so you do your best to nod and smile and say nothing when really you want to say SO many things.  I knew this would happen, as I’ve seen it happen to other people, but it’s much more real when it's actually happening to you.

And that’s this blog/rant done.  I am truly sorry.  I know some sentences are ridiculously long.  I know this needs more editing.  I have a feeling though that this may be the format my blog posts take over the next 6+ months because bad rant is currently my only volume.  I will try my best to write about non-preggo things, and not rant, but I can see me failing at this.  Please bear with me.  One day I’ll be normal again.  I hope.

On Getting Knocked Up

Check out my Trans VAGINA!  This is how we announced our pregnancy on Facebook (the foetus scans look just like any other foetus scan).  My friend Helen pointed out, it looks kinda like a monster.  Yay!

Firstly I apologise to this blog and its small readership for not posting recently.  I can tell you right now this is directly due to being knocked up and its bearing my ability to work my brain good.  There has been a LOT going on, and much I’d love to have written about had my brain been willing. 

Now that apology is out of the way, I have to say this has been one helluva year.  And as is always the way, the timing for this fantastic occurrence was, interesting. 

As with my last pregnancy my boobs were a fairly good indicator that I was pregnant.  As you will have read in my previous blog, I was ovulating around the time I started having pain and ended up in hospital requiring surgery.  We noticed my boobs had blown up about three days after I got home from hospital.  We confirmed the pregnancy eight days after my last surgery.  So I was pregnant when I had surgery.  Freaky.

So many thoughts travelled through my brain when I found out.  My first thought was ‘Holy crap! That basal thermometer reading stuff actually works!’  The second thought was ‘Yay!  Now I don’t have to stress about trying to get knocked up any more!’ And then I thought ‘Crap!  I can’t drink in Melbourne’ then ‘This could be ectopic, and we won't be able to go to Melbourne.’  And then I worried about the impact of the pregnancy on my body so close to having had surgery.  And having to tell people and them being gooey and me being grossed out by it but it not being polite to make gagging noises when people think they're being nice.  And a bunch of other stuff.

Because of my previous history, the doctor organised for me to have an early scan to catch any possible ectopic early.  Unfortunately, the best time to see things on the scan was going to be when we were already in Melbourne, so we had to organise to have this just before we left. 

The other thing I haven’t been able to post about (cos brain) is that Mum had major surgery the day before we left for Melbourne (this year has been one of just horrible timing).  It was a long awaited surgery to improve a long standing, debilitating problem, but the risks were high, and recovery difficult, so it was scary.  Our scan was booked in the day before Mum’s surgery.  If things went badly at our scan, not only would it mean facing another ectopic, and more surgery, but it would mean not being able to support my mum, or have her support me.  Both Mum and I were very worried about this.  It would also mean no Melbourne trip, which we were really looking forward to after a crazy year.

The day of the scan came.  Because all of my recent scans have been in emergency, I forgot about the horribleness that is having a full bladder and someone press on your stomach.  Here is some advice: if you ever need a full bladder scan, you honestly don’t need to drink the whole litre of water.  I only drank 700mls for this scan, and my bladder was too full (which is bad because you have to let some out).  I drank two glasses for the most recent scan, and that was sweet.  Sitting waiting for a scan is uncomfortable with a full bladder, but kind of good as it's hard to stress about the scan when all you can think about is not pissing yourself.

There were a number of odd things about the scan (the technician seated Murray in an odd place so he could hardly see what was happening) but I didn’t notice at the time.  As soon as I could see my uterus on the screen, I knew things were ok.  Because there was an obvious something in it.  In fact, because of how the yolk sac sits by the embryo, Murray thought there were two somethings in it, so I had to tell him several times it was not twins.  This scan showed I was less pregnant than we thought by 5 days, which was not technically possible (severe pain requiring eventual hospitalisation = no nookie) and made me question the skills of the technician.  Regardless, the pregnancy was not ectopic, which was the most important thing.

The cool thing we learnt in that first scan was that the egg had come from my left side which has no fallopian tube (they can see the burst follicle on the ovary in the scan).  This means that my single fallopian tube is doing double duty, and my chances of getting pregnant are the same each month.  This is awesome.  This means that unless this remaining tube stuffs up, we probably won’t need IVF.  There is nothing at all wrong with IVF, but it is nice to know we won’t need it all the same.

So yay we’re knocked up!  And although I’m not enjoying this whole pregnancy thing, I am glad that we get the chance to make a person.  And mum is recovering from her surgery, and we did get to Melbourne.  I didn't get to do Poverty Week like I planned as I had surgery a week and a half before it started, and I found out I was pregnant three days beforehand, and everything is a mess.  Still feeling guilty.  I will try and blog about these things more soon.  If my brain will let me.

On This Year’s Surgery Number Two

So I’ve had my second surgery for the year.  This one came from totally out of the blue.  Thankfully, it is in no way related to the last, which means it doesn’t affect our chances of getting knocked up.

We are currently trying to get pregnant.  The longer I'm off the pill for the more irregular my cycle gets, so I'm using basal thermometer reading (plus monitoring other stuff) to work out when I'm ovulating.  This is the first month I’ve been doing this, so I’ve been hyper conscious of my body.  A few weeks ago I noticed some pain on my right hand side.  It was around the time that I was due to ovulate – so I thought it was that.  I had two nights of really bad gastro cramping and almost no sleep, so figured my IBS was playing up.  After getting home Saturday night after Sarah’s book launch, I was horrendously ill.  The next morning I noticed that the right side of my stomach was swollen.  After putting all of this together, I realised I had most of the symptoms of non-acute appendicitis, and went to the doctor.

