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VI SOM VENTER PÅ GODOT.
Det har vært mange gripende artikler i det siste om retten til selvbestemt død. I Aftenposten var en ung avbildet mann bekymret for sin hollandske tante som hadde fått dødshjelp. Hadde hun følt hun seg presset?
Det er gjerne yngre mennesker - og siden jeg selv er 86 – mener jeg alt under 75 som åkker seg for det forferdelige som foreslås: At folk skal få dø når de ikke lenger orker.
Jeg skjønner problemene ved å få dødshjelp juridisk akseptabelt, men når det er sagt, ser jeg at mange artikler som er skrevet mot, oser av en mistenkelig selvopptatthet: ”Hvorfor gjorde hun det mot meg, slik at jeg får dårlig samvittighet”.
Det er litt sent.
Hvis hun føler seg ferdig med livet, så finner hun det kanskje greit å forsvinne. Jeg sier ”hun” - for kvinner lever lengst og det er gjerne snakk om ”tante på hjem” eller ”bestemor på anbud”. Selv om bestemødre i dag er i full jobb, flørter på bar og frekventerer sydlige strender i bikini.
Det er oldemødre som trenger omsorg.
Å bli gammel og skrøpelig er ikke noe stas.
Det er ikke bare ”smerter ved livets slutt” som er vanskelige - det er et langt liv som har tæret og kanskje gitt depresjon og nedturer. Tretthet og angst som gir lyst til å gjøre det slutt lenge før vi ligger og stønner, omgitt av velmenende religiøsitet og legemoral som kanskje holder deg kunstig i live for sin egen del. De skal jo redde liv – uansett.
La oss slippe sentimentaliteten. Livet er tøft nok. Vi som har levd lenge vet at unge mennesker har det travelt og ikke rekker å besøke eller ta seg av familiens eldste. Vi var slik selv!!! Vi forstår – selv om vi hadde mye å gjøre og færre hjelpemidler, så ble vi ofte tvunget av dårlig samvittighet mer enn sterke følelser for dem som ikke lenger orket å forsere en trapp like fort som oss. Slikt er nærmest umulig å forstå før man er der selv. For kort tid siden oppdaget jeg brått at jeg måtte opp en trapp med ett høyt trinn hos min frisør. Jeg har forsert den i 26 år. Foreløpig kommer jeg opp, men må ha hjelp ned. Og langsomt kommer den snikende dilldallstemmen hos yngre mennesker som tror at hodet følger kroppen. Dessverre overrasker hodet med å gi ordre som kroppen ikke adlyder lenger.
Vi er kommet i ”huffalderen” og vi kjenner de yngres reaksjon så altfor godt for vi har vært der selv. Huff, nå er det lenge siden vi har besøkt ... Huff, jeg har glemt …
Glem dårlig samvittighet, se oss som modne mennesker og gled dere om vi slipper før vi blir liggende og lalle med sykepleiere som heldigvis skjønner mer enn man tror.
Jeg har sittet ved dødsleie og hørt legen si: Pøs på med morfin!!
Jeg har fulgt en alzheimerpasients 25-årige grufulle ferd mot døden. Ikke mye igjen av det ukrenkelige og guddommelige. Livet kan være brutalt.
Vi vet det. Kutt ut den ”stakkarsdebatten”.
Medlemskap i RETTEN TIL EN VERDIG DØD er en mager trøst, men dog en trøst.
Se oss som vi er og hjelp oss når dere orker og har lyst.
Og bare da.
The prolongued silence on this page might prompt the notion that I’ve gone to seed. That may be correct, and I’m the last to notice. Reaching a somewhat more mature age at times like these rises immediate suspicions as well as hopes on that account. No longer possessing the ability to take care of ones person and rights is indeed a grim prospect for whom it may concern, whereas cashing in on some such disadvantage may prompt a considerably increased activity from the lesser aged.
The new trend for those with meagre experience is to revise history and score out what is unsuitable for them. World War 2 in Norway is an excellent example. We who were brought up by parents who sometimes mustered to bring facts to the surface, now have to endure statements contradicting the existence of the said same. The hardship, suffering and fights they went through is denounced as playground games in a way that leads a seedy oldie to wonder where those revisionists went amiss in their private hunt for a cause in their lives.
Lack of information inevitably results in disregard. Coupled with lack of experience it may even produce envy.
