FACE COVID (By Dr. Russ Harris)

My Mom sent me this and I liked it so I decided to share it here.

‘FACE COVID’ 

How to respond effectively to the Corona crisis 

by Dr Russ Harris, author of The Happiness Trap 

‘FACE COVID’ is a set of practical steps for responding effectively to the Corona crisis, using the principles of acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). Here’s a quick summary of the key steps, and we’ll explore them all in more depth:

F = Focus on what’s in your control
A = Acknowledge your thoughts & feelings 

C = Come back into your body

E = Engage in what you’re doing
C = Committed action

O = Opening up
V = Values
I =  Identify resources
D = Disinfect & distance

Let’s now explore these, one by one

F = Focus on what’s in your control

The Corona crisis can affect us in many different ways: physically, emotionally, economically, socially, and psychologically. All of us are (or soon will be) dealing with the very real challenges of widespread serious illness and the inabilities of healthcare systems to cope with it, social and community disruption, economic fallout and financial problems, obstacles and interruptions to many aspects of life ... and the list goes on.

And when we are facing a crisis of any sort, fear and anxiety are inevitable; they are normal, natural responses to challenging situations infused with danger and uncertainty. It’s all too easy to get lost in worrying and ruminating about all sorts of things that are out of your control: what might happen in the future; how the virus might affect you or your loved ones or your community or your country or the world – and what will happen then - and so on. And while it’s completely natural for us to get lost in such worries, it’s not useful or helpful. Indeed the more we focus on what’s not in our control, the more hopeless or anxious we’re likely to feel.

So the single most useful thing anyone can do in any type of crisis – Corona-related or otherwise - is to: focus on what’s in your control.

You can’t control what happens in the future. You can’t control Corona virus itself or the world economy or how your government manages this whole sordid mess. And you can’t magically control your feelings, eliminating all that perfectly natural fear and anxiety. But you can control what you do - here and now. And that matters.

Because what you do - here and now - can make a huge difference to yourself, and anyone living with you, and a significant difference to the community around you.

The reality is, we all have far more control over our behavior, than we do over our thoughts and feelings. So our number one aim is to take control of our behavior - right here and now - to respond effectively to this crisis.

This involves both dealing with our inner world – all our difficult thoughts and feelings - and our outer world – all the real problems we are facing. How do we do this? Well, when a big storm blows up, the boats in the harbor drop anchor – because if they don’t, they’ll get swept out to sea. And of course, dropping anchor doesn’t make the storm go away (anchors can’t control the weather) - but it can hold a boat steady in the harbor, until the storm passes in its own good time.

Similarly, in an ongoing crisis, we’re all going to experience ‘emotional storms’: unhelpful thoughts spinning inside our head, and painful feelings whirling around our body. And if we’re swept away by that storm inside us, there’s nothing effective we can do. So the first practical step is to ‘drop anchor’, using the simple ACE formula:

A = Acknowledge your thoughts and feelings 

C = Come back into your body
E = Engage in what you’re doing

Let’s explore these one by one:

A = Acknowledge your thoughts and feelings

Silently and kindly acknowledge whatever is ‘showing up’ inside you: thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories, sensation, urges. Take the stance of a curious scientist, observing what’s going on in your inner world. And while continuing to acknowledge your thoughts and feelings, also ....

C = Come back into your body

Come back into and connect with your physical body. Find your own way of doing this. You could try some or all of the following, or find your own methods:

• Slowly pushing your feet hard into the floor.
• Slowly straightening up your back and spine; if sitting, sitting upright and forward in your chair.
• Slowly pressing your fingertips together
• Slowly stretching your arms or neck, shrugging your shoulders. 

• Slowly breathing

Note: you are not trying to turn away from, escape, avoid or distract yourself from what is happening in your inner world. The aim is to remain aware of your thoughts and feelings, continue to acknowledge their presence .... and at the same time, come back into and connect with your body, and actively move it. Why? So you can gain as much control as possible over your physical actions, even though you can’t control your feelings. (Remember, F = Focus on what’s in your control) And as you acknowledge your thoughts & feelings, and come back into your body, also ....

