First Reaction: Bad Flash Update.

So sorry for the bad flash, between one zillion things to do today, serious medication, and cancerland in general, I’m lucky I remember how to use a camera. Not a good effort, but it’s too damn cold to wander outside in my robe.

First Reaction, © C. Ford, all rights reserved.

First Reaction, © C. Ford, all rights reserved.

Upper left corner, WTF Duck and Face, bound and gagged. Middle left, the remnant of pre-cancerous me. Lower left corner, the Welcome to Cancerland Mesmerowlbat. Upper right corner, the Cell Slug, she’s a good one. Lower right, Face – anxiety, fear. All bound in a cell matrix. The cancer cells are the red-purple ones. Markers on Bristol, 16″ x 20″.

Books.

Marcus was thoughtful enough to send me The Emperor of All Maladies, which I had meant to get months ago, but with everything going on, it slipped the brain. I was barely into the book, tears in my eyes, thinking “yep, yep, yep” and identifying with so much. It’s a truly riveting narrative, and it’s what the very best books always are – an opportunity to learn.

One thing which really struck deeply home was when the author talked about how it’s difficult to think of cancer as a thing, it’s more on the person side, and that’s so true. I don’t think of my cancer as random cells happily cloning and evolving at the expense of the rest of me; I don’t think of it as a nebulous disease; I don’t think of it as a thing. It’s more like you separate, and there’s a shadowy self staring you down, a dark charcoal swipe of a doppelgänger, challenging you to wage war for your life, and cancer cells are much better at the whole evolution business than we are, which is why you get poisoned and radiated to what feels like an inch from death. All that said, and given the recent nightmare of treatment, I found myself profoundly grateful for the current stage of medical and technological advance when I read this:

The sixteenth-century surgeon Ambroise Paré described charring tumors with a soldering iron heated on coals, or chemically searing them with a paste of sulfuric acid. Even a small nick in the skin, treated thus, could quickly suppurate into a lethal infection. The tumors would often profusely bleed at the slightest provocation.

Lorenz Heister, and eighteenth-century German physician, once described a mastectomy in his clinic as if it were a sacrificial ritual: “Many females can stand the operation with the greatest courage and without hardly moaning at all. Others, however, make such a clamor that they may dishearten even the most undaunted surgeon and hinder the operation. To perform the operation, the surgeon should be steadfast and not allow himself to become discomforted by the cries of the patient.”

I’d dearly like to be able to go back in time and smack the fuck out of Heister, and a host of others. Misogyny seriously sucks, and boy, is it ever present in cancer treatment. It’s certainly lessened a great deal, but it’s still more than present. Sigh.

Anyroad, highly recommended, for everyone.

ETA: Feeling better, got my anger and FUCK ITs back. Yeah.

Cancer Chronicles 11: Home.

Let’s hear it for Sister Morphine.

The photo I couldn’t upload on Wednesday.

Home. When you show up for your labs/oncology visit/chemo, this is something you don’t want to hear: “Your labs are terrible! There is no way in hell you’re getting chemo today! You need to be in hospital.” :Considers running away again: “I’m going to stop meeting you like this if you keep putting me in hospital.”

Yes, I was very dehydrated, severe diarrhea for 12 days will do that, and I am not a good fluid intake person. The main trouble was that my liver enzymes were through the roof. Uh oh. My oncologist pinned his hopes on a possible bile duct stone, as I’m lacking a gallbladder. I doubted this was so; outside the constipation/diarrhea combination, I had no abdominal pain. Turns out this was so, a scan showed everything normal in that area. So, if this is chemo induced, I get kicked out of the trial, and switched to ‘traditional chemo’. I didn’t want to just do that, and neither did my oncologist, because there could be a couple of other factors: my obviously over the top reaction to the miralax, and the acetaminophen in my regular pain meds, which was quite increased from normal dosage due to very increased pain.