My GP suspected the same, but the pain wasn’t acute enough to warrant hospital.  He gave me antibiotics, which often helps settle a rumbling appendix, and advised me to go to hospital if it got any worse.  I said ‘See, I told you’ to Murray - very proud with my accurate self diagnosis.

I didn’t go to work on Monday as I still had pain, and by Wednesday it hadn’t gotten any worse, but it also hadn’t gotten any better so I decided to go to hospital to be safe.  Antibiotics usually kick in within 48 hours so something was not right.

After a while in emergency awaiting test results, I saw a doctor.  Everything was fine.  Apart from my pain and gastro symptoms, my temperature was normal, blood tests normal - everything normal.  I thought they were going to send me home.  I told the doctor that I was very nervous.  The idea of a rumbling appendix was just like an ectopic pregnancy, like having a bomb in your body that could go off at any time.  She took me seriously, and after an ultrasound also appeared normal, said I should stay overnight for observation in the surgical ward.  I was extremely grateful.

After seeing the surgical registrar, the decision was made to pop a camera in there, and check everything was ok.  They didn’t think I had appendicitis, but agreed that something was not as it should be.  Again, I was so grateful.  I am very used to people thinking I'm crazy.  Even if they found nothing, my mind would be at ease, which would mean I might be able to get some sleep.  Every time my stomach cramped it pressed on whatever was hurting in my right hand side, and made me scared it would explode.  The idea of my insides exploding is scary.  I don't sleep when I'm scared.

The night in hospital wasn’t great.  I didn’t sleep, and in the morning, there was a drama.  

I'm good with needles, but needles aren’t good with me.  When I arrived at the hospital it took three attempts to get a line in.  The successful lure hadn’t been used for about 20 hours when the nurse tried to attach the drip pre-surgery.  She put the fluid through to clean the line and it felt wrong.  I've had this done many times, so know what it usually feels like.  I told her, and she ignored me.  Then she started the drip.  It got progressively more painful.  Then my arm blew up like a balloon.  I firmly told her she had to stop the drip, and she did.

I was amazed she didn’t take the line out.  My arm was huge.  The lure had popped out of the vein so everything had gone straight into my arm.  It felt very odd.  After an hour of looking at my blown up arm with the lure still in it I buzzed for the nurse.

‘Please can you take this out?’

‘Why, is it hurting?  I’ll get you another pillow.’ 

It seemed ridiculous she was questioning this quite logical request.  I completely lost the plot.  

‘No (sob) it (sob) doesn’t hurt (sob).  I just (sob) haven’t (sob) had any sleep (sob) and (sob) I got (sob) a really big fright (sob).’ 

It took half an hour to stop sobbing.

The nurse totally freaked.  She had someone take the lure out, and checked on me every five minutes until her shift finished.  Then she checked on me as she was leaving.  It was one of those things that is quite hilarious in retrospect, but is SOOOO traumatic at the time.

Another lure was put into a friendlier vein, and I was in surgery by 10.30am.  It always amazes me how many people there are in surgery.  There were at least seven in this one, and it was a simple, laproscopic procedure.  They told me they would take my appendix out regardless which was a huge relief – I never have to worry about it exploding, ever.  The anaesthetist held the oxygen mask on my face very hard, pushing his thumb up under my jaw.  It really hurt, but I just said to myself ‘Don't worry, you’ll be unconscious soon.’  And I was.*

I had the best wake up from surgery ever (last time I asked the nurses the same question over and over, and demanded drugs until I went blue cos my oxygen sats dropped).  I woke up 12 minutes after going into recovery and felt pretty great.  The procedure had taken 45 minutes – about 20 minutes longer than anticipated.  They had found a burst ovarian cyst which had put gunk through all my insides.  This is what was causing the pain and gastric issues.  They cleaned it all out and removed my (healthy) appendix.

Recovery has been physically more taxing than the last.  I think they had to move things around a bit as I have more bruising and swelling than with my last surgery.  I overdid things on Sunday (I washed dishes, tidied and hung up washing) which caused my surgical sites to bleed – I have been much better at resting since then.  A week on from surgery and I’m feeling pretty good.  Still a little sore and still tired but I think my stomach muscles have knitted back together as sitting up doesn’t hurt any more.

The sucky thing about this unexpected surgery is how it impacts on work.  The timing could not be poorer.  Well, it could.  We’re also heading to Melbourne for a holiday shortly, so I’m glad this didn’t happen then.  It means we won't have much to spend in Melbourne because excess money is covering my mortgage payments while I’m off work.  But in all honesty our flights and fancy accommodation is paid, we’re going to Armageddon for free thanks to our amazing friend Richard - so we’ll have a great time anyway.  And I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again; I am employed by wonderful people.  I am so grateful that after two unexpected surgeries and almost 6 weeks off work this year, I still have a job.

The other sucky thing is it’s mucked up my first month of basal thermometer reading.  And I have to be less smug about my (non)skills at self-diagnosis.

*Following surgery I had a cut inside my lip and a bruise under my jaw.  I should have said something, but it’s physically difficult to talk when you’re JUST about to go under for surgery, and someone is tightly holding a mask over your face.

On the eating below the poverty line challenge

So I saw this really fabulous idea via an article on Stuff.co.nz yesterday.  I have read about this before, but this time I thought actually, this isn't a bad idea.  So I decided it might be a nice thing to do.  I've lived in poverty before, but that was a long time ago, so it will be good for me to remember what it's like again.