E = Engage in what you’re doing

Get a sense of where you are and refocus your attention on the activity you are doing.
Find your own way of doing this. You could try some or all of the following suggestions, or find your own methods:

• Look around the room and notice 5 things you can see.
• Notice 3 or 4 things you can hear.
• Notice what you can smell or taste or sense in your nose and mouth
• Notice what you are doing
• End the exercise by giving your full attention to the task or activity at hand. (And if you don’t have any meaningful activity to do, see the next 3 steps.)

Ideally, run through the ACE cycle slowly 3 or 4 times, to turn it into a 2- 3 minute exercise.

If you wish, to help you get the hang of this, you can download some free audio recordings of ‘dropping anchor’ exercises, varying from 1 minute to 11 minutes in length. You can listen to these and use them as a guide to help you develop this skill. You can download or stream them from the left hand box on this webpage:

NOTE: please don’t skip the A of ACE; it’s so important to keep acknowledging the thoughts and feelings present, especially if they are difficult or uncomfortable. If you skip the A, this exercise will turn into a distraction technique – which it’s not supposed to be.

Dropping anchor is a very useful skill. You can use it for handling difficult thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories, urges and sensations more effectively; switching off auto-pilot and engaging in life; grounding and steadying yourself in difficult situations; disrupting rumination, obsessing and worrying; and focusing your attention on the task or activity you are doing. The better you anchor yourself in the here and now, the more control you have over your actions – which makes it a lot easier to do the next steps: COVID

C = Committed Action

Committed action means effective action, guided by your core values; action you take because it’s truly important to you; action you take even if it brings up difficult thoughts and feelings. Once you have dropped anchor, using the ACE formula, you will have a lot of control over your actions – so this makes it easier to do the things that truly matter.
Now obviously that includes all those protective measures against Corona – frequent hand-washing, social distancing, and so on. But in addition to those fundamentals of effective action, consider:

What are simple ways to look after yourself, those you live with, and those you can realistically help? What kind, caring, supportive deeds you can do?
Can you say some kind words to someone in distress – in person or via a phone call or text message?

Can you help someone out with a task or a chore, or cook a meal or play a game with a young child?

Can you comfort and soothe someone who is sick? Or in the most serious of cases, nurse them and access whatever medical assistance is available?

And if you’re spending a lot more time at home, through self-isolation or forced quarantine, or social distancing, what are the most effective ways to spend that time?
You may want to consider physical exercise to stay fit, cooking (as) healthy food (as possible, given restrictions), and doing meaningful activities by yourself or with others.

And if you’re familiar with acceptance and commitment therapy or other mindfulness-based approaches, how can you actively practice some of those mindfulness skills?

Repeatedly throughout the day, ask yourself ‘What can I do right now - no matter how small it may be - that improves life for myself or others I live with, or people in my community?’ And whatever the answer is – do it, and engage in it fully.

O = Opening up

Opening up means making room for difficult feelings and being kind to yourself. Difficult feelings are guaranteed to keep on showing up as this crisis unfolds: fear, anxiety, anger, sadness, guilt, loneliness, frustration, confusion, and many more.

We can’t stop them from arising; they’re normal reactions. But we can open up and make room for them: acknowledge they are normal, allow them to be there (even though they hurt), and treat ourselves kindly.

Remember, self-kindness is essential if you want to cope well with this crisis – especially if you are in a caregiver role. If you’ve ever flown on a plane, you’ve heard this message: ‘In event of an emergency, put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others.’ Well, self- kindness is your own oxygen mask; if you need to look after others, you’ll do it a whole lot better if you’re also taking good care of yourself.

So ask yourself, ‘If someone I loved was going through this experience, feeling what I am feeling – if I wanted to be kind and caring towards them, how would I treat them? How would I behave towards them? What might I say or do?’ Then try treating yourself the same way.

V = Values

Committed action should be guided by your core values: What do you want to stand for in the face of this crisis? What sort of person do you want to be, as you go through this? How do you want to treat yourself and others?

Your values might include love, respect, humor, patience, courage, honesty, caring, openness, kindness .... or numerous others. Look for ways to ‘sprinkle’ these values into your day. Let them guide and motivate your committed action.