That is pinpointing the crux of the matter, I think. Those of a lesser age yearn to grab our collective past to use it for their own purposes. To achieve that, they need to erase the various phenomena threatening to give away the gap between their competence and intentions.
Bearing this in mind, the more enjoyable it is that the US has got its first coloured president. My hope is that the abominable history prior to this giant leap from racist (or any) discrimination shall be kept alive for all it’s worth – and unrevised. President Barack Obama can of course not be blaimed for his failing to be female. I realize it would have been too much in one go if a coloured woman had taken on his present plight.
Which brings me back to the World War 2 in Norway: When shall the female and often lonely fighters get their due? When the last of them have passed away, their sacrifices and heroism will no longer exist but as vague memories in some minds belonging to my seedy generation:
- Look out, watch your step, said my father, a former brutal player in the revisionists sandbox Resistance. – Why, I asked. – There, my father said, - lives the strongest woman in Norway. Take care not to pinch cherries off her tree.
This womans War activities were too complicated to convey to a child, as well as absolutely incomprehensible for the historians.
Our little publishing enterprise is preparing to participate in the Oslo Book Fair at Lillestrom (Bokmessa på Lillestrøm) next weekend. The past six months has been a continuous galore of daily offers of this, that and the next thing at a high price, and naturally we have refrained from buying the miscellanous services and presentation paraphernalia from the Fair organizers. We shall not serve drinks to visitors or people of the press, and we are not going to invite anyone high up in the cultural power sphere to happy lovers hours, dinners, pizzas or texmex, rock bands playing or whatever may turn them on. We are merely going to let the loud pipers play their tunes to high heavens whilst we quietly let the books speak for themselves.
It has been rewarding enough that at Storfjellseter this summer my latest novel sold a fair amount of copies, and many readers have reported back their pleasure in reading it, saying it deserves a larger audience. What more can a writer and publisher ask for?
No, no – still on the go! Summertime at Storfjellseter was hectic, the autumn on the farm even more so. I struggle to keep up with the three grown men I’m living with at the moment, one of which is my dear husband. He has among other strenuous activities greatly improved the roof above my head, repairing it while ensuring continued rural romance - by leaving earth on it for grass to grow in. It is however yet to be seen if drops of melting ice wet my whitened hair bun again like some Russian waterdripping torture. But who’d I be, to complain about slight inconveniencies?
I’m supposed to sit at my writing desk eight hours a day, according to my roofbuilding superior, who has undertaken a role similar to that of Susannah, Henrik Ibsens wife. She constantly urged the poor dramatist to continue working whatever happened. It has been a bit like ‘writing in the rain’, but artists are, according to the late director of J. W. Cappelen, Henrik Groth, supposed to suffer in order to create. In so many words he told me to suffer enough to write a Norwegian version of the great Russian novel. To achieve that I must marry rich.
I do not know whether icy drops down ones neck qualify as suffering, or how much inconvenience one has to suffer in order to qualify. In fact, qualifying is a bewildering term. Some people are so highly qualified that common decency is far below them. Others are so common that it would be indecent to qualify why and how. They don’t get qualified, though. Then perhaps being common is ruling these days? If I’d married rich, I’d certainly have qualified as common. Notwithstanding how that would have made my husband suffer, which for him would have been a complete waste of time, his inclinations being far from qualifying as an artist.
The final date for publication of last years unpublished novel from my desk is now set – for the 20th of June 2008. Bewildered after the many revisions, I still think – as far as I am able to do so – this, in all respects, hopeless publication date will be realized. What invariably happens with a book published out of the Norwegian literary ‘season’ is instant invisibility, hence the lack of hope for the novels fate. Never mind. This invisibility occurs to most non best selling authors anyway, whatever quality their writing may have. The saying goes that writers passed 50 (particularly those with small boobs and such like attributes) who haven’t reached a large audience become dark hairs in the literary soup on the big publishing brothers’ table. This problem is however not mine, though not due to attributarial failures. It’s but logical that non-existing matters cannot pop up on someones dinner plate. But well, a woman must do what a woman has to do! Someone may ask why I keep on writing, and furthermore why the heck I’m writing this page in English. Yes, solve that riddle! We all need a challenge or two.