After checking out the actual fundraising page I realised that this was just to fundraise for charities that do work overseas.  Although I absolutely understand that these charities need financial support, it made me quite sad that not a single one was a NZ based charity ie: none of those funds go to help other Kiwis.  Given that we have over 270,000 children living below the poverty line here, this made me quite sad, as everywhere I seem to see New Zealanders distancing themselves from this statistic.

It is sad because these children are our next generation.  They are the people who will financially support our parents, and ourselves when we are older.  They are the future of our country, and over 1/4 of them currently live in poverty.

Living in extreme poverty is defined by the world bank as living on less than $1.25US per day ($2.25NZ).  Children living below the poverty line in NZ is defined as: 'The proportion of children with equivalised disposable household income under 50 - 60% of the current median.'  And yet another definition I've read for poverty (which I think is quite apt) is: 'Not having enough money to go to the doctor, not being able to fill up the car or being able to pay for groceries or appropriate clothing.'

The Live Below the Line concept is to live on $2.25 per person, per day, for food and beverages.  This is not a reflection of what real poverty is like.  As my friend Gen pointed out, us middle class folk doing the challenge still get to live in our warm, dry houses, with decent clothing and bedding, shoes and jackets.  We can still go to the doctors if we need to.  Nevertheless, it is a small way of understanding what things might be like if we were in a different situation.  
 
Therefore, I am going to do my own Live Below the Line, and fundraise money for Kids Can, a New Zealand based charity that helps low decile schools by providing basics like food, raincoats and shoes for children in need.  This is a charity I have supported for some time, so have seen through their newsletters the work they are doing in our communities.


Murray is going to do it with me (as it's easier to buy and cook together than otherwise).  I will also (not sure if I can convince him of this stuff) forgo home internet, Playstation, use of our home phone and will treat my cel phones as if it has no credit on it (ie: you can call or text me, but I cannot text you back).  Aside from getting to and from work, I will not use the car, or public transport.  From memory, one of the hardest things about living in poverty is feeling trapped - having little options, and little ability to get support.

We will do this at the same time as all the other folk (from the 24th - 28th of September), so we have time to (hopefully) get some sponsors and raise some money for Kids Can.  I am lucky I have this time to map out how to get the most bang for our buck with food.  Any advice is welcome, although remember that most people in poverty would not easily be able to shop around.  I have our meals pre-planned (we will have leftovers from dinner for lunch), and although they will be simple, they should (hopefully) be enough to keep us going.

If you'd like to support us, please email me and I'll pass on the details.  I'm hoping to raise enough to help at least five schools out with food for a year - I only need to raise $500 to make that happen.
 

Grocery Budget Must Haves  
1kg white rice                  $1.85
12 eggs                          $3.00
2 x tins  tomatoes          $1.80
6 x potatoes                  $1.50
3 x onions                  $0.60
1 small bulb garlic             $0.60
4 x carrots                  $0.70
Bag of Pak choi          $0.79
1/2 cup pinto beans          $0.80
400g tapioca                  $1.50
1/2 cup chickpeas          $1.00
5 x button mushrooms      $1.08
Tea bags (30)                  $1.30
1 litre milk                          $1.90
Coconut cream (sml)        $1.06
6 x apples                  $0.90
seasoning from home       $1.00
Total                        $21.38
 
Extras (if we can afford them)  
Small piece of ginger        $0.30
1/2 cup banana chips       $0.40
1/2 cup popping corn        $0.60
2 Tbsp linseed                  $0.15
1/3 cup raisins                  $0.50
Extras total                  $1.95

Total Budget                 $23.33 
($0.83 over budget)    

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Oranges from our tree
Herbs from garden
Puha from side of road
Water*

* Blogger's formatting is being a bitch - sorry about the mess people.

A letter to the four legged occupants at 49a Kiwi Road

49a Kiwi Road

Pt Chevalier
Auckland

05/08/2012

Dear Huckle, Roux and Wellesley

I am sure you have noticed many changes to your environment over the past few weeks.  And I know change can be unsettling when you don’t understand why it is happening.  I am very sad to have to move you from your current environment, but Murray and I feel it is an important step forward in the lives of all of us.  I know that you are all very happy with things how they are, but I am sure you can adapt and grow to love your new home given time.

Roux, you have recently taken on the challenge of acquiring a new cat housemate for the first time and have handled this extremely well.  I am very proud of the respectful way you treat Huckle.  I was happily surprised to see you standing up to neighbourhood bullies (Sebastian) on his behalf.   You have grown much as a cat since his arrival and I’m sure, in time you two will become great friends, hopefully one day achieving cat-ball status.

Huckle, you left your family of eight after ten years to come and live with us and it was very scary for you.  In fact initially you moved in under the neighbour’s house, rather than live with us, but I don’t hold it against you.  Although it took some time, you have now become an important and fun part of our little family.  I am so glad to see you as a much more confident and slightly less play-bitey cat today.  And I know that you are with me on my plan for cat-balldom after seeing you lick Roux on the neck the other day.

Wellesley, I don’t think you have noticed much.  You only notice when I change your hay and clean up your poo and you dislike it immensely.  I am sure being oblivious will aid you in adjusting to this big move.  You did notice the loss of your son earlier this week, and we are very sorry.  Although I know this will present new challenges, I promise you will have a new friend to keep you company soon.  It’s not fair that you should be alone out there.  I am sorry you cannot live inside the house with the rest of us, but you are so hell bent on destroying every piece of electronics we own that Murray’s just not keen.

I know this big change will be very scary at first, especially the car journey in the cage, but it will get better.  You will have new grass to pee on, new trees to climb and new roofs to lounge on.  Roux and Huckle, you will also be getting your very own door which you can use whenever you like.  You will miss Jade and Kenan, but I’m sure you’ll have a new playmate or two at some point in the future. 