The GI doc and a couple of others who came to visit on Wednesday kept asking me about acetaminophen, specifically Tylenol, like I swallowed half a bottle every day for a hobby or something. So for now, I’m not taking anything acetaminophen based, gone over to morphine, my liver count was trending down very quickly, and the diarrhea has finally slowed down, so next week I’ll do chemo infusion two, just the same, stay off the acetaminophen for the following two weeks, then we’ll see what the labs say. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stay in the trial. I think I’ll probably win ‘exasperating patient’ of the year.

What is clear is that I’ll have to do all the stuff right from the start, low fiber diet, lots and lots and lots of fluid intake. My ostomy end is still not working, so I’ll need to see my surgeon again, too. I’ll admit to being somewhat afraid of the latter, because if I hear ‘hospital’ again in the next week or two, I might start screaming. I hate being in hospital, but I will say, for someone who hates it as much as I do, the nurses are always happy to see me, because I’m not the miserable asshole with them or any other medical folk. I always engage with them, and turn my humour to ‘extra high’, and I never ever have cause to complain about my treatment.

On Wednesday, I didn’t have my MRI scan until evening. Pick up arrived around 6 pm or so, and when I wandered out to the hall, there was a large man, dressed all in black, bristling with gear, looked like a cop, which took me aback a bit. The gurney was black, with enough straps to please a mad insane asylum director. I looked at him, looked at the gurney, and said “I wish I’d known, I would have put on my super villain outfit.” So, I got a ride in an ambulance to the MRI center. My first time in one, kind of interesting, and a nice break from hospital boredom. I was happily drugged for this scan, so I was able to lie still without much pain.

Odd things: my veins, which have never been what you call cooperative (I’m a roller), seemed to go on full strike on Wednesday. In the morning, getting my labs done, the needle goes in, nothing. The needle gets moved about quite a bit, nothing. Took about 20, 25 seconds for blood to show up. We had a good laugh about that, because it was really fucking weird. Later, in hospital, it was one blown vein after another. Much much later, talking with my oncologist, he was annoyed my port wasn’t used. So, I enquired about that (I had completely forgotten about the port myself.) One of my nurses told me they stopped using ports, because when they used them for everything, labs and IV, the rate of infections went up, and they got all the blame for it. Naturally, they weren’t happy about that, so they just quit using them. Can’t blame them, I wouldn’t want to blamed for that either, especially when every precaution possible is taken.

Thursday was one very long day, into evening, of sit, wait, and try to deal with deadly boredom. I wasn’t released until late evening, and I had to fight a bit for that, so by the time we got home, it was very late, and I swallowed some morphine and collapsed. Still not feeling great, but I’d much rather feel lousy at home. Jayne gets seriously unglued when I go missing, so I had to spend some time with him; he thought I smelled funny. The rats were all “oh Great Rat, serving wench, you are home! Feed us all the good things!” Grace and Vala just stared at me, then the empty tea dish, glaring at my compleat nerve at not being around to make sure they had their tea and pastry.

So, things should get back to normal here, for at least a while. One lesson learned: even on a routine visit, toss the packed duffel bag in the car, along with the secondary computer, cords, all that crap…just in case. Normally, I’d just toss it all in the car and leave it, but we’re still in below zero temps here. That can’t go away soon enough.

Cancer Chronicles 10: Standards & Stories.

Google Images, screenshot.

It wasn’t long ago I was moaning about the size of the chemo pump I get to be tethered to for two days per session. My friend who is also undergoing treatment told me their pump was more like an old Walkman, and electric rather than gravity fed, like mine. It’s also flat, rather than the silly giant capsule shape of mine. The above barely begins to cover all the different types, that’s not close to the whole page. Which leads me to wonder about standardisation, patient care, and patient outcomes. Whether or not you are paying attention to it, obviously everything about treatment has its effect on you, and user friendliness counts on some level, I’m sure. Of course, capitalism reigns supreme here in Ustates, and it’s quite apparent that there are plenty of chemo pumps all vying for attention and purchase. Obviously, more prestigious institutions with money behind them will have whatever is passing for the current state of the art and better design when it comes to patient point of view. Other institutions will have no choice but to go for cheaper options. And of course, there will be fingers, pockets, and the vagaries of salesmanship involved. Business is business, medical or not. What effect does this lack of standardisation have on patient outcomes, on the reputation of institutions? If I was given a choice, I would never choose the particular pump I’m saddled with. At the very least, I’d prefer something which could be carried at or below the waist. Oh yes, I’m sure they all get the job done, and the effect I’m talking about is certainly a small and subtle one, to be sure. Still, I can’t help wondering. Is this lack of a standard also prevalent elsewhere in the world?

