"You can do anything you like...
So long as it's what I want you to do."
I particularly dislike having to display "obéissance" when it concerns my body, because that means it upsets Fred's status quo and his upset status quo can be Hell to live with. It takes a lot of his time and most of his dwindling reserves of patience to ferry me back-and-forth to the doctor, sit in ER/ED waiting rooms, field frantic phone calls about forgotten rechargers for phones and other electronic devices. [Don't tell me to go wifi unless you're willing to finance the endeavor.]
I'm supposed to email by very nice HMO doctor tomorrow to report on the status of my infected foot. [Because no one, apparently, gives a good goddamn about my right hand turning into a swollen claw!] What to say, when facing a 3-day weekend and people more interested in getting to the various Folke Faires around Tête de Hergé than interested in butt-ugly hands and feet? Truth be told (and that reserved just for you, Dear Readers!), the foot is bright red and the infection returning to its original volcano-like presentation (Is that good? Bad? Will it burst open and solve its own problem?) Further truthes? My right hand is swelling, hurting, and fast becoming useless. Despite the difficulties in assessing temperature in a CRPS patient, to me, the offending middle knuckle, which began this hand boogerishousness is quite warm.
So "obéissance" is again in question. Could this foot-and-hand disease be put off until next Tuesday, when the Force of the Medicos will again be at full power? Or should I submit to the standing offer to go back in the hearsepital for i.v. vancomycin, and a possible PICC line. Let me elaborate on what may seem, to you, an easy choice. Once the definitive switch back to vanco, it means Fred will make at least 4 trips a week to an infusion center, and probably for at least a month. This at a time when we are sick to death of things dealing with sickness.
There. That makes my rationale for posting this past pithiness from May 2009 clear as MUD! You're welcome. And it's your forebearance, Dearest of Dear Readers, that endears you so to me. I think there will be another brief hiatus in posting... The Truth will out, after all -- because it is Truth which ought to drive all expressions of Obéissance.
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A mélange, a mix.That's all I am good for at the moment. But, as most of us are, I am open to suggestions.
It looks like Uncle Kitty Big Balls is going to be a cool member of The Family. A very poised little dude, ugly as sin with his fur shaved off, he saunters his maigre self around The Manor every few hours, shaking what little butt he has much in the manner of The Marmy Marmot. When the two of them vocalize, it's a hoot. She goes: "Ack-ack-ack!" He mumbles back: "Ark-ark-ark!" You'd think they were inveterate cigar smokers. Which, of coursed, is just impossible.
What's wrong with you?
It's a national day of prayer, privately. Some of my friends think there is an "issue" to visit in this; I do not. Unless it is an extremely slow news day -- something that the U.S. citizenry might well enjoy for a change.
ShoulderMan's PA, Bountiful Bob, was, as always, very kind yesterday. {I, feel, very, attracted, to, the, comma.} One of their techs alternates between freaking me out and being a regular intrigue. So it was highly uncharacteristic for him to greet me by saying, "Are you all right? You gave us quite a scare last week..." He kept saying it, bless his bones, reminding me that being near death is the easy job -- Attending to the situation should not be envied. On the other hand? The x-ray tech was unhappy with me when I refused to assume the position for one of the shoulder views, and therefore created something ex nihilo -- and five shots later, she still had not succeeded in her approximations. I had dollar signs flying by my eyes. Bob stood with furrowed brow and dark, unreadable films tucked in the lightbox. I pondered the probable extra heft of my bill and inwardly rejoiced at having my stitches out, the promise of a shower in my future, as soon as I can manoeuver my dainty dancing feet and sufficiently SaranWrap my PICC line. We've never been able to keep the line dry -- it is put in the non-operated arm, of course, meaning that it is in the only usable arm and is therefore subject to being hit with water.
Fascinating.
Okay, so I was browsing TW's blogs, and over on X, he posted this hilarious and touching family moment:
During the night, I was doing one of my favorite memory exercises: visualizing every house I have ever lived in, every school I ever attended. The various digressions that peel off these onions are wonderful, and exacting. This time, I ended up stuck in an elementary school in California, where I was the Undisputed Tether Ball Champion of the World. Second grade.
