Thyroid Blog

For those who’ve been paying attention it’s about 15 months since I first staggered into the doctor’s surgery, barely able to drag one foot in front of the other, to hear the results of my blood test.  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Very tired,’ I whispered.

‘I’m not surprised.’  He went on to show me my results and explain very thoroughly what happens with an underactive thyroid and how they remedy its effects.  I left the surgery clutching a prescription for 3 months’ worth of 50mg thyroxine tablets and began taking them immediately.

In retrospect it was no surprise: my father had an underactive thyroid and I have memories of him being lethargic and gaining weight because he wasn’t taking enough of the good stuff.  And even though things have moved on since then, it still seems to be hard to get the dose right.  I was on 50 mg for about six months, after which tests showed that I needed more.  The doc gave me a choice of ‘blitzing it’ or taking it up gradually; by that point I was so fed up with fatigue that I said ‘blitz please’ and started on 100 mg.  All was great for a while; however my most recent blood test showed that was too much, so I’m back down to 75.  All was well until a week or so ago, when I started once more to get tired; and when I couldn’t stay awake for several days on the trot, rather than go back to the doc just before Xmas, I took a unilateral decision and tried a 100mg tablet.  This seems to have worked – for now, at least.

I realise this type of self-medication is frowned upon, and ordinarily I would have gone back to the doc, but my chances of getting an appointment on the last opening day before Christmas are slim, to say the least.  So I shall get through Christmas by mixing and matching, and then afterwards I shall go back to the doc; before which I shall have to spend some time on the lower dose which presumably means I shall be exhausted again.

Gah!

I never would have believed it could take so long to get this right.  Someone told me months ago that it ‘should have’ settled down by now: well mate, I don’t know about ‘should have’ – all I know is that it ain’t.  And I’m getting sick of it.

I cannot begin to imagine what life would be like without the tablets, though.  I’d probably never get out of bed…

Kirk out

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The Devil is in the Retail

The title of this post came to me at 5 o’clock this morning, and I immediately started to construct a post in my mind, centred around this question: what is the biggest threat to Christmas?  It’s not Muslims: Jesus is a prophet in Islam and most Muslims are quite happy to go along with celebrating Christmas in a minor sort of way.  It’s not Sikhs or Hindus or Jews or those of any other religion.  It’s not even militant atheists like Richard Dawkins.  Nope, it’s our good ol’ friend commercialism, who, the minute a religious festival pops up rubs his hands together, sets up a stall and starts cashing in.

Of course this is nothing new: from the money-changers in the temple to medieval purveyors of religious relics, people have always tried to cash in on religion; but I am starting to feel a little like Jesus.  What with Black Friday and Christmas starting in October and all the relentless shopping, I’m itching to get in there and do whatever is the modern equivalent of overturning the tables.

Our Christmas has cost about £250 in all; including food, presents, cards and decorations.  Now I’m not saying ideally I wouldn’t have liked to spend a bit more, but I’m not convinced that if I had it would, to quote Jane Austen, have added considerably to my happiness – or anyone else’s.

Anyway, today is the solstice, which is a time for acknowledging the darkness while remembering the light; a time for lighting candles rather than cursing the dark; a time for reflection.  It is hard to recall now that Advent (which continues until Christmas Eve) is traditionally a time of fasting rather than manic shopping and endless parties.

So this Christmas as well as thinking of the homeless and empoverished, spare a thought for those who think Christmas comes from a store.  Because they are truly the poorest of the poor…

Kirk out

 

The Search for Certainty: God and the Transgender Debate

Does God hate gender-queers?  According to ‘God and the Transgender Debate’ by Andrew T Walker, certainly not.  This is the best aspect of a book which fell into my hands via a relative and which I snatched up eagerly, hoping it might have some insights to offer me.  God loves gender-queers; in fact God loves the whole rag, tag and quiltbag, and so should we.

The good news is that Walker goes to great lengths to urge Christians and churches to accept and welcome the transgender/gender queer/gender dysphoric.  Apart from that, I have to report that sadly the book has little to offer the trans person or their families (I shall use the word trans as an umbrella term here, to avoid either lists or acronyms.)  He even goes so far as to say that churches should use the preferred pronoun of a trans person coming to them.  However, he goes on to say:

‘If and when this person desires greater involvement in or membership of the church – or if, for example, a biological male wants to attend a woman’s Bible study – a church leader will need to meet with them and talk about how they identify and what faithful church involvement and membership will look like.’