I wish we could explain this to you in a way you can understand, but we can’t.  We can just give you tasty food, lots of cuddles, and inoculations.

Lots of love,

from Hannah x

Why I chose to have a Civil Union

I wrote this just before our Civil Union last year to make things easier for people to understand why we made this choice.  Given Mr Key's recent support of Obama's statement around gay marriage, I thought it was about time I shared it via my blog:

First of all, it’s a choice.  Nowadays in New Zealand when you look at the Department of Internal Affairs website it says: Births, Deaths, Marriages, Civil Unions.  It is an option.  Now if you want a legally binding contract with the one you love you can choose a Marriage or a Civil Union.  It’s like when you’re on a plane and you can have beef or chicken.  You choose the one you like.  If you choose the chicken it’s not usually because you’re anti beef.  It’s usually because you prefer chicken.  My choice is not an ‘anti marriage’ choice.  It is just a choice for my preferred option.

Why did I choose Civil Union over marriage?  The main reason is to do with being raised to treat everyone as equals regardless of gender, ideology, ethnicity or sexuality.  In choosing Civil Union I am respecting the values instilled in me by my parents, and my grandparents.  This is no different than those who choose to get married in a specific faith system.  I choose Civil Union as it is most reflective of how I was raised to treat others.

Civil Union is a non-discriminatory union which all New Zealanders can have.  I have always struggled to understand why people treat others differently based on their sexuality, or preferred gender identity.  Why do people care?  Why is it anyone’s business at all?  When Murray and I were talking about it yesterday he quoted Trainspotting : ‘1,000 years from now there will be no guys and no girls, just people’. (the actual quote says ’wankers’, but you get the gist).  In this, Murray feels as strongly as I do.  We don’t want to be treated any different than our gay/bi/transgender friends just because our relationship is ‘straight’.  In choosing to have a Civil Union we are choosing a union which every New Zealander can have.  We are setting the tone for the value system we will instil in our potential children.  I am proud to make that choice.

When the Civil Union policy was put in place by Labour I was incredibly proud to be a New Zealander.  My feelings on this are probably similar to how many New Zealanders felt about David Lange’s No Nukes stance and speeches in 1985.  We are not the first to have a policy like Civil Union, but it doesn’t make it any less special or important to us as a country.  It is a policy of equality whilst respecting tradition.  It was created in addition to Marriage whilst preserving Marriage in its original state.  Helen Clark said if she’d had the option, she would have chosen to have a Civil Union.  I am happy to walk in Helen’s footprints.

I am not anti marriage.  I just don’t feel a Marriage can do for me what a Civil Union can.  I have no issue with my friends and families choice to get married because it is their choice.  There is no reason for us to have a Marriage to satisfy family traditions as neither of our families subscribe to any particular religion.  If people take offense to our not choosing marriage, they should really examine their own value systems.

It is a choice which reflects our views on our relationship; balance, equality and respect for our differences.  It is a choice that I will proudly live with for the rest of my life.  I am excited about the fact that I have a choice, and that I am able to start creating our own traditions.

Hauhanga a rongo, Arohanui mai x

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

Over time, we've learnt that while Civil Unions are more inclusive than Marriages, those in them have less rights than those in Marriages.  Because we chose a Civil Union over Marriage, we are not legally able to adopt as a couple in NZ.  While changes to these antiquated adoption laws are being looked at by MP's from many political parties, our PM has said that this is not a priority for this government.

This issue is increasingly pertinent to us following my second ectopic earlier this year, and the removal of one of my fallopian tubes.  While we have been given the go ahead to try to fall pregnant again, the chances of another ectopic are high.  While we are eligible for one free series of IVF treatment, the waiting list for this treatment is long, and we cannot afford the $10,000 - $15,000 it will cost to go private.  If we have further complications, adoption would be our preferred option, but because of our choice of Civil Union instead of Marriage, this option is not available to us.

This is systemic discrimination.  Even if the number of children up for adoption in NZ is low, in stating that this 'is not a priority' the government is saying that equal treatment is not a priority.  Many people I've spoken to have thought I was joking when I told them this was current law - it is no joke.  We've had other people say we could swap to a Marriage purely for the sake of adopting.  If we change our marital status purely to work within a framework built around inequality, than we are saying this framework is ok.

It is not ok.  In standing by our choice, we provide a voice against systemic inequality.  Why should we, or gay, or de-facto couples have to find loopholes in law in order to receive the same rights as married couples?  Instead, we need to focus on creating an environment that doesn't tolerate this type of discrimination.  Why should we be punished for making a choice based on our beliefs of love, acceptance and equality?

I am extremely proud of our choice.  I hope that one day we can have children, and that those children will grow up in a world different than it is now.  And I am certain that if more people stand by what is right, rather than what is easy, this new world will be possible.

On Pink Shirt Day and bullying

Pink Shirt Day is tomorrow (May 18th). It's a day where you wear a pink shirt to raise awareness around bullying, and the power we each hold as individuals to fight it. This year is NZd’s first year celebrating Pink Shirt Day. It began in Canada in 2007 when a group of students wore pink shirts in solidarity to support a friend who was bullied for wearing a pink shirt. Bullying isn't just a problem within schools, it follows us through adulthood in many areas of life. Talking about ways of managing bullying, and being open about our bullying experiences is useful to everyone. Never underestimate the negative impact bullying can have on a person. Never underestimate how choices you make to do small things can make a big difference.

