Shane

I was watching the old cowboy flick, Shane, last night--one of my all time favorite movies--and it occurred to me that nearly anything these days can be compared to the Trump administration and the troubles it has brought upon America. Here you have the lawless, my way or the highway free range ranchers set against  the decent, law-abiding though downtrodden sod busters--no match for the violently unreasonable, gun toting ranchers, not to mention their hired killer (Jack Palance). The sod busters know what's right. Everyone knows what's right. Even the ranchers know what's right, theoretically. But what is right is not the issue. The issue is what they (the ranchers) want, what is most convenient and beneficial to them  But "right" is not good enough on its own. It needs an enforcer. A man of goodness and integrity, who is nonetheless as hard and pitiless as the ranchers and their guns. Enter Shane (Alan Ladd), the steel steady gunfighter with a heart, and a stubborn, nonnegotiable sense of right and wrong. (We see this again in later cowboy heroes such as John Wayne and Clint Eastwood). Essentially, the ranchers know that their fate is sealed as soon as Shane shows up. It is just a matter of time. And Donald Trump knows that the game is up, too. It is only a matter of time. Shane, the cowboy Lancelot, representative of basic decency, a law unto himself but a greater one than that which motivates the tyrannical ranchers, is coming for him. And freedom and liberty shall reign again on the prairie--not that of the free roaming beast but of the fence builder and of the boundaries that benefit all.  

Fasting

I was surprised at first to find no one whatsoever at Starbucks this morning, and then I remembered that we have entered Ramadan, the month of fasting. It is the ninth month of the Muslim calendar, and the month in which the Quran was revealed to the Prophet  Muhammad. Muslims must fast during the daylight hours, from dawn to sunset. And that means no Starbucks. Until the sun goes down, that is. I can imagine that there is quite a crowd here in the evening--sort of a daily "Whew, I'm glad that's over!" celebration. 

Of course, there's nothing keeping Hindus and Christians and pagans from enjoying their usual coffee fix--and sure enough, within minutes of my own arrival, the kafir (the unbelievers, the idolaters) began to trickle in. If in nothing else, we do believe in our morning coffee. Food? Meh, I can take it or leave it. 

To tell the truth, however, I may as well be fasting  because I can't see what I'm typing, and I can't read the newspaper because the print is too small, and I can't read the book I brought along. Allah, with the help of the barista, has provided coffee, but has wielded the sword of candidiasis to sever the outing from its more complete purpose Such is life with the plague, if indeed this may be called life.

Meet Mr. Candida Albicans

Some few months ago, I met a stranger named Candida Albicans. He was a stranger to me I should say, but I not to him. In fact, Mr. C. had been around for quite a long time, lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, acquainting  himself rather intimately to me, like some spectral character in an Edgar Allen Poe story, whilst I remained completely unaware of his presence. "The Telltale Fungus" seems a fitting title. To be frank, Mr. Candida Albicans is not someone you would wish to meet, and once you do meet him, you can't un-meet him. 

Candida Albicans, as explained in an article from MS Wellness Route,  is a yeast found in small amounts in the human body, it is harmless and part of the normal gut flora. However, when it is overgrown it can lead to serious health problems. Researchers have linked multiple sclerosis and candida.

Great. As if just having MS is not problem enough on its own, right? 

In fact, Candida, according to a Harvest University study, is the main fungal infection behind human diseases. "When your gut is out of balance, your immune system is weakened causing you to have a greater risk for severe health issues. Most people don’t even realize they have a yeast overgrowth. That is until they start experiencing problems."

In other words, you don't know he's there until you know he's there.

"As Candida grows, its toxic byproducts enter the bloodstream, affecting the blood-brain barrier and also the organs. Once the toxin enters the bloodstream, it triggers an autoimmune response. Eventually, this leads to the development of chronic health problems, such as autoimmune diseases, in addition to wreaking havoc throughout the entire body."

Where my own story is concerned, Candida formally introduced himself back in mid February in the role of a seemingly incurable fungal infection of the throat and sinuses. It seemed a matter, at first, for the usual measures--antibiotics, antivirals, antifungals, rest and chicken soup. But as the weeks and months slogged by without bringing recovery, it became apparent that something was seriously amiss here. 

Turns out that something had been amiss for quite a long time. 