ETA: I just didn’t have the energy to do this yesterday, but I talked about it in a correspondence with my friend in colon cancer treatment. Look at the people in that screenshot. Most of them with manic grins and poses, screaming “LOOK AT MY GOOD ATTITUDE! I HAVE POSITIVE!” Fuck that noise. I do not have a positive attitude. I don’t even have a good attitude. I have a shitty, cynical attitude, about most everything, and that certainly includes having cancer. If I lose that, I will be in serious trouble. My colon cancer friend is the same way. So, another little note: don’t go around telling a cancer patient something like “you have a positive attitude, and that’s the most important thing!” No, it’s not the most important thing. It’s not fucking important at all. What is important is whatever attitude your friend or loved one normally has is still intact and firing on all cylinders. If dark, twisted, gallows humour keeps someone going, don’t try to paint it pink with positivity. If razor sharp wit and observations keep someone going, allow that. It’s not up to anyone else to call the shots on what attitude will work best for any given person. As I said before, the person with cancer is still the person you know, they are still the same person they were before diagnosis; cancer is not a call to do a 360 on your personality and attitude.

I was putting off another chronicle for a while, which I’ll get to a bit later, but it turns out today is World Cancer Day. The whole thing is so damn Perky Positive that it exhausts me, but I will say this: If you’re putting off a standard screening, don’t. Grit your teeth, clear your schedule, and get it over with. It may well save your life. The people who love you will appreciate that. Yeah, it can be scary, no one wants bad news. No one wants that news. Nonetheless, Get. It. Done. If you’re stupid like me, and wait until pain shows up, it will be for  the worse. If you’re a younger person, and put off something like getting the HPV vaccine, stop that right now, and Get. It. Done. If you’re a parent, and you have not given this gift to your child, Get. It. Done. It’s much better to get that news when you have a good chance of survival. I’ve already known too many people who were dead inside six weeks of diagnosis.

Okay, stories. I was going to put this off until after the next session, but I felt compelled to write today because of the whole world cancer day thing. This involves chemo, having an ostomy, and rivers of shit. If you would rather avoid such shit, now’s the time to stop reading. My next chemo session is the 7th this month, the last two weeks have been a nasty hell spent in a river of shit. I’m exhausted, have next to no motivation to do anything at all, punctuated by bursts of explosive anger. It’s a kind of madness. I’ve had the interesting experience of having constipation and diarrhea at the same time. I don’t recommend it. Chemo turned the shit in my bowels to stone, it felt like I had a belly full of rocks. I waited a couple of days, to see if anything would move, nothing. Yeah, okay, so I take the recommended softener/laxative stuff. That was a fucking mistake. I turned into a skin bag of diarrhea, a spout stuck on ‘pour’. Thing was, this wasn’t coming out the ostomy end, oh no. My belly was still full of rocks, could feel them. This goes on for days. Now I’m taking stuff for diarrhea. Doesn’t work. I’m now on day 8 or 9 of leaking. It’s slowed down some now, and some of the rocks have exited the building, but not through the ostomy end. Feels like all I’ve been doing for over a week is cleaning shit: off myself, off the floor, off the toilet, out of clothes, out of underwear. The only thing happening there is Grimhild burping out farts on a regular basis, and Grimhild has a new trick of rapid shrinking down to flush with my skin, then popping back out again. I’m sure I’ll be having fun with my surgeon again this week. Obviously, stuffing my face like a victim of starvation after chemo is not going to be an option, because I cannot face another two weeks like the ones I’ve been through. Hello mostly liquid diet.