Suspence is the key term all over the place. Our family is kept in it these days: The forecast threatens us with yet another flood in the river Glomma which runs in our garden. To-day we stocked up milk, flour and yeast for bread baking and various staple foods. The fog is low, and the air drizzly. The massive mountain of snow in the garden (built by my boss to avoid mishaps in the front yard) is slowly melting, whereas the mountain snow is rapidly gushing into all big and small veins of water, rivulets and brooks, transforming quiet waters into roaring falls. At the same time all the sheep ladies on our farm are busy giving birth to triplets and quadruplets galore. One cannot be mistaken: Even in our ‘little Siberia’ summer will eventually and unbelievably occur: At which time I’ll rocket closer to the sky and resume living and working at Storfjellseter 900 meters above sea level. Quite safe for the melting pole ice, I think. Which made me think of Noah, why he needed to build his ark. Maybe he and his kind had kept to many fires alive or something and changed the climate that way, or they were breathing too hotly in their sleep. Heaven knows. As far as I know the Earth has been saved many times over, and the human race is yet not extinct. Another riddle to ponder about? Let’s be happy to be alive. Enjoy and be kind to yourself. Once that is achieved, you might take more easily to being kind to others. Have a super week.
Having returned from a brief holiday in the north west of Norway, I discovered that lots of people are reading these pages, particularly about Mr. Haavik, the chief in general of Norwegian gossipery spread by the magazine Se og hør (See and listen). He has recently gained a formidable popularity by supporting gay marriages, which seem to be a very important issue in Norway these days, apart from being popular, that is. Somehow or other some people manage to achieve this status of happy fame, but my, they really seem to work hard for it. It must be strenuous to put on the makeup to go with being so in, and I wonder how Mr. Haavik goes about choosing his foundation and lash colour. Well. In any case I have not for some time noticed him utter one disparaging word about the decisions of the Norwegian Arts Council where he is still a member, whether as a representative for the gay population (which must be huge jugding by its press coverage) or as an advanced art connaiseur and critic. (Eh.)
The north west at this time of the year was however brilliant. My spouse and I admired the wild mountain peaks and the Atlantic Road, and we pitied the tourists who don’t dare to visit our country during winter time. The week before Easter tends to be sunny and mild, and we rejoiced in the walks by the sea so far away from our daily life and toil.
On his return to normal, my spouse found that all his lady friends, his beloved herd of sheep, are increasing their bodily volume as they are all expecting, albeit very unmarried and not overtly gay any of them, except when fed. We share that need, a good feeding from time to time, but thanks to powers high above us, being human gives us a choice not to share partners galore just for the sake of reproducing or producing. Marriages between gays may be a good thing from many points of view, stabilizing families and relationships – hopefully. This statement is but a flustered attempt to gain popularity of course. The novel I’m still gnashing my teeth over, will certainly not drag me further to the stars. Which may be a good thing, having ones feet on the ground is somehow often reassuring.
Enjoy Easter time and beware of the white foot mice.
After my prolongued sojourn at Storfjellseter, until October 10th, a great place to avoid the world at large, the appearance of Norwegian newspapers during our breakfast session prompts an irresistible temptation to flick through them, hardly due to their headlines, it’s more like a socially accquired obsession comparable to how the papers themselves tell the same joke about passed-your-eyes-milk over and over again.
I have worked considerably with reffering my irritabilty to the dishwasher, or some such mute accessory to daily life, and it has given positive results. Not that the dishwasher cares to change its furious sound and unpracticality, ugly glances are all the same for that green monster. Not even kicks would disturb its down the nose equilibrium.
Neither would a harsh comment in Aftenposten get NN et al. to alter their opinions on this that and the next thing. I can only pray they are not members of the Ethical Counsil (etisk råd) of the Norwegian Asscn. of doctors. (Den Norske Legeforening.)
Lately those intellectual supermen have expressed opinions on treating ME patients, claiming that advice from psycholgists or psychiatrists, and in particular the treatment with cognitive association technique, is of no use.
Lo and behold. Any patient, whatever ailment, may gain a lot from psycotherapy including this technique, used by a competent professional who does’nt refer every patients’ uttering to the therapists personal experiences. That happeningmay belong in utopia, but I have indeed met some psychologists who are wizards regarding their ability to react in accordance with a possble underlying, as well as superimposed problem a patient might struggle with.
Bringing emotions, however, - occurances long since forgotten etc, out into the open, even in a closed room, is a fearsome undertaking. If the process is led by unexperienced, unimaginative and selfcentred creatures, it may end in disaster for the poor patient – or participants in a sensitivity training course. Leading the patient or participants back on track, is a specialty mastered but by a few dedicated souls.