It may be that multiple sclerosis itself originally arises from the Candida infection. Studies have linked the onset of MS, as well as other autoimmune diseases, with Candida, finding that the cells of the fungus seem to trigger the immune system, which causes more inflammation. MS is caused by inflammation when the body’s immune cells attack the nervous system. This occurs in the brain and spinal cord, breaking down the myelin that protects the nerves.

Again according to MS Wellness Route, "Candida becomes an invasive overgrowth. It punches its way through a healthy gut lining, attacking the entire body including the organs. Toxins enter the bloodstream and also transgress the blood brain barrier.

It is a debilitating condition that can trigger many conditions, Including MS and other autoimmune diseases. Candida feeds off sugar and carbohydrates. The more you eat, the more it grows.

Unfortunately, many people’s gut bacteria is not balanced due to the overuse of antibiotics, poor diet, and many other factors. Antibiotics not only kill the good but also the bad bacteria. Candida itself is not affected, allowing it to grow."

The whole thing begins to sound more like Stephen King than like Poe, doesn't it? 

"Finally," the aforementioned article concludes somewhat less than cheerily "you need to address Candida overgrowth from all levels, including diet, lifestyle, stress, and toxins to help rebuild your immune system. This is not easy, it can take years to clear Candida overgrowth."

Years! What do you mean years? I 've already got sixty-five of those under my belt! What years? 

Meet Mr. Candida Albicans, inscrutable stranger and unsought companion for life, who, if nothing else, gives true credence to the expression that goes, "With friends like that, you don't need enemies." 

Job and Etc.

Another day with the doctor. Getting to know the woman pretty well! Okay, I know, I had recently said that my illness seemed to be going away at last. Shoulda known better than to open my big mouth. How's the old saying go? Don't cunt your chickens before they're hatched? Ernest Hemingway used to say that if you are expecting something, especially something good, keep your mouth off it! A superstition to be sure, but as with many superstitions, there may be something to it. After claiming to be on the mend, I  became quite ill again on Sunday night, just as if some supernatural evil interloper had heard my enthusiastic predictions and said "Ah ha, we'll show him!" 

So today the doctor finally talked me into getting a CT scan of the head (something she had been wanting to do from the beginning). She claims to have determined from this the presence of a fungal infection in the sinuses and throat, but identified no more serious (so to speak) problem (such as one that would need surgery). So I've gotten three new medicines now and it's off we go to the races again. Will just plod along one step at a time this time around, like the fabled tortoise, and leave visions of the finish line to the rabbit. 

This is, in fact, a candida infection, and it has come to my attention through research that a favorite target of candida is people with autoimmune disorders such as MS. Doesn't seem quite fair of the thing to pick on people who already have a problem, but there you have it. So I am learning this new facet of MS (new for me, anyway)--the susceptibility of those with the condition to various aggressive sorts of infection. The ENT I've been seeing wants me to see a neurologist for a specific discussion of this part of MS,, along with measures, one assumes, or hopes, that might be taken against future incidents. And I do suppose she is right. I haven't seen a neurologist in some four or five years, and I guess that is kinda strange! For a person, I mean, with a neurological disease.

Perhaps some of my posts during this time have been a bit depressing. (I see that my readership has fallen off). Well, I guess that's because I've been a bit depressed. But I suppose at the same time that there is a place for that (as long as it is kept in its place).. I'm not afraid to confront things that are tragic or painful or just plain wrong. No point in pretending that they are not there or that they don't happen. As Al Pacino said in the film And Justice for All, "Something really wrong is going on here." Sometimes philosophy is just too easy--nothing more than a shield. Sometimes anger, outrage, sorrow are the only things that properly fit. The Book of Job can tell you that much, for in that book, Job, having suffered terrible, heartbreaking losses, was subjected to the philosophizing, admonishments, justifications, excuses of three friends, and none of it even touched the raw anger that Job was feeling. This, his heart, he took directly to God, and did receive his answer. 

Facing It

It's all wrong, 
it's taken so long
to build this road
that leads down


I happened to see these lyrics from Jeff Lang, Australian songwriter and lyricist, in conjunction with learning that my good friend, Vyt, has been stricken by what is either pancreatitis or liver failure. And I thought, as I have so often thought lately, What the hell is this all about? What has he done to deserve such a fate--other than to be kind and generous and uncommonly attentive and concerned for people other than himself. Is this then, life's reward, life's return for decency and compassion? 