I was bullied through most of my schooling because I was different. I was poor, I was smart and I spoke my mind, so I was an easy target. My first memories of bullying were at the primary school I was at from age 7 - 12. In this instance, the bullying was perpetrated by one person - I like to think of her as my nemesis. I think I was competition to her, and she didn't know how to deal with that. This bullying was never physical, it was name calling and attempts to alienate me from my peer group. Our school was a small one, so there weren’t very many people to be friends with.

This bullying was brought to a halt by a mutual friend who told our teacher. In doing so, she put herself directly in the firing line. As kids, this was perceived as a ‘betrayal’ of a friendship, so it was a very big thing she had done. I was glad this didn’t end her friendship with my bully, as they had been friends for a long time, and they are actually still friends now, almost 20 years on. This bullying was minimised, because one little girl was brave and took a big risk to help me out.

The bullying that I experienced at my first high school was much worse. It came from many directions and I was bullied by different people for a range of things. On the bus, I was bullied because I was 'too white' to be studying Te Reo Maori. The bullying came from older, bigger girls from the local Marae on my bus route. It consisted of name calling, pushing, being sprayed with water, having my things taken from me, and being threatened with physical violence.

I was bullied by kids in my year for being a 'slut'. I was a fast developer, so this was always on the cards. Things got worse when two boys spread rumours that they had slept with me (I had made out with one of them).  Then I did a very dumb thing and let a boy I had a crush on, kiss me during lunch time where others could see.  After this, the bullying escalated. There were areas of the school that I didn't feel safe walking in because it was so bad. The 'cool' girls ignored me, and made snide comments when they thought I couldn't hear them, and the boys were just outright rude.

My good friends did not abandon me, so I wasn't totally alone, but it was hard. I didn't know how to articulate what was happening to me at school, and we had other problems at home. I developed an eating disorder, hoping to get rid of my 'fat' (hips and boobs), and eventually stopped going to school. My mother and I worked out a budget and a plan, so I could commute to go to a bigger school in West Auckland. I disguised this as 'wanting more options', which was not untrue, but was definitely not the primary driver for my wanting to move schools.

In a bigger school, my differences were not so big. For me, the school bullying was over. I thrived at my new school. I was not the smartest, or the loudest, or the poorest – I fit in. I was never one of the 'cool' kids, but I had friends and I got along with most people whilst still being me.  Even though I was no longer a target of bullying, it still happened to others.

In 7th form (Year 13) I was a prefect and some of us prefects attempted to start an anti-bullying group at our school. We brought the idea up at one of our weekly prefect meetings, and the answer we got from our principal was 'We don't have bullying in our school.' I was astounded at the time, and we tried to get our group off the ground without support. The only teacher who did support us was the special needs teacher, who understood like we did that bullying happens everywhere. It never really got off the ground, but we did try, and the few groups we did hold were very rewarding.

I was saddened to learn when speaking to my younger cousin recently, that the response to bullying at this high school hasn't changed. When I asked her if they were doing Pink Shirt Day, she said they weren't. She then told me of the trials her PSS group has with getting the school to support their initiatives. This is the attitude that allows bullying to thrive. This attitude needs to change.

Being bullied had huge ramifications down the line for me. I had trust issues with women up until my early 20's. I had problems with body image and still struggle with my relationship with food. I was a tomboy with mostly male friends, who constantly had to be in a relationship to avoid male attention. When single, I was promiscuous. I had, and still have, self-esteem issues.

Bullying isn't only harmful to those who are bullied, it is usually a sign that the bully is also hurting. I was extremely surprised in my early 20's to receive an email via Oldfriends from one of the boys who lied about sleeping with me. It was an apology. He talked a little about where this had come from. He had an unstable home life, and was hurt and lashing out. It made me so sad. Not only was I affected by his actions, but he had carried that guilt around for almost ten years. The things we tell ourselves about ourselves are often more negative than what others have to say.

And sometimes what we perceive as a joke, isn't. It is easy to hurt other peoples feelings without knowing we've done so. I am an opinionated and bossy person, and know this can sometimes come across badly. My bossiness could easily be construed as bullying when around quiet people. I have friends now that when they first met me were 'scared' of me. I am a friendly person, and don't perceive myself as a bully, but can see how it's possible others do. Bullying happens inadvertently within peer groups all the time. Sometimes all it takes to sort it out is saying 'When you do this, it makes me feel...'  Most people don't like to make others feel badly.

As adults we may encounter bullying through our workplace, tertiary education, sports teams and peer groups. I have been lucky to avoid it for the most part, and have had positive experiences that have helped heal old hurts. When recently I did experience quite serious bullying, I took action. Once it got to the point where I was threatened with physical violence (which was after weeks of neither me nor my partner interacting with this person) I registered all the information with my local police to ensure if there was an assault, or I needed to get a protection order, all of the information was on the table. This stopped it. I know this person has personal issues which informed the extreme behaviour, but it didn't make that behaviour ok.

It doesn't matter if you have never experienced bullying yourself, these lessons are still important. Most of us are witnesses to forms of bullying at some stage in our lives. And most of us are too scared to stop it. The little girl at my primary school was my hero. Her small action made a huge difference to my life. I'm sure most people reading this are much older, bigger and tougher than she was. Surely we can all take a stance on bullying by doing a small thing, and wearing a pink shirt to work tomorrow.

The Herald has run a series of fabulous articles about bullying over last week. Check out the link below for the first.

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10803980

I also want to give a big shout out to all the brave Kiwi celebs in the Pink Shirt Day video, to my friend Erin Faye, who is this campaigns Mum, and to Anna-Kaye for speaking out about bullying in her new music video

On a break from my diet plus my top ten tips for weight loss.