The ME patient, as well as any other patient, may gain a lot from any kind of attention from caring medical staff on any level. The impression that someone really wants to help, make a world of difference. If treatment of the underlying disease is not available, as in fatal or poorly understood conditions, palliative treatment and both hospital staff or outpatients’ net of professionals’ time, understanding and good will may alter the patients state of mind and enhance possibilty of recovery. Palliative treatment may also be psychologic, as everyone should know. Roche or Bayer don’t have a monopoly as yet. Support for the seriously ill, however, should derive from composed, imaginative and qualified people who do not carry their harts in the scrotum and a duodenum where the brain was ment to dwell, with their limbic nerve system predominating finger glia, one should think.
Luckily a group of better informed professionals later shot at NN et al. from their hips.
Psychosomatic expertise in Norway must be low at the moment. I know of one teaching professor who seems to be even more narrow minded than some professors in other fields. Once I tested this endocrinologist by posing the following question:
My friend is 65. He is obese and cannot stop talking. Yesterday he bought himself a a Gucci briefcase costing some thirty thousand coronas (N.kroner). How would you diagnose this person?
Without further questions about the patients economy, social conditions, looks or physical traits and other behaviour, the professor quickly snapped: ‘He is a manic depressive.’ I fell off my chair, since the patient in question was loaded (with dough), never drank, had a mixed connective tissue disorder as well as overtly presented signs of a rare Cushing’s sufferer not on prednisone or cortisone.
Another patient diagnosed as a manic depressive by the same doctor was examined by a colloquial group of students to assess whether a knee operation was needed. All seven students claimed that the patient had it all in his mind. I wonder what their rheumatology teacher said to them after that blamage. The knee was operated, and the patient walks about as happy as anyone, without pain and no more cane, and is at times just as sad as some medical teachers ought to be for the rest of their lives.
Ups and downs do not necessarily call for uppers and downers, neither is there a call for neuroleptica on those not proven to be mentally ill. Just like Erythromycin against an unisolated spirochete born virus infection most probably enhance affection of the kidneys, ill adviced treatment with neuroleptica will make a patient really ‘mental’, instead of perhaps merely bizarre or harbouring unpopular opinions. Finding and treating an underlying disease, does not seem to be of interest.
– Hah, I’m dealing with hearts, I’m going to burn off some interesting nerves regulating its sinus (sinusknuten), I’m not dealing with hormones, a laserhappy surgeon might appear to squeal: He’d never admit that he hasn’t understood the physcians deliberations prior to surgery. And some physicians don’t even seem to know what hormones really are, their interactions, transport and effect. It is my firm delusion that if there exist one hormonal deficiency or hyperemia, other such will follow in due course some way or other.
My long ago passed away medical advisor and I had this falling out of favour with a neurologist, professor Haug at the University of Oslo. He was offended by our very carefully composed letter (using all the diplomacy we could muster) concerning a patient we knew, who was thought of as an erratic eccentric and treated accordingly. (Manic depressive.) Lyme disease was Haugs first choice, (borreliosis – skogflaatt – an arbovirus; Lyme’s is the possible after effects, as with the spirocheteborne Leptospirosis may become Weil’s and cause nephropaty). Haugs second choice was neuropathia. Finally, after thinking for one more year, a bone marrow sample excluded Lyme. Before that we had as said pointed out to the professor, who at one point didn’t believe I posessed a clue what serotonine is, nor creatinine, or ADH, (antediuretic hormon) that this patient had serious affects from a combination of too much thyroxin in combination with Lithium, causing constant diarrea. I.e. an electrolyte- nutritional- and nephro -compromised person through some twenty years. In actual fact the neurologist got angry with the patient! The fact that my advisor was Chief in general at the medical dpt. of a regional hospital made him go off his rockers.
One year after this belated porfessorial borreliosis-exclusion, the poor patient got the final verdict; amyloidosis, a couple of weeks before mors. At that time two different neuroleptics, Lithium and Thyroxin and a tranquilliser or two were administered – for good measure, to produce a pertinent serotinergic syndrom, light fever, nausea etc. in addition to the severe pain and increasing confusion caused by the amyloid deposits: Medication approved by one specialist.
It’s a good thing universities pop up in distant places, where friendships and nepotism are less likely to create doctors degrees handed out with a punch card to teaching positions. And no, NN, I am not aiming at you. Your father was a fantastic teacher, and I hope the brilliant mind you impressed me with at the age of ten, hasn’t lost its luster.
