While it is Oct, it is still sunny and in the 80’s and high 70’s. Summer never ends. Linda’s job, and all of government is currently in partial strike, as there is no agreement, leaving us up horrid street. We had a coupon for the ferry to Seattle, paid months ago, along with a hostel, which turned out to be a Best Western (why it lists some rooms as hostel is beyond me, but made the $140 room into a $70 odd one – fridge, microwave and all). We live on soup and home made cookies. It could be worse. The Pain patches, and covers run out in a few days, along with the florastor. Since I hardly can eat due to the nausea, there seems to be a natural balance which works out well.
It is a hard and rather unpleasant life, but it is the only one on offer right now, so I enjoy all the good bits as I can. I met the organizer of Steam Con Seattle, as well as the creator/artist of Nordgard published by Sofawolf. Tess Garman went up and worked on the Ididerod (1,000 mile sled race in Alaska) to get sled experience for the book. The co-(something, maybe owner?) of Sofa wolf and I had an academic discussion on the various groupings, or three groups that read Anthro/Furry Con and he was proud of the representation of female authors for Sofa wolf. I noted that Anthro/Furry tends toward either gay experiences (from gays/lesbians) or slash/yaoi type stories. Yet, it seemed mostly males attending. Sadly, there were no t-shirt or clothing sold (unlike my ‘ghoul kittens’ sleep shirt) except leash and collars.
When life gets all in all, it becomes very challenging to blog. I hope now that the heat is abating, I will be able to blog with consistency. After all, with planning, practice and the ability to compartmentalize pain due to a decade of torture, I was able to go over six miles – even if I was blind and had heat stroke at the end. Been lots of minutes of hours or days hitting ‘The Jackpot’ (what we call when the heart rate/diastolic and systolic blood pressure all in the 100+ while at rest – like lying on the floor but heart rate 130 with 189/156 is a ‘Jackpot’ – mostly because some vein is about to blow, so either my nose will start bleeding, my ear, or I will have a stroke, or maybe all three (‘Trifecta Jackpot’)), which you would need to experience to understand.
I can however describe for you what suffocating feels like: As the seconds pass, the feeling of needing oxygen grows exponentially until your whole body is screaming it into your mind, and if you could thrash, you would be. Your lungs feel like balloons that have been blown past the bursting point and are, at any moment about to pop, and there is this whole ‘red’ feeling to it. Each second seems unbearable, and each second, that feeling increases and the desire to do anything, to puncture your own throat, to beat on your diaphragm, to claw your fingers with the intensity to rip off the fingernails, if you could but move, would be a relief, hardly pain at all compared to the pain and intensity of that need for air. Then, it slows, like snow sliding off the roof when it melts, and compresses into a ball of darkness, hard and cold which sinks into your chest. The need to breathe is gone, and there is just darkness, and a feeling of being pulled down. Then images start bursting in your mind, flares that your brain sends up as the oxygen left in the blood gets used up, until the images fade into a deep dark blue, into which is a free fall without pain or concern. You can hear, through the surges in your ear, your heart slowing down, and thought is not coherent, just twitches. It is, at the end, like floating on air.
I can also tell you what a heart attack feels like, but another day.
I have long tired of being told what I cannot do, and all that I can do is die. Dying is something we do every breath, it takes no great practice. I have been doing stupid things, and hanging in the balance for some hours, all to see a woodpecker, or raise some funds for cancer, or slide the wheelchair sideways, slipping down the steep slopes of Seattle with a protracted squeak of tire protest. It is interesting, at least to me.
As T. Roosevelt said, “to the man (or woman) who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again. Because there is no effort without error and shortcomings, he who knows the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the high achievement of triumph and who at worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows his place shall never be with those timid and cold souls who know neither victory nor defeat"