I remember the Second Grade primarily for two reasons -- beyond my sporting prowess:
1. I was punished for reading, and,
2. Our teacher kept sending us home with bags of guppies, which eventually pushed my stepmother over the edge of reason.
The reading punishment? We had finished some sort of in-class writing assignment, probably working on our "cursive," as I recall this teacher was a maniac for crap like the loops of one's els. When finished early, we were supposed to put our heads down on the desk on top of our folded arms. Well, yawn, y'know? So I had stashed a book -- and not just *any* book, but Harriet the Spy -- inside my desk. With my head down in obéissance+, I began a new chapter. Next thing I knew, this stellar educator was whacking my palm with a ruler. I don't recall if there ensued any sort of [parental] conference, or sustained punishment -- all I know is that I felt loved by my stepmother, herself a teacher, and that she defended me.
No, not so much like a lioness, more like a proper stepmother. You know? The roles felt well-defined, and that's a pretty rare thing in blended families.
Defended for reading. Punished for reading. Whacky.
A day later, my sentiment, like the worm, turned. At supper -- spaghetti and meatballs -- I swallowed a huge ice cube, and it went down the wrong way. I was choking. Unable to speak. She laughed at me. Then she laughed at my anger at being laughed at. One of those Mother::Daughter special moments. Like the day I first plucked my eyebrows -- at 13, I think -- and she, sipping on her drinkie-poo, reacted by saying, "Oh no! Your one good feature -- gone!"
She had this habit of coyly dipping her pinky-finger into her drinks, and sucking on it, making eyes.
+Obéissance: L'obéissance ou soumission à l'autorité est l'une des formes de l'influence sociale. En psychologie sociale, on parle d'obéissance quand une personne adopte un comportement différent parce qu'un autre individu, perçu comme une source d'autorité, le lui demande. L' individu dominé reconnait à une personne, ou à un gouvernement une valeur certaine. Lorsque cette reconnaissance est faite, l'individu passe alors un accord tacite, un consentement avec le supérieur qu'il a reconnu; Il échange sa liberté contre la volonté générale d'être assuré et sécurisé.
Les recherches les plus connues sur l'obéissance sont dues au psychologue américain Stanley Milgram. Dans son expérience de soumission à l'autorité, il amène des gens normaux à infliger des chocs électriques de plus en plus forts à un autre sujet (en fait un compère, c'est-à-dire un expérimentateur qui prétend être un sujet de l'expérience) qui supplie d'arrêter l'expérience puis crie et se tait, comme s'il était victime d'un malaise. Certains en prennent comptes mais d'autre ne la respecte pas car ce n'est pas une obligation.
A la suite de Milgram, l'expérience de Charles K. Hofling a montré que 21 infirmières expérimentées sur 22 était près à donner une surdose d'un médicament inconnu sur ordre d'un médecin inconnu au téléphone.
This schtuff is fascinating, no? Imagine. In Hofling's experiment, 21 of 22 nurses ready to give an overdose of a med unknown to them --"Astrofen" -- by order of a doctor, who was also unknown to them -- an order taken over the phone, no less! That was in 1966... Rank, in 1976, changed some of the parameters of the study [30 mg of Valium, IM -- and subjects were allowed to interact with colleagues] and stood the results on end: 16 of 18 nurses questioned the orders.
Shocking...
Obedience. Consent. Informed consent. Authority.
Our secret desires.
Obéissance:
A manifestation of obedience; an expression of difference or respect; homage; a bow; a courtesy.
Bathsheba bowed and did obeisance unto the king. --1 Kings i. 16.
I am not able to sleep more than two hours a night from pain that is amazingly straightforward. I have been encouraged to let so-and-so know, as if so-and-so were able to alter reality with a prescription pad.
Anyway, this lack of rest fuels the penchant for mélange.
The cultural anthropology of this cat group that teems around my swollen ankles would fascinate anyone. The wonders of family dynamics, the unexpected likenesses, and the quirky divergence --
Marmy is smug and happy to have her brother ark-ark-ing from beneath our bed; Dobby's brain is clearly spinning as he tries to figure the point of origin for his oddly familiar uncle; and Sammy is hissing and tucking his tail to protect the 'nads.
That's probably what I would be doing, too, were I he.
If I have learned nothing else of value in this life, it is that: For God's sake, protect the 'nads.