It's not fair. 

I thought too of my son, stricken down in mid-course, 42 years old. I thought of my son who had worshipped God from an early age, who had devoted his life to prayer, who had surely prayed to be healed in the end, to be delivered from the health issues that were making his life, as he put it, a horror.

Why? Why? What is the damn point?

Often of late I have lain awake at night pondering the fate of Otto Warmbier, an American college student who was tortured mercilessly by North Korean authorities and finally returned to the US in a coma. What fear and dread  and torment and hopelessness he must have suffered, no one to help him, knowing only a world of sadism and pain and hate.

How can we live with such things?  How can we justify a smile, or laughter or joy? 

I will not acquiesce. I cannot excuse. I must not look away and pretend

The world is 
a bad place, 
a bad place, 
a terrible place to live …

Oh, but I don't want to die.

Plague Update

The incurable throat plague, which may be curable after all, seems to be very gradually improving over the last few days. Of course, the situation has temporarily improved here and there during the last three months only to return with a vengeance, so I'm not yet ready to make any over-enthusiastic pronouncements. Suffice it to say for now that the exudate in the throat has markedly decreased, the pressure and congestion deep in my nasal cavity, or sinuses, or wherever, has backed off, such that I am actually breathing through my nose this morning (amazing what a joyous thing that can be--breathing through one's nose, I mean). The sensation of unbearable inner heat becomes more intermittent and less severe. Although I still feel tired and weak, I have on the other hand been able to take short morning walks and even to enjoy popping out for a coffee at Starbucks, which is a cut above lying in bed and falling asleep throughout the day. Having said as much, I must admit that I feel best in the morning, not so good again by the afternoon, which would seem to suggest that the plague remains active and is trying to hold on for all its worth. I'm scheduled to see the doctor again on Tuesday and shall see what she has to say at this point. 

No Such Thing as Obscurity

In my neighborhood, there is one skinny little street called Gang Mawar, on which my communal villa is located. Gang Mawar runs from the main road, Jalan Hangtuah, and comes out again on Jalan Sedap Malam. Midway along Gang Mawar, there is a connection with one other skinny little street linking it, ultimately, to the Bypass, the main thoroughfare through Sanur. Aside from this anemic little artery, all other lanes end in dead ends. 

I discovered a number of these this morning while trying to find some way to make a less repetitious circuit. There are any number of dogs along each dead end who will tell you to turn around and go back because you're wasting your time, but I decided to look for myself anyway. On the third dead end or so, I came upon a fellow standing outside the gate to his house who was able to authenticate what the dogs on that dead end had already been shouting at me. 

But as so often happens in Indonesia, a brief word was far from sufficient. In fact, there is no such thing as a brief word. After chatting by the gate for a time, the man, Putu by name, asked me to come and sit with him on his porch, put my feet up for a while, have a smoke together. He then wondered whether I would like a coffee, and ran across the alley to buy two packets from a little warung. Seeing that I was an enthusiast of the morning walk, or masquerading as one anyway, Putu was eager that we should walk together on the morrow. 

You come here on motor and we walk to little park. Eight o'clock, ya? Every morning I walk at eight o'clock.

Well …

I'm sorry I cannot give you rice. My wife is at the market. 

Oh well goodness no, don't be sorry. I've already eaten.

Next time fried rice, ya? My wife is at the market.

Where else in the world does one see generosity such as this? Where else in the world such congeniality? 

This is one of the reasons, probably the main reason, that I cling to Indonesia--despite my poor health, despite the fact that some things might be more convenient back in America, despite the fact that healthcare would be superior, not to mention insured, despite the fact that common reasoning tells me that I am being unreasonable. It is the people. Men like Putu. Women like those who greet me along the way, Good morning, where have you been, where are you going? School boys who shout Hi, Mister! as they pass on motorbike. Little girls like my neighbor, Viana, who pops by my door on the way to school just to say hi. One can walk a mile in America and remain invisible every step of the way. Here, one exists. We all exist. No one is anonymous. No one is superfluous. No one is obscure, not even an old friend to obscurity such as I.