When someone gets sick, like really, really sick.

When someone gets sick, like really, really sick, they most often get a lot of attention.
The diagnosis is percieved as... well, kind of exotic. Even more so if the diagnosis is hard to figure out and takes time to assess. Exotic might be the wrong word, but it seems like as if people finds it entertaining to get involved in the midst of the drama, the instant or enduring worrying, the insecurity of what will happen next, the finding out how the sickness will play out in everyday life, the news, being the one who knows how current and updated status is.
All of this draws attention to the patient and his/her closest circle.

Then, when they are finally getting used to cope with the phonecalls, the visits and the requests about how things are going, it slows down. fast and inevitable.

When the seriousness catches up with you. The limitations and restrictions becomes an obstacle to leading a normal everyday life.
The stories and explanations becomes the normal tale, and so the novelty is lost and the interest fades.
One by one the friends you have get in touch less frequent; the phonecalls gradually comes to an halt.
They don't stop being friends, they just have other things to attend to as well.

Those who are left are those who are loyal, either because of unconditional love, dependence of some sort, or sense of duty.

It sounds harsh, doesn't it? But as judgemental as it may sound it is normal; the way it should be. We all have a life and a lifestyle which goes on, and noone expects everybody we know to introduce long term state of emergency. It doesn't mean we care less: It means life goes on as usual for everyone except those struck by changes forced upon them.

I don't remember the change itself, but I still feel the riot I felt inside when people stopped me to ask how my parents were doing, as if I was excluded. I still remember stressed out teachers who normally were so impatient, but when one of my parents were in hospital they showed me the kind of compassion you have for a complete stranger who's in a difficult situation.
When my homework wasn't done because there were things which had to be attended to, I never explained or argued, it was hard enough to try to keep up. They must have known though. I could tell by the looks, the indulgence... but never words.

It was not spoken about, not to me anyway, even though I heard from other kids it was speculated upon, talked about and even ironized. You know... "I heard he's in hospital again, it can't be asthma. I heard from a nurse he's got ecchymosis, just like the ones those with AIDS got". That one was from 1986. We never told anyone about the ecchymosis, so we knew it was true a nurse must have told.
Trust is a very powerful word to me. I don't use it much.

There was one truth said, though. It never was asthma, it was 30 years of something else: chronic pneumonia. 9 years ago ones again they told us he would die within days, if not hours. We sent him by plane to a different hospital; three weeks later he was cured. Now he suffers from the effects the years of heavy medication inflicted upon him.
I don't remember my father when he was well, but I know he was a strong man to survive.

The happiest times in his life were the times he was the perfect tutor, father and entertainer. He would tell me how to do something and watch me as I did it, while he told tales and histories from times past. My father could answer any question.

It's hard to be the one who doesn't fit in. It's hard to excuse everything using the same phrase. You can see how empathy fades in the other person's eyes and impatience slowly gaining it's rightful position.

It's not easy to be the one left behind and you see people you counted upon leave, as you turn and walk back into the ward.
It is how it should be, there is nothing wrong with it, because life goes on and waits for noone.
Still...

Yesterday, October 10, was World Mental Health Day. This month, October, focus is on cancer, and breast cancer in particular. This is the month to go pink.

When someone gets sick, like really, really sick they most often get a lot of attention. You don't have to be part of that instant circus to be a very good friend.

a) Remember to invite them and let them know they are thought of. It is great comfort in knowing you are not forgotten.
b) Always greet someone saying "How are YOU?" Then you can ask about others.
c) Offer to help or talk. If you feel unable to, find out where they can turn to get support or help.

If you want a few more professional and thought through tips, you'll find them here.

Wholesome meals.

I am very easilly distracted. It is a fact, and nothing worth discussing: I would lose that exchange of views; Big time! And being distracted is by many considered to be a flaw in one's personality.
I can't really help it, it's just how I am. Then again I haven't done a lot to establish habits or systems to make short shrift with the confusion it sometimes causes. It is confusing though, both to me and others, so I agree it's not a good thing about me. Come to think of it, I have many flaws and errors which affect others I surround myself with; Qualities which make me comfortably imperfect. Comfortable because being imperfect lowers everybody's expectations to me. It gives me the freedom to break out and behave out of standard. You know: dancing in the rain or serve waffles for dinner.

Which one of my imperfections and flaws is the biggest, varies by time and fashion. In example: Most of us act, and live, far from the norm of courtesy you would find in the 1940s. Not that I keep up to that standard, but a couple of people do... I have my values and standards on what is acceptable, and what isn't. I like to think I don't hold prejudices, but of course, like everybody else, I do. I know this, I'm just not very happy about it. So, I am distracted, I have prejudices, I am very shy and therefore perceived as arrogant... the list goes on and on. And yet, right now I think my biggest sin, in the eyes of society in general, is my body.
At least that's the impression I get, judging by the comments so-called friends and acquaintances have the nerve to say out loud to me and about me. A lot of it is ever so rude and quite hurtful at times, and yet those remarks, and their alike, have become socially acceptable. Not only that: they have become normal.

I'm not really fat... I can still tie my own shoelaces, but my belly has through the years become.... hmmmm.... spongy (I did not want to say "like jeasted dough, well risen" because that would have put you off rolls, baguettes and white bread for weeks!).
But unless you get some surgery of a kind done, that is the punishment you are given when you participate in life. At least that is how I comfort myself.