All of this sounds very open-minded and in some ways it is; but since the bottom line is ‘you must accept Genesis’ you pretty much know how that conversation’s going to go.  I have been on the receiving end of such conversations (to do with other issues than this) and I can tell you it hurts just as much then, as it does if you are not welcomed in the first place.  In fact it hurts more, because it signals that acceptance by a community is conditional; that if you want to go further you have to shed certain aspects of yourself and conform.

The basic tenet of this book is exactly the same as books on homosexuality twenty or thirty years ago: that God created Adam and Eve and this means that the sexes, while complementary, are irredeemably different.  There is no spectrum; there is a line that cannot be crossed (in the same way, similar books twenty or so years ago emphasised that sex is between a man and a woman because god created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.)  This is the bottom line.  The Bible is the ultimate repository of truth and that’s that.  It remains for the church to find ways of dealing with trans people in a spirit of love.

Now I give him full marks for the spirit of love aspect: he really does go out of his way to point out that all have sinned etc and trans people should be treated no differently from the rest of us.  So far so good.  What the book doesn’t posit is any kind of a solution.  Churches like his (he’s a US Southern Baptist) have gotten savvy about ‘praying things away’; there are too many examples out there which show this doesn’t work and hasn’t worked (I know of at least one in my own life).  Which leaves him with – well, not very much really.  Basically if you have gender dysphoria you’re stuck with it until you die – at which point, of course, all your problems will be gone.

‘When it comes to gender dysphoria, Jesus is not promising that coming to him means walking away from that experience.  He is asking someone to be willing to live with that dysphoria, perhaps for their whole lives – and to follow him nonetheless.’

This seems to me highly unsatisfactory.

What is at the bottom of this debate is the fundamental question of human identity.  Walker does at least separate gendered cultural norms from ‘essential gender’ (whatever that is), though he hardly takes it very far: it’s OK for girls to like football and boys cooking, but men have broad shoulders whereas women have broad hips.  Wow.  I’m sensing a basically unaltered fundamentalism here.

The book dismisses the modern culture of individualism with a very superficial analysis and surveys history with a single sweep, concluding that ‘in traditional societies… virtually every society until the last decade or so in parts of the West – gender has been attached to sex.’

This is simply inaccurate, and as an American he ought to know more about Native American culture and its ‘two spirit’ idea.  There are also African societies that think differently about gender, so the idea that traditionally this is all cut and dried is bunkum.  I don’t mean there isn’t a bottom line; it’s just that where it is ain’t exactly clear.

So all in all, this book is helpful in one aspect only; in its teaching to the church to be compassionate and accepting.  And for that I honour it: but the rest, I am afraid, leaves us with the same question we started out with.

I’ll leave you with some humour:

Kirk out

Yes, My Other Half’s Novel is Out in Print!!!

Today’s news is that OH’s novel Replicas which came out in Kindle form a few months back, is out in print!  I haven’t actually read it yet because I can’t read books from a screen, but here’s the link:

So get yours today!  Buy buy buy!  Delivered in time for Christmas!

Oh, and I hope it’s OK to link here to the Insecure Writers’ Group, as Friday is so close to Christmas…

http://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com

Kirk out

Detectorists: The Last of The Action?

On Wednesday probably the last ever episode was broadcast of the excellent sitcom Detectorists.  A lot of loose ends remained: the gold lay tantalisingly out of reach in the magpies’ nest, visible only to viewers; Andy and Becky had yet to bid for their dream house and Lance and Toni had yet to move in together.  Plus, the date when their field would be built on was fast approaching, and in a last desperate bid to find what underlies the grass, the Danebury Metal Detecting Club join forces with the Dirt Sharks (Simon and Garfunkel) and hold a rally to see what they can find.  In the midst of this, Andy and Becky have to go to the auction where their house goes for far more than they can afford; however at the last minute Becky bids and wins it, revealing afterwards that her Mum had lent her the money.  Triumphant, they return to the rally which is just about to break up, having found very little.  Still, the tree is saved, since Phil (Garfunkel) has put a preservation order on it.  Andy and Lance are just packing up to go when the miraculous happens: the magpies start moving, dislodging the gold and showering it onto the ground.  The scene dissolves with the two of them picking it up in total wonder.

I don’t know if they can make another series.  I guess there’s always a way back, but so many loose ends were tied up here that I don’t know where they could go with it.  Still it’s been an engaging and very different sitcom: unusual in its subject matter and the fact that it takes place outdoors.  It’s also extremely well-observed and the friendship between the two guys is touching whilst downplayed.  But there are many other aspects to the narrative: they both have relationships – Andy has a steady girlfriend while Lance is plagued by his ex-wife before he finally takes up with Toni; then his long-lost daughter appears.  Andy and Becky move to Botswana for a year or two between series two and three, where he works on a dig.  They have a child together.  Interspersed with this are scenes of the DMDC and spats with the Dirt Sharks.  But the point of the programme I guess, is the passion they have for their hobby.  They really care about detecting; they care about archaeology; and in a world that cares only about money, this is a great thing to see.  Mackenzie Crook said when he wrote it that he had The Good Life in mind and that he wanted it to be uncynical.