With Winter fast approaching, and picking up a little extra work for the next three months, I’ve decided to take a break from my diet.  Given what I have learned from eating carefully over the last little while, I have still managed to lose weight despite reintroducing more naughtiness, just by being sensible.

AND I’m happy to say that when I weighed myself this morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see 58.5 kilos on the screen.  I’ve spent the last more than a month trying to crack through the 59 barrier, so it felt great.  Plus, I fit my jeans, which is awesome because it’s starting to get bloody cold!  I’m still aiming for 56, but I am feeling much better about myself and my diet so I’m happy to get to that number gradually.

So today I thought I’d share with you the ten most important things, common sense I’ve learnt over this time:   

1.       Make your diet a lifestyle

A diet seems so restrictive!  If you just think of it as making a few small changes to your lifestyle, you’ll have less resentment over it.  Make it into something fun and enjoyable.  I really enjoyed working out the caloric content of my normal home cookery and making slight adjustments.  Learning new ways of cooking, and new recipes was a lot of fun.   Food math was something I enjoyed.  Make a plan for yourself that is fun for you.

2.       Don’t do it on your own

Talk about what you are doing with friends and family.  It is hard to say no to food and drink offers when out at functions.  The more open you are, the more people will understand what you are doing, and can help rather than hinder your plans.  Being open via this blog helped me be accountable for my actions regarding food, health and general self-care.  It made what I would have perceived as failures, just a part of a journey.  With friends on your side, it’s harder to beat yourself up, and easier to get on with trying to make positive changes in your life. 

3.       Portion control

It is so easy to just eat and eat if you cook big meals at home.  Being aware of how many kilojoules are in different serving sizes of different foods made me realise how significantly portion size affected my weight.   I have a tendency to want to eat LOTS of the high calorie carb based foods and less of the plain veges.  So I’ve switched my old portions around so I have less of the high cal carb food and more salad for dinner.  It still makes me full, and not deprived of pasta or potatoes, and helps me to get more vegetables in my diet.

4.       Eating regular, balanced meals

It’s said you can make or break a habit in 5 weeks.  If you don’t eat breakfast, start working on making this a habit today.  I now eat about 6 meals a day: breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and then usually an ‘afters’ treat.  Breakfast gives you the energy to sustain you through the day.  Eating small, regular meals helps balance your metabolism and makes you less likely to snack on high calorie, high GI foods.

5.       Eating 5 plus a day

I actually found this quite a difficult thing to do - and I’m mostly vegetarian!  Thinking about one portion as fitting into the palm of my hand made me realise that you often exaggerate the amount of vegetables you are actually eating – or what counts as a vegetable!  Once I started focusing on this I found I lost weight more quickly.  Plus you get a whole lot more nutrients into your diet.  I try to have at least three different coloured fruit and vegetables a day.  Variety is fun, and so much better for you.

6.       Being organised

I work more than 40 hours a week and spend at least four hours a week commuting to and from work.  To help ensure I didn’t eat ‘naughty’ food at work (I work in the gluten free treat shop, so that’s easy to do) I started keeping fruit, yoghurt and corn thins at work for snacks.  I also started cooking large meals regularly to pack down into left-over lunches.  This was great, because I knew exactly what was in my food.  Much better both health and cost wise than buying lunch.

7.       Being active

When I say this, I don’t mean becoming a gym bunny.  I couldn’t afford the time or money to join a gym, but just being aware of pressing play as much as I could within my normal routine was really helpful.  Take the stairs.  Walk to work.  Play at the park with your kids.  Get in the garden.  Have an epic house clean.  These are all useful things that can also burn calories.

8.       Knowing what’s in your drinks

I love my wine!  Finding out the size of a standard glass of wine (125 ml) was a revelation – my normal glass of wine was much bigger than that.  I didn’t quit the wine, but cut my consumption down and felt so much better for it.  Fruit juice, sports drinks and fizzy drinks are full of sugar and calories.  I just have water and have Coke Zero if I feel like a treat.  I still have my morning cuppa (after my hot water and lemon to kick-start my digestion), but have herbal tea at night.  Licorice tea is a great way to have a sweet hot drink treat without any extra calories.

9.      Don’t ban foods

Banning things just makes you want them more.  Then when you’re feeling like being ‘bad’ you’ll have them.  I haven’t banned anything, but there are foods that I just don't want to have after finding out what was in them.  I still eat cheese, sugar, pasta, butter and chocolate.  Just in measured moderation.

10.   Have treats in moderation

I think it’s important to have treats.  I have a list of low cal treats I can have to feel ‘normal’ when other people were having nice treat foods.  Make sure your treats are real treats, and treats you actually like.  Every day foods are not treats.  Jellybeans and chocolate and ice-cream and chippies or whatever else floats your boat are treats.  I love bananas, but they are an every-day food for me.  When I was on my diet properly, I had one ‘free’ meal a week, so I could eat whatever bad thing I wanted once a week.  Don’t deny yourself.  It’ll just make you miserable.    

On growing up poor in New Zealand

There has been a lot about kids in poverty in the news recently.  More than 20% of our kids live under the poverty line in New Zealand today.  That’s heaps.  It is frustrating for me to see those in power seeming to do very little to change this.  Instead, they have put in place tax policy that further disadvantages those in lower socio economic brackets (changes to GST), and made a scapegoat of beneficiaries during a recession.  This only serves to make things worse.  I spent much of my childhood under the poverty line, so I know first-hand the detriment this causes not just the kids, but entire families, when they feel powerless to change this.

In saying this, I seldom felt poor as a child.  We had people who loved us.  We spent most of our childhood in an idyllic landscape close to beaches and full of animals and exciting places to play.  We couldn't afford most school trips, but I loved going to school.  And although we were always poor, there were only short periods of what would be considered extreme deprivation.  