Now, back to breakfast second time over. My novel is approaching its final dash and dot. Therefore I don’t fret that the newspaper Dagens Næringsliv, Dagens Naeringsliv, (we’re all in it for the business) now is arriving at our doorstep for free. For the usual reasons, I think.
The sun is out. What gloomy news will Mr. Djuve drop on our heads to-day? Oh well, we don’t have alternatives to trusting journalism either. So for the sake of peace and order, please, don’t loose faith in your doctor. She might be able to learn a thing or two from just you. Finally she won’t confuse clavicula with with scapula, like I did the other day. So if you se me around with wings in the front, it’s just a result of quick dressing. Bear in mind that the best doctors – and journalists too, are those who admit that some areas are terra incognita to them, promising to find out more. Yet again, the best, in haste.
I’ts always interesting what is occupying our small minds in the early morning. This morning it was Peter and the Wolf for my part, and some of the fabulous teachers we had at primary school in the city of Toensberg (Tønsberg). Yes. Toensberg has a cathedral and a bishop (female) and it is the oldest town – or city in Norway, and used to be a great place to stay. It is also a great place to visit.
One of our teachers was Ragnhild Westlie, whom I recently failed to meet, since I declined the invitation to a 50 year class reunion. (I’m not that old.) One should have thought Mrs. Westlie had studied medicine. The amount of knowledge she had was formidable, along with her ability to convey it to 12 year old kids. Combined with parental back up for understanding the various functions of the human ‘body parts’ and our fragile physical constitution, a child must have been extremely backward not to get the message.
One should have assumed that the teaching at university level, and experience from hosital practice is even more to the point for medical students at university level. This does not seem to be the case, whether due to a student material selected but from grade achievement prior to university education, to university teachers not having understood their special fields, or that the students’ minds are turned off more or less completely once their university exams are secured. In any case: Alas.
I am an eavesdropper. I listen to people talking on buses, trains and in planes. I also listen to medical students speaking. They name their professors, and disuss his statements on this and that. The terrible truth comes to me in bits and pieces, also from daily lifes’ occurances with peoples little ailments, virus attacks, common colds, rheumatoid arthritis, Bechterev, the Porphyrias, (AIEP especially, not the cutenea tarda version – it’s four major types), tales of heart disease and the hysteria arising from hyperlipidemia some patients are frightened with. Worst of all of course, is when there may be reason to believe that patients are given the wrong diagnoses in order to protect the medical personel who indeed have made very serious mistakes and ought not to have continued in their positions.
Lack of empathy, time and a superficial attitude does not seem to enhance the quality of young doctors’ results. One thing is that they heve never heard of borreliosis (Haantu type tic borne – the Scandinavian variety) Lyme disease, that they don’t know the difference between an arbovirus and a parvovirus, or a virus carried by rodents – Leptospriosis (Weils). It is forgiveable. But when a seriously compromised patient present herself dehydrated, febrile, with a 8 days history of severe headache, and the youngster medical person sneer and giggle and present a third bill to be payed for her services, I get worried for my future grandchildrens medical care. For the above mentioned patient, no anamneses (prehistory) where taken. It was well known that severeal cases of Leptospriosis had occured through the past few years, complete with keratoconjunctivitis and kidney affection. This particular patient hade 3-4 days prior to her taking ill cleared up a mess made by mice in a storage room.
I am ever so happy that I do not live in that particular region and so can avoid its GPs, approved by both the Gvnmts Health Dept. and employed by The Norwegian National Health.
It is this thing with Peter and the Wolf: Peter is scared of the wolf and keeps crying that he has spotted one. Time after time, people of the valley rush to his rescue and find no such predator. (Wolves are quick on their feet, mind you.) The last time Peter cried they do not come to his rescue – it is a disturbing tale from all points of view.
My medical advisor and teacher said to me one day after he had taken ill himself: ‘A doctors duty is to believe what the patient says. Apart from the Münchausen syndrome and hypochondria, the patients are always right - for a starter. A complaint is a complaint and must be seriously dealt with to the doctors best ability.’
Even hypochondriacs suffer. A Münchausen patient may cause suffering all over the place. Delusions of grandeur sometimes hit even medical staff. God forbid our having to consult a doctor suffering from Münchausen, who gets into his mind that we ought to be strangled for the better of his world.
And to fellow ladies of country based life: You may fear mice and that with good reason. But don’t lift your skirts too high for comfort.