I recently went to the doctor to get my annual cancer tests done. People: it's October and the month to give some consern to the cause: Remember to check yourself for breast cancer (yes, men too!) and go

give the blood needed to get your healthy self confirmed!

(The American Cancer Society’s most recent estimates for male breast cancer in the United States are for 2010:

About 1,970 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed among menAbout 390 men will die from breast cancer

Breast cancer is about 100 times less common among men than among women. For men, the lifetime risk of getting breast cancer is about 1 in 1,000. The number of breast cancer cases in men relative to the population has been fairly stable over the last 30 years.)

Since I was already exposed and feeling very small, I asked the female doctor if I by any chance could go on a diet or do any kind of work-out to get rid of my shame, aka: the appearance of my belly. She looked at me in the eyes and shook her head: "Nope, but I can arrange for excess skin to be removed and the appearance of your muscles more defined".
Her reply made me determined to prove her wrong. I can live a normal life, with variety as the core spice in every aspect of my being, and feel good about it. Without having the beautifying surgery done. So what if the trousers are unable to give me the lift-tighten-slim look no matter how I wiggle to put them on. I still get a muffin-top.

The medias have made it into something we should focus on and adopt as an obsession, and we read about it everywhere: in the newspapers, online, numrous books and magazines: The right diet and food can make us healthy, slim, strong, sexy, beautiful and adorable. No wonder we get so focused on diets: who wouldn't want to hit the jackpot and be all of above? These days to stay away from gluten is the new right thing to do. "No gluten" is the new "low carb" (unless the preferred diet changed during the last two hours).

Low carb was in 2011 the most popular word in Norway, and the most frequently googled word the same year. I can only imagine what "no gluten" will be like.
We switch to the better and more efficient diet with ease, and start eating the diet for yet another sickness. Not that many actually have lactose intolerance, but we stick with the diet to become a better person. Only 1% have intolerance for gluten.

There is an increasing pressure to take responsibility for our body and health. And especially women with higher education are very preoccupied with what not to eat. The no-list of food and ingredients gets longer day by day.  It's like as if it turns into an unhealthy obsession. The enthusiasm for changing the current diet is increasing, it's like taking over the search for meaning of life.

As human beings we are so predictable. We still most often think that going out includes a meal, and we choose restaurants by their rumour and the reviews. And then, after having chosen where to eat, dressed up and arranged for babysitter, we go to fancy restaurants only to move food around the plate.  We end up never eating the carefully cooked and presented dishes. What we ordered may be fashionable in the food world, but it is not by any means compatible to the diet world.
I used to love long and lazy meals with something nice in the glasses. I used to cook and find joy in flavours and good ingredients.
Not so much anymore. Many don't compliment the chef anymore, instead we hear about how many calories can be found in the meat, the bread, the sauce...; nothing kills conversation about life's peculiarities more efficiently than that.

I always took into considerations different lifestyles and allergies. Allergies of fish and eggs, even gluten, vegetarian and vegans alike.
One time my son was celebrating his birthday party and we served the traditional rice porridge. At Christmas a almond is placed in the pot of rice porridge and who ever finds it in their bowl wins a prize-usually a marzipan pig. And the lucky person who won the pig might say, to express his satisfaction, that he was in the middle of a butter island. That is to say in the middle of the hot porridge's melting butter.

I knew one of the kids came from a vegan family, so I asked his mother if she had any experience in cooking the porridge using rice milk. She told me not to make too much of it. He had never participated in the almond in the rice porridge ceremony, so it was ok. He could bring food from home. I found that very touching that she didn't want me to be bothered with their alternative lifestyle, but it also made me even more determined he should not only participate: he should also find the almond.
I asked what I could give him as a winning prize.

I made porridge the traditional way for the party, and with rice milk for him. I explained to the 23 boys that part of the game was to trick eachother by rolling their tongue in their mouth as if they had found the almond... but never reveal it untill all the plates were empty. They ate so much porridge.
The boy had such a sneaky smile on his face it was priceless. I watched him, and he played the game with glory. He found one of the 6 almonds hidden.

When I gave him the chocolate bar his parents had agreed upon, he ran over to his father and asked if he was allowed to eat it... and he cried when his dad said yes.

There is a doctor in the USA who came up with the expression orthorexia.
It worries me that food has become something we use as a sign of personal excellence. A healthy, slim and well toned body gives you status and sends signals of self control, and the diets makes the strive easier and more concrete.
It IS a good thing to eat healthy and to be active, but I believe food gets a lot of unhealthy attention. More and more doctors and dieticians are getting really worried about the psychological and social consequenses people's attitude towards food may cause.

Some say we overfeed but malnourish ourselves. Some say we underfeed and overnourish ourselves. I just want meals to stay the highlights of a day, when we gather around the table and have those good, soulful and silly conversations.

When we face eachother and grant our senses the pleasures of smells, textures, tastes and colours, while we laugh, get serious, turn sad and silly and feel like a wholesome family of friends.
To dare to let go of time and the daily rat race. To use the senses we received as gifts when we were brought into this world, disregard the rules of a perfect appearance and just enjoy...
That is to live life to the fullest.




Who are more likely to see behind the "flaws" we might have? Men.... or women?