For the most part, my dad was a farm worker, and my mum was a mum who did as much other work as she could.  She was the cleaner at Waioneke Primary (South Head), and at local peoples houses.  The patches where we were actually hungry were the patches between farms.  As farm workers, our board was often free, and we also received a bit of food for free too.  These two basic things helped massively with our general survival, and my dad was a very practical hunting, fishing man living off the land man.  The thing that made things difficult was living in such an isolated place, far from our extended family, and pretty much everything else.

Living in such an isolated area often meant being trapped.  If you have no money for gas, you can’t leave.  Siphoning petrol from lawnmowers, farm machinery and motorbikes was a common occurrence when we had money.  This enabled us to get out and get groceries, or more petrol to get my parents to work.  When we had no money there was no petrol in the lawnmower, little food and no escape.

When you are actually in poverty, applying logic to the situation you are in is not simple.  You are starving.  If you are a parent, you are likely feeling like a terrible parent - extremely worthless.  If you feel worthless, you will likely be depressed.  If you feel depressed and trapped, you will likely lash out at others.  If you are depressed and alienated, you are more likely to suffer from addiction.  If you suffer from addiction, you are more likely to make poor financial decisions.  If you feel worthless, and a failure as a parent, why does it matter?  And if you live in isolation from friends and family, it is difficult to get help.

Living in poverty is living in constant fear.  Fear that you will lose the little you have.  Fear that you are failing your children.  Fear that your children will be taken from you.  Fear of illness, and more bills.  Fear that your friends and family pity you, or are ashamed of you.  Fear that the situation will never change and this is how you will live your entire life.

Even if you are a child of poverty who’s parents escaped, or has escaped yourself, having lived like this follows you for your whole life.  I still find it difficult living in middle class suburbia.  The reality for people here is so different than the reality that made up my formative years.  I have friends who had parents were frugal and worked hard to have what they have now, so have some understanding, but it isn't the same.  

I don’t think I could bring my kids up with Santa, because the notion of Santa was so harmful for me.  I thought I got less than my cousins in my Santa sack because I’d been bad.   I still have difficulty eating oranges at any time but Christmas because it was a special food.  My fortnightly food budget is only $30 more than my friend’s fortnightly beauty budget.  I didn't own a computer until I was 25 (and that one was given to me), I'm only passionate about Commodore 64 cos we had one at school.  I feel guilty going on overseas holidays because I still have family living in poverty.  Unlike most of my generation, I do not have that sense of entitlement.  I fit better with my grandmothers generation, who lived through the depression.  I work my butt off for $16 an hour because it’s enough to pay my bills and I am grateful.

I do not think my parents failed me.  Although I know there were issues with addiction, it was never something we saw.  My parents never bought ciggies over food for us.  My parents cared about my brother and I, we were not neglected.  We were poor and life was hard, but we still had fun.  We mattered.  I'm sure my parents could have made different choices, but my parents both left school before sitting School C, so those choices were limited.  And it is different when you are in a pit trying to get out, than when you are at the top shouting down.

It took us a long time to get out of poverty - it didn't happen until I was a teenager.  The steps we had to take were drastic.  My parents had to separate, then divorce.  My mother had to move into a small two bedroom flat in Helensville.  She had to work full time for her brother in laws business in Henderson, and raise one and a half kids (Dad had joint custody of my brother).  And that was just the start.  Things were still financially tight, but we were closer to help, and closer to our family, which made a big difference.  It was so hard for mum to leave, that I had to leave first.  It is sometimes very hard to ask for help.

The only reason we could do this is because we have a loving, supportive extended family.  Without this, we would have stayed trapped.  And in all honesty, I don’t think all of us would have survived.  Poverty, depression and addiction can all lead to violence.  We lived through that too.

In order to change child poverty in New Zealand, the people in power need to understand what it’s truly like to exist in poverty.  Instead of throwing stones at beneficiaries and low income families, they need to offer an olive branch.  I am not referring to more money.  I am saying that these people feel on the outskirts of society already, we need to make them feel part of society.  Not everyone has the family support that we had, or have family living outside of poverty.  Not everyone will have the trigger that we had to change our circumstances.  Changing child poverty in New Zealand is not something that can happen overnight.

When all someone knows is how to live in poverty, how can we expect them to understand how to live any other way?  We learn our life skills from our parents, and they learn from their parents, so when people talk about generations of DPB mums, how can we be surprised that they exist?  Change is not about giving people more or less money, it is about giving people the necessary skills to understand how to live differently.  It is about acknowledging and accepting all the things that come with poverty: depression, hunger, addiction, alienation.  And it is about creating jobs and industry in those areas where there are none.

And in the meantime we should be looking after these children.  These children make up one fifth of our future generation.  We should care about them.  There are a few basic things we can give them to give them a chance to create a different future for themselves and their children: food, health care, education, life skills and a caring community that they want to be a part of.  Take the parents out of the picture, and focus on the future.

And start at home.  If you have friends and whanau that are doing it tough, ask if there is anything you can do to help.  It mightn't be money.  It might mean sharing food and other resources.  It might mean offering childcare once a week.  It might mean sitting down and looking at their budget.  It might just mean having a cup of tea and a chat.  You'll never know unless you ask. 