The Royal College of Physicians recently published a conclusive paper following their meeting in June, when the problem discussed was the use of radioiodine 131 against hyperactivity of the pituitary gland. Warnings are given against conception, pregnancy and active use of sperm from male recipientsof radioiodine131, and lasting close contact with “non contaminated” individuals within a safe period, the advise is not to conceive og participate in conception before one year has passed after the treatment. As regards contact – the warnings mention 6 months. They are of course speaking sensibly, but for a probable main problem: How many such patients are able to conceive or produce healthy sperm while suffering from pituitary gland disease?
Now – I didn’t read the whole paper, I somehow lost regard for some of the papers conclusions. Whereas 32 patients were studied on medication combining Thyroxin and Liothyronin and later som 900 patients studied (not double blind tests as far as I can recall) showed a considerable poercentage of patients claiming a better life quality on this formula, the Royal C of P still claim that it is better for these patients not to get the combination treatment with synthetic Thryoxin and Liothyronin.
I certainly agree with their view of the Armour, when this type of medication were in use before the WW 2, the outcome of the treatment was unpredictable, and the general attitude to thyroid disease that of any experiment. In Norway we used to say: Gaar det så gaar det: If it works, it works. At some occasions on may get the feeling that this attitude may be prevalent as regards the use of medication for any ailment/disease appearing in front of young doctors’ noses, the result of which is that their patients are treated worse than we and our good helpers the veterinaries treat our flock of sheep. Indeed, both radioidone 131 and Armor belong to the same kind of random treatment: 60 years of experience is not very much, considering tha failure to compare notes interantionally on pituitary ailments and outcome of treatment. Thyroid disease is so definetely low status. May I suggest that this may be due to many doctors’ difficulty in understanding the cause of outbreak, how treatment work and effect other physiological mechanisms – in short – the endocrine and hormonal/pituitary feed back system (cybernethics of the mammal organic physiology). It is diffifult. But seeing a fellow human being face to face, hearing what it tells youj, cannot be all that difficult. If someone says: I feel better now – on combination treatment, he or she is most certainly not faking.
Who has first right to feel better, the doctor or the patient?
How many pregnant patients with thyroid disease, how many fetuses from such patients, fathering patients, hve been studied on Armour, after treatment with rI 131, on Neomercazole or Proylthiuoracil, betablockers of any kind, Propanolol, Inderal, Imselin, you name them, on any medication feasable as a supporting cane for a lame-minded medical professional trying to spare time to manage his full list of appointments for the day? How many pregnancies with parents on mixed medication have been studied, and how is the effect on the fetus from the well known rise in metabolism in pregnant mothers??
How many cases?
And when does gestation of the pituitary gland and its functioning start in a fetus?
Has it been studied in vivo?
I should think but a few – and a few times. And on my last question I’d be very surprised if a representative number of cases may be produced by any scientist
What then with the use of thyorid stimulating medication in pregnancy? (I could write on that theme for hours, had it not been for the boring work involved, fascinating, though I’d rather sit an look at it for hours.)
On a few occasions I have taken the liberty to warn people against the use of radioiodine 131. Seemingly this treatment is used indiscriminately in Norway. One clinique chief at Aker Sykehus, said: And if it does’nt work the first time, we try again and again until the results are positive. Positive for whom?
At this stage my personal opinion also is that pregnancy with parents suffering from disease of the pituitary gland best is avoided – for the sake of the potentialiaty of a suffering offspring. Ethically (but not necessarily congenitally) the same problem arises as with a Recklinghausens disease or a Chorea, and I can see no reason to contribute to the Worlds population of children suffering from grown ups ill advised behaviour.
As to the disregard of patients’ well being, measured against the belief that Liothyronin may be more harmfull to the patients general physiology (effects like RA symptoms and so on?) than Thyroxin, and that treatment with Neomercazole can prevent red blood platelets from maturing or the formation of them and such possibly spark a pseudo leukemia situation and so on – my reaction is: So what, how many times has it happened, ladies and gentlemen?And Who can prove this real or pseudo situation really is caused by the medication? Might there not be a connection between Lymphocyte infiltration and other lymphocyte over-representation?
Well. Have a good day. Greetings to all stars, ascending or descending ones, and to all those who need to make their cerebelli & in particular the remains of their substantia nigra toll ever so little harder to deserve respect and confidence. In haste -
Appendix: And now I may as a result of the the above presented queries face the possibilty of being diagnozed with an intra medulllary derived scotoma or some such wild assumption: Forgive my blind spots.