And then there’s the pain. Oh Sweet Crispy Christ, the pain. I have an abnormally high tolerance when it comes to pain, but even I have limits. Why in the fuckety fuck did no one arm me with pain meds before chemo? Why in the fuckety fuck am I going to have to bring this up? Suffering is not good for your nonexistent soul, it isn’t good at all. Out of my current doctors, only the radiation doc was familiar with the direct and referred pain caused by a colorectal tumour, and I’m wondering why. The pain has prevented me from sleeping, it’s woken me up from sleep. It overrides everything and leaves me wanting nothing more than to be unconscious. A low down (no pun intended, but…) colorectal tumour makes your tailbone a center of pain, it spreads out over and through the ilium, the lower spine, and puts amazing, blinding pressure on the sciatic nerve. It’s so gosh darn fun to get up and think you’re going to walk, and have a lightning strike of pain take your leg out from under you. That kind of pain momentarily shocks you out from under the dismal symphony of pain which has already become oppressively routine.

Sitting at my desk, staring off into middle distance, I become aware that I’m nodding along to the rhythm beat of pain in my lower spine rather than the music playing. Time for inadequate meds again. It’s a piss always having to be medicated, too.  Well fuck it, I have animals who would like to be fed, so I’ll go do that. For the record, rats totally win on the “oh gods, we are going to die right this second, pitifully, in your arms, if we aren’t fed immediately!” There’s nothing like walking in and seeing a group of boys standing up and reaching their little hands out like a chorus of Tiny Tims.

Flu Shot Jesus.

If you know who to credit, let me know.

Gloria Copeland, wife of Kenneth Copeland, who was recently boasting about the Gulfstream plane “Jesus bought” for him, has something to say about influenza.

A video was posted on the ministry’s Facebook page featuring Copeland’s wife, Gloria, telling people that there is no such thing as flu season and that they don’t need to get a flu shot because “Jesus himself gave us the flu shot.”

“Listen partners, we don’t have a flu season,” Gloria Copeland said. “And don’t receive it when somebody threatens you with, ‘Everybody is getting the flu.’ We’ve already had our shot, He bore our sicknesses and carried our diseases. That’s what we stand on.”

Right, it’s all part of Jehovah’s plan when people get sick and die, so no worries there. These idiots tangled with measles in the recent past, and measles won. A person might think they would have learned something, but no.

Praying for those who may already have the flu, Copeland proclaimed, “Flu, I bind you off the people in the name of Jesus. Jesus himself gave us the flu shot, He redeemed us from the curse of flu.” Those who don’t have the flu, she promised, can protect themselves by simply declaring, “I’ll never have the flu.”

“Inoculate yourself with the word of God,” Copeland advised.

Oh, I’m so sure “I’ll never have the flu” works a charm. The curse of flu? Okay, that’s a new one, where in the bible is that little gem, because I’d like to read it. What else do you tell people who do have the flu, that Jesus doesn’t love them as much? He got behind with the inoculations? As for “binding” the flu, uh, isn’t that kind of a witchcraft thing? While the bible doesn’t mention influenza, it does mention witchcraft. Might want to watch your step there, Ms. Copeland.

And while I don’t care if you want the misery of flu, you have no business inflicting it on others, you nasty, thoughtless ass.

You can see the whole mess at RWW.

Cancer Chronicles 8: One one thousand, Two one thousand…

Got to disengage the giant capsule today, yay! Wow, that goes a long way towards feeling normal again. That chemo pump has a terrible weight to it, which has nothing to do with the physicality of it. Okay, this chronicle is mostly pictorial. I’ll caption what’s going on.

Okay. Once the pump is empty, first step is to switch the line to 'off' - you just slide the tube from the open flow notch to the pinch end. Easy peasy.

Okay. Once the pump is empty, first step is to switch the line to ‘off’ – you just slide the tube from the open flow notch to the pinch end. Easy peasy.

Next, get your bag of goodies out and ready. You'll have alcohol wipes, gloves, two loaded syringes for flushing, and a bandage.

Next, get your bag of goodies out and ready. You’ll have alcohol wipes, gloves, two loaded syringes for flushing, and a bandage.

