Friday, March 20, 2020
I think my residual steroid hunger has worn off. The few extra weeks I was hungry after my chemotherapy treatment stopped were good for me. I have not had supper yet today, but every other day this week I have not eaten even half of what my significant other, Donald, serves me. It is official, Not Hungry Susanne has returned. The return of Not Hungry Susanne concerns me a little. The 11 steroid doses I received November through February did their job to fatten me up. I gained a lot of weight during those four months I want to keep.
Several stores in Colorado Springs have started offering “senior” hours one or two days a week to help keep the most coronavirus-vulnerable people away from the rest of the devil-may-care population. Okay, I do not think only older people care about protecting their health and the health of others. My issue with the senior hours is that they are the first hour a store is open. I get it, the store is cleaner because it has recently been cleaned and nobody has pawed all over the items on the shelves. I understand people attending the senior hours are more likely to get most of what they need because the stores restock the shelves with new deliveries each night. Limiting the number of trips a member of the most vulnerable population must make to purchase essential items simply makes sense.
I, for one, am not about to show up at the grocery store or Target at 8:00 a.m. Fortunately, I do not even need to weigh the pros and cons of choosing to risk my health or give up my comfort. Donald does the shopping for the family. (For the record, I am not yet a senior, but I am a member of the vulnerable population.) Honestly, I am sure I would choose to shop with the general population. Even in July and August, it is quite cool in the morning because this part of Colorado has a semi-arid climate and I dislike the cold. My risk thoughts may change when I start chemotherapy again. Hopefully the stay-at-home order can be lifted before I resume chemotherapy treatments and it will be safer to be out.
I just filled out the census form for my household and I found one of the questions to be awkward. It read: “Select one or more boxes AND enter origins. For this census, Hispanic origins are not races.” I chose white and there was a box under the word “White” with these instructions: “Enter, for example, German, Irish, English, Italian, Lebanese, Egyptian, etc.” The origins box makes sense for immigrants, but I was born in the United States. I entered United States in the box for each of us and moved on.
Questions like the one on the census remind me of how little the human race has accepted the fact we are all part of the human race and that should be all that matters. When I was a teenager, my friend told me her father did not think black people were human; he thought they had six toes. I decided my friend’s dad was ignorant; and did not think much about her statement. Then a family of Mexican immigrants moved into my tiny town.
For six years, my family had been on the receiving end of bullying, taunting, teasing, and physical threats because our religion was different. For me, the harassment stopped almost overnight (I do not know if it was the same for my siblings). The people in town had a new target with brown skin. I am ashamed to admit Teenage Susanne was a little relieved the town had a new target. I would like to think I treated the family well because my parents did not raise us to look down on other people for any reason. I cannot imagine I ever would have intentionally treated any of the children badly, but I also do not remember making any effort to become good friends with any of them. Perhaps I simply did not have the time to deeply befriend any of the children because we moved out of town shortly after their family moved in.
My piece of advice to you is to learn from your past. I wish Teenage Susanne had the wisdom I have now; and reached out more to that family to let them know they were not alone.
Until next time,
Susanne
Please check out my GoFundMe page.
I think my residual steroid hunger has worn off. The few extra weeks I was hungry after my chemotherapy treatment stopped were good for me. I have not had supper yet today, but every other day this week I have not eaten even half of what my significant other, Donald, serves me. It is official, Not Hungry Susanne has returned. The return of Not Hungry Susanne concerns me a little. The 11 steroid doses I received November through February did their job to fatten me up. I gained a lot of weight during those four months I want to keep.
Several stores in Colorado Springs have started offering “senior” hours one or two days a week to help keep the most coronavirus-vulnerable people away from the rest of the devil-may-care population. Okay, I do not think only older people care about protecting their health and the health of others. My issue with the senior hours is that they are the first hour a store is open. I get it, the store is cleaner because it has recently been cleaned and nobody has pawed all over the items on the shelves. I understand people attending the senior hours are more likely to get most of what they need because the stores restock the shelves with new deliveries each night. Limiting the number of trips a member of the most vulnerable population must make to purchase essential items simply makes sense.
I, for one, am not about to show up at the grocery store or Target at 8:00 a.m. Fortunately, I do not even need to weigh the pros and cons of choosing to risk my health or give up my comfort. Donald does the shopping for the family. (For the record, I am not yet a senior, but I am a member of the vulnerable population.) Honestly, I am sure I would choose to shop with the general population. Even in July and August, it is quite cool in the morning because this part of Colorado has a semi-arid climate and I dislike the cold. My risk thoughts may change when I start chemotherapy again. Hopefully the stay-at-home order can be lifted before I resume chemotherapy treatments and it will be safer to be out.
I just filled out the census form for my household and I found one of the questions to be awkward. It read: “Select one or more boxes AND enter origins. For this census, Hispanic origins are not races.” I chose white and there was a box under the word “White” with these instructions: “Enter, for example, German, Irish, English, Italian, Lebanese, Egyptian, etc.” The origins box makes sense for immigrants, but I was born in the United States. I entered United States in the box for each of us and moved on.
Questions like the one on the census remind me of how little the human race has accepted the fact we are all part of the human race and that should be all that matters. When I was a teenager, my friend told me her father did not think black people were human; he thought they had six toes. I decided my friend’s dad was ignorant; and did not think much about her statement. Then a family of Mexican immigrants moved into my tiny town.
For six years, my family had been on the receiving end of bullying, taunting, teasing, and physical threats because our religion was different. For me, the harassment stopped almost overnight (I do not know if it was the same for my siblings). The people in town had a new target with brown skin. I am ashamed to admit Teenage Susanne was a little relieved the town had a new target. I would like to think I treated the family well because my parents did not raise us to look down on other people for any reason. I cannot imagine I ever would have intentionally treated any of the children badly, but I also do not remember making any effort to become good friends with any of them. Perhaps I simply did not have the time to deeply befriend any of the children because we moved out of town shortly after their family moved in.
My piece of advice to you is to learn from your past. I wish Teenage Susanne had the wisdom I have now; and reached out more to that family to let them know they were not alone.
Until next time,
Susanne
Please check out my GoFundMe page.