Mesna Islandshest senter reiser i dag fra Storfjellseter på sin Rondanetur - med 19 ryttere på islandshester - de er et syn der de kommer ridende mellom fjellene og når de tølter avsted på vei nordover. I dag har vi oppholdsvær - men fjellkaldt! Hilsen til alle fra Storfjellet, Imsdalsvola og vår fredelige flik av kloden...
Report from the mountain life where there are no Ministers og gvmt abdicating, nor disturbing news, just the sky above and solid mountain earth to guide your steps, stone, moss and birch trees and ever shifting panoramas. Strofjellseter is on its summer feet, with its good food and home baked bread - cleaned and looked after for this year. The guests are pleased - not too many, and never too few. There has been no Porsche-parking in front of the main entrance so far, and everyone seem to feel the space between the houses are for people and not for things on wheels run by engines. This is important, a kind of reverence to our forefathers who made this space with musclecraft and toil to create this space for ease and restfullness. Even the rain is interesting, with all the different clouds and shades of ligt. We who are here all through the summer enjoy ourselves - even though it may at times confusingly much to do. The swallows are busy diving for insects too, to feed their little ones and keep life going. Take heed and keep going you too! Happy days to all my readers
The increasing number of self appointed champions in both practical and intellectual skills is impressing. Some (about 2 -10%) of any population tend to get immediate satisfaction from a supressing and even opressing behaviour towards the rest of us. I am ever so happy that I’m not placed at the lowest grade of the working stock chain in a disorderly organization with leaders marked by such inclinations.
In the Norwegian Labourers org. (LO) we have a fabulous example of cockfights, seemingly masterminded by the notorious Labour party secretary, (Arbeiderpartiets partisekretær, Martin Kolberg) who typically appears charming and even funny, which enables him to keep power tight at heart come what may.
Medical diagnostics do not belong here, though anyone in her right mind may recognize a power freak at sight. In short: Sick leave payments in Norway were endangered by a new Government proposition. Then the previous leader of this above mentioned LO, Gerd Liv Valla, fought to keep up the present system. She won. Someone lost face on that account. Then another (female) leader in the LO system, Mrs. Yssen, who’d been married to advertizing vizard Ketil Try, a friend and employee of the Prime Minister, stepped in and denounced Mrs. Valla, as a leader as well as a person – with much help from her friends and friends of friends. All very convenient. In this fashion those two women were lured into a cock fight. (With or without betting.)
Cock fights are illegal in Norway. I saw one in 1946 on Inderøya in the county of Troendelag. (Trøndelag.) The poor fowls fought until the looser lay dying. This is going to happen here too. Now Mrs. Valla is abused by the press because she is writing a book while on sick leave.
Personally I’m always on sick leave when writing a book. Abuse and demeaning utterances from anywhere due to this fact, run off me like water on a ducks back. I hope that goes for Gerd Liv Valla too. As it happens I appreciate someone who speak her mind if she’s got one. Trust me, it’s very difficult to lick everyones arse with a broken back. Just try! (Gerd Liv Valla broke in actual fact her back just before this everlasting fight started.)
Not understanding fellow beings’ predicaments as part of the underlying premises for conflicts, is sometimes a matter of convenience. To recognize a sick society or group (family for instance) ruled by a psychopatic hierarchy, or by one psycho, is not all that difficult. It is painful to witness, and dreadful to see innocents suffer for the guilty. I had the opportunity to study one man who’d previously been married to a mastermind woman who might well have been diagnosed as a psychopat, which must not be mixed up with sociophobia or sociopaty, or for that matter agoraphobia,* – This former victim was yet again charmed to his knees by a new woman bearing the same charachter traits. It’s like children of boozers: They tend to choose alcoholics as partners.
Talking of cock fights and malfunctioning groups; the leading forces have a predilection to choose a scapegoat, a weak chicken to peck at when things don’t turn the leaders’ way. It often happens to child no. 2 of siblings, or in the worst cases to an abused or even sick child (or grown up for that matter.) Once a victim, always a victim. When someone is victimized, everyone may surge forward to make sure that the mission is fullfilled. Like a mass movement, mass suggestion, whatever. For this reason I no longer mention the Mr. World President. He has lost his delusions of grandeur by now. We don’t want to kick those who are already broken down, do we?
And thanks to Gerd Liv Valla for her good work against the Government on the sick leave question so that I can continue to read what’s needed and write my books.