Even if you don't think you need to do this, go over your instructions once before you begin, because you really don't need to fuck something up, and end up with an unnecessary trip back to hospital, yeah? After a few times, it will become old hat.

Even if you don’t think you need to do this, go over your instructions once before you begin, because you really don’t need to fuck something up, and end up with an unnecessary trip back to hospital, yeah? After a few times, it will become old hat.

The gloves, they won't fit, guaranteed. Pain in the ass. You're instructed to clean the port connector for 15 seconds, for each syringe, so count: one, one thousand...

The gloves, they won’t fit, guaranteed. Pain in the ass. You’re instructed to clean the port connector for 15 seconds, for each syringe, so count: one, one thousand…

Free! Woohoo.

Free! Woohoo.

Now that you're happily unencumbered again, gather up all the stuff.

Now that you’re happily unencumbered again, gather up all the stuff.

Put all the stuff in the transport bag, and stick it somewhere you won't forget, because you have to take it back with you for the next infusion, where it's happily catalogued as properly destroyed and all that.

Put all the stuff in the transport bag, and stick it somewhere you won’t forget, because you have to take it back with you for the next infusion, where it’s happily catalogued as properly destroyed and all that.

Now for more tea and something to eat so I can take my dexamethasone. Oh man, it is so nice to have that thing off me. Your port area and shoulder will be a bit sore, treat that part of yourself gently.

Cancer Chronicles 6: Tired and Tunneled.

Cancer Vixen, Marisa Acocella Marchetto.

Warning: below the fold is a photo of my chemo port taken right after surgery. It’s not hideous, looks kinda like a body mod gone wrong, but if you’re sensitive, don’t look.

So, the 19th. My diagnosis was on Dec. 19th. January 19th was medical hell day. I’m starting to dislike 19ths. Yesterday, had to leave the house at 5:45am for a full day: PET scan, radiation doc visit, MRI, and chemo port installation. We finished up all the medical stuff at 6pm. Tired doesn’t begin to cover it.

[Read more…]

Cancer Chronicles 4: Pathology & Expression.

So…eventually, the path report makes its way to your door. Mine: Adenocarcinoma, moderately differentiated, with invasive feature and ulceration. Translation: invasive adenocarcinoma. There, that was easy. In my case, nothing I didn’t know already, but don’t get frittered by language. Look it up. If you have questions, write them down. Never be afraid to ask. The more you understand, the better you’ll be able to manage.

If ever there was a time to express yourself, this is that time. (You should be doing that anyway. Don’t wait til’ cancer comes knocking.) This is a good time to treat yourself a little. Doesn’t have to be major. I got a couple things at Big Lots:

© C. Ford.

You would not believe how incredibly obnoxious that pink nail polish is, dialed up to about nth. Everyone in the hospital loved it, kinda cheered us all up. Looks right good on the toes. Of course, for me, yet more art supplies. Got a lovely case of Daler Rowney pencils, which brings me to expression.

© C. Ford.

Draw. Write. Craft. Sing. Get your camera out. Make up new and awful fart jokes. Mortify your teenager by whipping your shirt open and saying “look, you were right, I’m full of shit!” Howl out your window and freak the fuck out of your neighbours. (They deserve it for those fucking fireworks after midnight anyway.) Something. Anything. I can’t quite do a nice bellyflop on my bed and play around with markers yet, but I’m working on it. Did you know you can get paper clips which are shaped like elephants? Make a chain of elephants. The list goes on. And on. Embrace all the moments. Even when you have a good prognosis in front of you, it doesn’t hurt to be aware of the clock. I was taking a whole lot for granted, and this has been quite the smack. And right now, I have a whole lot of rats who deserve a bit better from me, so I’m going to go and make them one hell of a salad. :D

A Diverse Eye Chart.

Click for GIANT size.

Click for GIANT size.

This amazing eye chart was put together by George Mayerle, in 1907.