It’s a great series; sitcom at its finest.  If you haven’t watched it yet, all three seasons are on iplayer.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b09j0qcs/detectorists-series-3-episode-6

Kirk out

Is There Life Without Money?

Recently, as I may have mentioned, I’ve been reading Henry David Thoreau’s Walden; an account of his time living deliberately in a cabin in the woods.  I used to have a cabin in the woods and although I wasn’t legally permitted to live there, I did stay there quite deliberately.  My days in the woods were times of living slowly; of contemplating, thinking, writing and walking.  It taught me a lot about what I take for granted; about what I can and can’t do without.  Above all it taught me to value water: when all you have is a five-gallon container which needs to be filled from a tap a hundred yards away, you learn to treasure every drop of the stuff.

Thoreau includes meticulous accounts in Walden, of how much it cost him to raise his barn and plant his crops; how much it cost him to live there once he’d settled in.  It’s a little different in rural Leicestershire where my cabin was already ‘raised’ so I had to buy it as well as paying ground rent twice a year for services such as water and use of the toilet block.  There were no shops nearby, which also taught me to value what I had, especially during those times when I was up there without a car.

But the one thing I couldn’t live without was money.  And there’s the rub: plenty of people have tried, but those who succeeded the best were either able to survive at a very basic level, or those who started off with a great deal of land in the first place.  I did once know some rather hippyish people who maintained that money comes to those who believe; and that if you have faith you can simply reach out and pluck money from the air.

Hm.

I have to report that for a while one of these people ended up living in a horse box in a field…

Since deciding to write full-time I have had basically no income.  Fortunately I am married, so I share my partner’s income.  Unfortunately it isn’t very big.  Fortunately we have generous friends and relatives (some of them) who help us.  Unfortunately we can’t rely on that happening.  And there are times when you find yourself at the bottom of a very dry pit.

But I chose this life.  I could have stayed a teacher; I could have carried on running teacher training courses.  Sure, I’d be miserable – but I’d have an income.  The ones I feel sorry for are those who don’t have that choice: the homeless, the unemployed – or, these days, the slightly-employed: cleaners who have to get up at four to clean offices and get home before the children go to school.  The disregarded.  The despised.  Because my life has two huge compensations: one, I’m happy doing what I’m doing – and two, there’s every chance that it will get better.

So do one thing this Christmas to help.  Donate to a food bank.  Buy the Big Issue.  Offer a sandwich to a homeless person.  Help out at a shelter.  Or just smile at someone and wish them a happy Christmas.

Kirk out

The Right Sort of Snow

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And once more we return to the perennial subject of the British weather.  It’s like a standard filler for a slow news day; it’s something to say while you’re thinking of something else to say that might prove more interesting.

But! today the weather is quite interesting in itself; for not only has it snowed (yes, snow is general all over England) but it is quite positively the Right sort of snow; the sort you can make snowballs and snowmen out of, the sort that engages children of all ages in blizzardly activity in parks and gardens.  On Sunday when the snow first fell I decided to make a snow car.  In my head it looked like a perfectly-formed snow-child of Bertie: in real life it looked like a misshapen heap of white.  But all was not lost: along came a child who helped me to improve it.  Sadly I ran over Bertie’s snow-child while taking Bertie for his yearly check-up (he needs a couple of new tyres but apart from that he’s perfectly healthy) and I can report that out there it is not only freezing, it is Failing to Thaw.  Normally when we have snow it doesn’t last; if it freezes overnight it thaws during the day (thus causing more problems since the remaining slush refreezes and becomes treacherous) but this time it’s staying.  If anything it seems colder now than it was this morning when I literally had to unfreeze Bertie’s doors with a hairdryer, letting down the extension lead from upstairs like Rapunzel’s hair.

The roads were not too bad, considering, but I can’t see anything thawing out today.  Even in the sun it’s completely arctic.

Have I thought of anything more interesting to say?  Nope, we’re stuck with it.

Oh, and in case you’re not in the UK and don’t instantly recognise the reference, the title refers to a British Rail announcement years ago that a train was cancelled because of ‘the wrong sort of snow.’  They don’t make announcements like that any more…

Kirk out