* Terje Stemland in Aftenposten didn’t know the difference between a sociophobe and a sociopat when he flamingly infamed the writings of Elfriede Jelinek.
I shall eventually get round to round off my feuilleton about the King of Aschehoug, the publishers, and probe the possible reasons for his being shot at. Be patient.
With the Norwegian national hangup in addition to the official hangover day after the 17th May, it has been a difficult week for an ordinary working person. Some organizations have spent the whole week holidaying, except those engaged by the State, County or Local Community. The latters only got themselves an oval weekend, as opposed to the elliptic weekend they too feel entitled to.
You phone NAV, which is the new and ever failing conglomerate of all kinds of social services, including employment service, and on the line sounds these snuffler whose wovels are blurred somewhere inbetween the thickly schtumblin’ consonants – equalling the efficiency of this new wart on our bureaucracys nose.
The joy of spending half your working day to get through the automatic answers to a live person, to encounter someone shayin’ ill bhone ya Monda, is paramount. Same goes for people in some banks, they think they can get away with stealing your time and make you pay for their theft. The bigger the organization is, the worse it gets. No one knows, no one is responsible.
It’s like the Norwegian fairy tale about the Seventh father in the house; the visitor asks for night shelter. The answer is: -Go and ask my father. All the fathers of the fathers say the same, until the visitor finally is confronted with the horn on the wall from which barely a voice can be heard from the ancient dried up relic. Now this tale ought to be rewritten, ending with the relic telling the visitor to ask his son – and his son – and his son and so forth.
We are informed that the Norwegian ‘news’-paper Dagbladet has to reduce staff after yet an economic setback. They must be out of their little minds. Unless it is to get rid of some, to employ other scribes and pay them better, else they’ll sit there forever with the old shaggy beard stuck in their letterbox, fearing that some bloggers may make them redundant, and that they cannot compete with those bloggers invectives.
Now - my editor tells me to leave this theme. He has invited me for dinner and heaven knows what else he is planning. The sack, perhaps?
Here’s the hag out of the bag again just as a reminder – in case you wondered: May may be some trial for some, like this year for me. I flied the Norwegian flag on the 1. The family was astounded, my mother in laws lips became conspicuously narrow. At 93 one is perhaps more apt to be conservative about the use of the flagpoles. I’m now busy (i.e. spending all my time) sowing a pitch black flag to fly on the national day so as to compete with one son of our Little Norway, he hoisted a yellow flag in August one year. The whole valley was upset and talk rose to high heaven. People need something to be upset about, otherwise society might fall apart. I reckon a black flag on the holy nationalist day might be a success. Once I made fun of the National Anthem in public. That was fairly successful, after 37 years some still remember it. All it took was a short text gasped out, a glass of water emptied on the floor - and a saxophonist who also put the lights out. To be recommended. The police didn’t have so many hang-ups at that time. They’re keener now. I expect them to come to my kitchen to remove the little bottle labeled Negro, (coloured Marmite for tanned sauces) as the word now is officially banned from the language by Aftenposten (the now tabloid evening pot paper). For this reason I’m today sending my best wishes to colleague Eva Sell in her flowering almond tree Spanish garden, one can but mourn her linguistic troubles having to use such a foul word even in Spain. Let’s all wear black and swear to sacks and ashes. We have a firm with the spicy name Black Boy. They are shortly to go bankrupt, of course. As is Statoil after their Venezuelan recent debacle – and so on. And so am of course I. Not a single dime or anything else for free from here, sirs! That’s to blackmailers like those calling themselves Telefonkatalogen Gul.no, and Internettkatalogen, gule sider. Just don’t try again. (Internettkatalogen has made a fearsome presentation because we won’t pay them for something we havent ordered, just like Gul.no had done.) And to the organization Hedmark Reiseliv: I don’t care one sh.. what the Government offices have decided about your marketing strategies. I hate dictators whatever colours they’re showing. One does get fed up of being squeesed for money, integrity and ideas.
And yes, Storfjellseter will have its yearly art exhibition and stay open for two months as usual, our web pages shall eventually be updated – but please be reminded: Storfjellseter is not a tourist business, it’s a museum from the first days of mountain tourism in Norway, offering night shelter and decent food for interested people. Those few who park directly in front of the main entrance asking for the main entrance, or demand to take their Porsche to bed with them, are however not as welcome as everyone else.
For those who are really curious: Yes. Abovo may publish a couple of books in 2007, one of them written by the undersigned. A terrific working week to all!