Charity should always be a stop gap.  When people become reliant on charity, it takes away their ability to do things for themselves.  But at the moment, the situation here is dire.  We have the 40 Hour Famine coming up where children the country over will not eat for 40 hours to support children in Mali and Niger.  We have children who are on in famine here.  Check out the charities below if you want to support Kiwi kids and the future of our country.

http://www.kidscan.org.nz/

http://www.cpag.org.nz/

http://www.salvationarmy.org.nz/giving-back/

On the attack of the bite curse (II)

Attack of the Bite Curse (II) was a film I watched many years ago as a maybe 12 year old.  One of the many bad horror/exploitation films that inspired the love I continue today for the horror genre.  This shot of my naked bitten body is supposed to make you feel like I felt watching that film.  Grossed out, but curious.  And yes, those are stretch marks.  Get over it.

Clearly, this post is not about film, but about another word that starts with the letter F and is something I despise: fleas.  I have lived my entire life in houses with pets and so the flea saga is one that has been ongoing throughout my time on this earth.  So I’ve learnt how to find the signs of fleas and the many useful ways to destroy fleas.  But I still don’t know how to prevent fleas, and more directly, how to prevent fleas from biting me.

I am one of those people who is very attractive to bugs.  I am like the wagu of people meat.  For some people, being tasty is no big deal because they barely notice when they get a bite.  Not me.  I am one of those people who reacts to EVERYTHING.  You’ll know this from reading some of my previous posts.  I have sensitive skin and sensitive insides, and I am a tasty bitch. 

This means that a flea bite results in a large, red welt which stays itchy for days.  So even once I’ve eradicated the fleas, I am a mess for about a week.  I also have skin that doesn’t heal quickly.  So even if I don’t itch, it takes about a week for the welts to go, and then another week or so for traces of the bites to be properly gone.

In this instance of the house having fleas, the fleas pulled some kind of sneak attack.  We never saw any fleas.  I just woke up one morning and looked like something from a horror film.  Over a mere three days I watched as my normally porcelain and somewhat freckled skin turned into an angry red sea of welts.  I had over 50 flea bites, and, as is common with flea bites, most of them were located on one side of my body.  I had bites on my fingers, wrist, upper arm, breast, down my side, on my hip, behind my knee, on my shins, on my thighs, on my ankles, on my toes and even under one foot.  I was not happy.

I defleaed the cats and rabbits and bombed the house.  I vacuumed the house and washed all the clothes.  And I am certain this killed all the fleas.  The problem that remained was – how do I get the itch out of the bite?

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I wrote this first part about a week ago (life has been too busy for writing), and after this amount of time has passed, I hate to say it, but I don’t think the bites are from fleas.  Despite all best efforts to de-flea, the bite curse is still on my flesh, and I am receiving new terror bites every few days.  We have spied no fleas, nor any other insect, nor has anyone else in my home been bitten by anything.

The itch has been making me go bat shit crazy.  I have tried multiple methods to subdue the itch: Antihisan cream, baking soda and hot water, calomine lotion, deodorant (it’s supposed to coat the bite and stop oxygen getting to it and activating the itch), antihistamine tablets, moisturiser and Pinetarsol.   I complained about my bite curse on Facebook and was recommended a large number of other cures, of which I tried several (I couldn’t afford to buy all the things), again, with no success.  And also, being sure after three weeks that it isn’t fleas, I felt helpless to do anything useful to remove my bite curse.

So on Saturday I went to the chemist.  The chemist have these leaflets on all sorts of crappy skin things (scabies, herpes, all that gross shit), so I figured they might be able to help.  It’s weird going up to the counter of a chemist and saying ‘Hey, I’m covered in bites and I’m going mental.  Help.’  But that’s pretty much what I had to do.   I managed to get a trainee, who looked at me like I had leprosy.  Luckily, her supervisor talked her through helping me.  They were as stumped as me.  They gave me some Phenergan (Ngaio’s suggestion from Facebook) to help in the meantime, and told me I needed to see my doctor.

So I am yet to find a resolution to what this issue is.  I am grateful for all the suggestions from friends on Facebook as to what could be causing it, but so far I am unsure that any feel right.

Suggestion 1 – Allergy: I have allergic reactions to stuff all the time, they have never taken the form of random itchy bites all over my body.  An allergy normally results in hives around the area with most direct contact with the allergen.  I haven’t changed any of my cleaning or body cleaning products, and the only environmental change I’ve had is that I’m now working at the Video Ezy one day a week.  But the reaction is not consistent with the times I am there, so I don’t think this is the trigger.

Suggestion 2 – Stress:  Now I know stress makes you react in all sorts of crazy ass ways.  I have an anxiety disorder and IBS.  But again, stress rashes tend to look like hives.  My grossness is not like a rash or hives.  It is large welts, like from a mosquito bite gone bad. 

Suggestion 3 – Bedbugs I wrote this suggestion off initially as hogswash, but the more I  think about it, the more I think it is plausable.  Just before I got the bite curse, we stayed in a hotel for our Civil Union anniversary.  It is possible that we picked up bed bugs in our PJ's there and transported them home.  But I haven’t seen any bedbugs or signs of bedbugs.  Plus who gets bed bugs from a 4 star hotel in New Zealand?

Suggestion 4 – Scabies: It’s not scabies.  Sadly, I have had scabies before.  Scabies are highly contagious, form in the warm, moisty areas of your body and turn into gross sores.  None of this is consistent with my bite curse (thank God!)

Suggestion 5 - Measles or chickenpox:  I would have a fever.  I have no fever therefore no pox.

I am going to go to the doctors on Wednesday to see if they can shed any light to this bite curse.   In the meantime, I’m hot washing all my bed linen, and treating our room as though it is infested with bed bugs (just in case).  Also, I have Phenergan.  I take it.  I pass out.  I’m not itchy because I’m unconscious.  That’s good enough for me.  For now.