This fantastic eye chart — measuring 22 by 28 inches with a positive version on one side and negative on the other — is the work of German optometrist and American Optometric Association member George Mayerle, who was working in San Francisco at end of the nineteenth century, just when optometry was beginning to professionalise. The chart was a culmination of his many years of practice and, according to Mayerle, its distinctive international angle served also to reflect the diversity and immigration which lay at the heart of the city in which he worked. At the time it was advertised as “the only chart published that can be used by people of any nationality”. Stephen P. Rice, from the National Library of Medicine (who house this copy presented here), explains just how throughly thought through the different aspects of the chart were as regards the aim to be as inclusive as possible:

Running through the middle of the chart, the seven vertical panels test for acuity of vision with characters in the Roman alphabet (for English, German, and other European readers) and also in Japanese, Chinese, Russian, and Hebrew. A panel in the center replaces the alphabetic characters with symbols for children and adults who were illiterate or who could not read any of the other writing systems offered. Directly above the center panel is a version of the radiant dial that tests for astigmatism. On either side of that are lines that test the muscular strength of the eyes. Finally, across the bottom, boxes test for color vision, a feature intended especially (according to one advertisement) for those working on railroads and steamboats.

You can also see and download this wonderful chart here.  Via The Public Domain.

Cancer Chronicles 3: The Naming.

It’s amazing how one thing can make such a big difference. In my case, stomach muscle. That’s sliced in order to do the colostomy, and it’s sheer agony to force that muscle into action, and there’s no choice about that, either. You can’t just lie flat for the time it takes to heal. Well, I suppose you could, but that’s not me, and I don’t like catheters. Anyroad, while you’re still in hospital, the mass amount of drugs helps to blunt the pain a bit when you have to get into a sitting or standing position. Once you’re home, it’s a symphony of contortion and pain trying to figure out the easiest way to get yourself sitting or standing. The injured and screaming stomach muscle, along with the stoma, feels incredibly heavy, you feel very weighed down. I’m 10 days out now, and the stomach muscle still feels sore, like it would after a heavy workout, but it’s a world of difference, being able to sit up, stand up straight, and be able to get into and out of bed without mass problems. I don’t feel weighted down, either. So. Much. Better.

I’m finding a need to hang on to my sense of humour with everything I have. Still on a lot of fart humour here. Makes me feel very juvenile, but that’s okay. Better than feeling ancient. So, as we’ll be living together quite a while, I figured it was time to name my stoma. Yeah, yeah, it’s silly. I don’t care. I have this very old name book, and I was flipping through, when a meaning caught my eye and made me laugh: helmeted battle maid. I looked down at my stoma, freshly bagged, and thought “that’s perfect!” The name? Grimhild. Seriously perfect. Out of curiosity, I looked Grimhild up – turns out in any incarnation, she wasn’t a nice lady type. That works too, because I am not feeling at all nice towards this part of me gone rogue.

Things get better when you get your appetite back, too. This took me quite a time, I didn’t have much appetite at all until a couple of days ago, and eating small amounts throughout the day/evening works best for me, rather than trying to do standard meals. I’ve also learned it’s best to be very fluid when it comes to sleep. This isn’t an option for everyone, especially those who want to get back to work; but I’ve found I often just can’t get to sleep when I want, so whenever I feel like I could nod off, I lay down and sleep for as long as I need. So far, that’s keeping me feeling fair energetic.

Now, I do believe Grimhild is making noises along the lines of ‘feed me’, so breakfast it is.

Top Ten Child Corruption Trends! Oh My.

Jack Bennett (@makeuupbyjack) has more than 300,000 followers. He’s 10. Credit Lauren Fleishman for The New York Times.

Jack Bennett (@makeuupbyjack) has more than 300,000 followers. He’s 10. Credit Lauren Fleishman for The New York Times.

Linda Harvey, always a delightful bag of poison, is going on about all the worst of the worst of child corruption taking place in 2017, and it will most likely continue! Oh, how absolutely awful it is, to see children treated as more than adults in waiting, to be silent and obedient. Goodness me, they are being treated as if they were people.

10. The mainstream media continue to aggressively sell America on the bizarre and deviant as positive options for kids. The New York Times published a radically irresponsible story, “His eye makeup is better than yours,” about a 10-year-old boy and his Instagram make-up following. Do you want to vomit yet? I do.

No, I don’t want to vomit at all. The NYT is right, Mr. Bennett’s eye make-up is much better than mine. I always did suck at the eye make-up. There’s nothing at all wrong with men wearing cosmetics, they have been worn by men throughout history, and men look just as nice in make-up as other genders do. Why not look nice? Especially if it makes you feel good. I would say the following these young people get is a fair indicator that there are a whole lot of kids out there who are aching to express themselves, and why not do that with the artistry of cosmetics? If this was face-painting at a county fair or something, you wouldn’t think twice about it, Ms. Harvey.

9. Corrupting children in public must be a big turn-on for sexual anarchists. This year, the latest assaults on decency were the “drag-queen story hours” at public libraries, where men costumed in female attire read books to innocent children, with pandering parents as onlookers.

Oh yes, Alex Jones was having a fit about this, too. This is great! Teaches acceptance and provides representation at the same time. Sprogs don’t have a problem with such things, just nasty, bigoted, toxic assholes, especially asshole christians.

8. Movies and TV for children pushed more “LGBT” depravity in their faces than ever before. Disney topped the list of offending producers. Their remake of “Beauty and the Beast” cast one of the males as a homosexual character.

Yes, yes, so the fuck what? No one is going to die because a character is gay. There are gay people everywhere, Ms. Harvey. One side character in a movie isn’t all that much.

TV shows that introduced obscenity and/or homosexual themes to children included Netflix’s “Big Mouth,” and Disney’s “Doc McStuffins,””Andi Mack” and “Star vs. the Forces of Evil.” Does anyone still doubt Disney’s agenda? It is also a major donor to GLSEN, the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network.

Disney does not have an agenda, outside of appealing to as many sprogs as possible. Being inclusive is a big part of that. I don’t know if there’s a queer character in A Wrinkle In Time, but right about now, I’m seriously hoping there is, just so you’ll scream even louder and your tears shall be ever so salty.

7. Some schools allow children to express sexual and gender-defiant identities they conceal from parents. A New Jersey bill passed that guaranteed “confidentiality” for kids engaging in “trans” behavior, because, as we all know, parents are the enemy, right? Similar school policies exist in Maine, Maryland, Hawaii and elsewhere.

Well, Ms. Harvey, for your information, yes, parents are often the enemy. Let’s not pretend that parents are never awful and that abuse never happens. There have been generations of children tossed out on the street because they are queer, and came out to their parents, hoping for love and acceptance. A lot of those remarkably abusive, shitty parents are christian, and they’d rather see their children dead than to be happy, and to be who they are. This is not “gender defiance”. This is simply people needing to be who they are. For all the children stuck in homes with shitty parents, they must have a safe outlet somewhere, or else they will often end up in a very unsafe situation. Caring adults want those kids to be safe. Unlike their shitty parents.

6. Hollywood rushed to give awards to a movie featuring the “romance” of a teen boy being seduced by an adult man (“Call Me by YourName“) while accusations pile up of alleged abuse of boy actors by powerful Tinseltown males. Former child actor Corey Feldman’s long-time allegations are finally getting a hearing.

Oh FFS. Can you asshole christians really not see the difference between a consensual relationship and assault? No wonder you have problems. I had to do some reading about this film, and it involves a fleeting romance between a 17 year old and a 24 year old. I’m sure this comes as an awful shock, Ms. Harvey, but a whole lot of 17 year old people aren’t virgins.

5. Continued promotion in schools of homosexual and “transgender” behavior by GLSEN and the Human Rights Campaign, backed up by the NEA and ACLU, tragically misleads thousands of American youth every year. GLSEN’s propaganda events like the April “Day of Silence” and fall “Ally Week” can hardly be taken seriously anymore. There is no “silence” with this obnoxiously loud agenda.

Sigh. All the obnoxiously loud agenda crap is solely on your side, Ms. Harvey. You fucking assholes never stop shrieking that the sky is falling over this, that, and whatthefuckever. Acceptance, it’s the road to all good things. All those things you have no use for, like peace, happiness, inclusivity, creativity, etc.

4. Radical pro-abortion forces have teamed up with homosexual activist groups to push for more-explicit-than-ever “comprehensive sex education” curricula in schools, where seventh graders are told that vaginal, anal and oral sex are equally valid sex practices, all normal for teens and manageable with condoms (which are demonstrated on plastic models). The sound alternative of authentic abstinence education is dismissed and mocked.

Authentic (?) abstinence education is dismissed and mocked because it is fucking stupid, and not remotely reality based. When you refuse to acknowledge the burgeoning sexuality of young people, they find their own methods of justifying things, like classifying oral or anal sex as ‘not really sex’ sex. Want young adults to be safe, healthy, and not find themselves in need of a termination? Educate them. Provide contraception. There ya go.

3. The sharp rise in child pornography is a huge threat to America’s children. Too many vulnerable children are violated and videotaped for the voyeuristic pleasure of evil adults.

Well, no shit, Sherlock. This is not a new problem, it’s as old as the hills, and yes, all people need to do more to put a stop to practices which harm children. There is no divide here, it’s not a secret cabal of lefties or righties doing such things; unfortunately, there’s no simple way to point a finger. Putting a stop to child sex trafficking and child porn is a big job, and there isn’t an easy way to deal with it.

2. Those who have charge over children are sometimes deliberately directing them away from Christian faith. And brave Christian voices are bullied into silence, like teacher Michael Stack in San Luis Obispo, California, who resigned after his letter to the school newspaper was greeted with outrage from the homosexual community – and a death threat. The letter included passages from Romans 1 about homosexuality, mischaracterized as advocating “death to homosexuals.”

Was it mischaracterised? Let’s look at a tiny bit:

So God abandoned them to do whatever shameful things their hearts desired. As a result, they did vile and shameful things with each other’s bodies. They traded the truth about God for a lie. So they worshiped and served the things God created instead of the creator Himself, who is worthy of eternal praise! Amen. That is why God abandoned them to their shameful desires. Even the women turned against the natural way to have sex and instead indulged in sex with each other. And the men, instead of having normal sexual relations with women, burned with lust for each other. Men did shameful things with other men, and as a result of this sin, they suffered within themselves the penalty they deserved.

Since they thought it foolish to acknowledge God, He abandoned them to their foolish thinking and let them do things that should never be done. Their lives became full of every kind of wickedness, sin, greed, hate, envy, murder, quarreling, deception, malicious behavior, and gossip. They are backstabbers, haters of God, insolent, proud, and boastful. They invent new ways of sinning, and they disobey their parents. They refuse to understand, break their promises, are heartless, and have no mercy. They know God’s justice requires that those who do these things deserve to die, yet they do them anyway. Worse yet, they encourage others to do them too.”

No, that’s not mischaracterised at all. Teaching children that your godmonster hates them and that there’s just no choice, no, they have to die, and be tortured for all eternity, for being who they are, that’s really shitty. And abusive. And wrong. You asshole christians are not brave – it doesn’t take bravery to bully children. You’re cowardly asses who shriek “persecution!” every time you’re told no, you don’t get oppress and harm people. There are a lot of great teachers out there, and I’m sure that includes some christian teachers, who manage to put the children first. But if you’re a teacher, and you just have to point out how all the queers are icky and deserving of punishment, you are not a good teacher, and you shouldn’t be around children at all.

1. While the chance to believe in Jesus Christ is the most important opportunity we can offer a child, those who are not allowed to be born in the first place never have that chance. Abortion of the unborn continues to be the biggest preventable threat to children in the U.S., yet is still supported up until birth by many progressives and Democratic Party politicians.

Oh, enough. Go fuck yourself every which way, Ms. Harvey. What I do or don’t do with myself is my fucking business, just as any medical procedures are also my decision.

Blecch. If you want to go read the whole mess, you can do so here. I think I need a shower.