Of course, as this crisis unfolds, there will be all sorts of obstacles in your life; goals you can’t achieve, things you can’t do, problems for which there are no simple solutions. But you can still live your values in a myriad of different ways, even in the face of all those challenges. Especially come back to your values of kindness and caring. Consider:

What are kind, caring ways you can treat yourself as you go through this?
What are kind words you can say to yourself, kind deeds you can do for yourself?
What are kind ways you can treat others who are suffering?
What are kind, caring ways of contributing to the wellbeing of your community?
What can you say and do that will enable you to look back in years to come and feel proud of your response?

I = Identify resources

Identify resources for help, assistance, support, and advice. This includes friends, family, neighbors, health professionals, emergency services. And make sure you know the emergency helpline phone numbers, including psychological help if required.
Also reach out to your social networks. And if you are able to offer support to others, let them know; you can be a resource for other people, just as they can for you.

One very important aspect of this process involves finding a reliable and trustworthy source of information for updates on the crisis and guidelines for responding to it. The World Health Organization website is the leading source of such information:

Also check the website of your country’s government health department.
Use this information to develop your own resources: action plans to protect yourself and others, and to prepare in advance for quarantine or emergency.

D = Disinfect & distance physically

I’m sure you already know this, but it’s worth repeating: disinfect your hands regularly and practice as much social distancing as realistically possible, for the greater good of your community. And remember, we’re talking about physical distancing – not cutting off emotionally. (If you aren’t quite sure about what this means, read this. This is an important aspect of committed action, so align it deeply with your values; recognize that these are truly caring actions.

In Summary

So again and again and again, as problems pile up in the world around you, and emotional storms rage in the world within you, come back to the steps of FACE COVID:

F = Focus on what’s in your control
A = Acknowledge your thoughts and feelings 

C = Come back into your body
E = Engage in what you’re doing

C = Committed action
O = Opening up
V = Values
I =  Identify resources
D = Disinfect & distance

Well, I do hope there’s something useful in here for you; and feel free to share this with others if you think they may find it helpful. These are crazy, difficult, scary times, so please do treat yourself kindly. And remember the words of Winston Churchill: ‘When you’re going through hell, keep going’.

All the best, Cheers, Russ Harris

© Russ Harris, 2020 www.TheHappinessTrap.com www.ImLearningACT.com

If Lincoln Was Around to Give the Coronasburg Address

Four months and seven hours ago, seafood, birds, or snakes (scientists don't know for sure), brought forth upon all 7 continents except Antartica a new virus, circulated among bats and dedicated to replicating itself in human host cells again and again, killing elderly and immunocompromised people but not necessarily always showing symptoms in younger, healthier populations.

Now we are engaged in a great info war (not the Alex Jones kind) testing whether our nation--or any nation with the internet and too much time on its hands--can long endure social distancing measures and the economic and mental health implications of a pandemic.

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. It's called math and science and also your couch. We have come to dedicate a portion of our lives to figuring out what is fact and what is fiction; whether things like exponential growth curves, statistics, biology, virology, and epidemiology are useful, which they are, because they are indeed facts--whereas "COVID is a bioweapon" and "we have to panic buy toilet paper and raid Trader Joe's or we're doomed"--are not.

We have come to realize that our health infrastructure is ill-equipped to absorb the peak of a pandemic without some pretty severe forms of social distancing, and we are here to cancel our gatherings of 50 or more people so that others might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot abdicate — we can maybe fornicate— but we cannot abandon — our fellow citizens. 

The brave men and women, living and dead, who are in the medical and first responder fields and are struggling mightily day and night to contain this virus, need our help to do it, and it is well within our power to add or detract from the burden on our fragile medical system. 

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget that Trump's plan was to delegate management of a national emergency to Google and CVS. It is for us, the living and healthy, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work like that dresser you were going to Marie Kondo, which you may now have the time to so nobly advance but realistically probably will not.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these canceled basketball games and birthday parties we take increased devotion to that cause for which we should give our full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that we shall not have suspended MLB spring training in vain--that this nation shall have a new birth of cooperative kindness and empathy based on science, ethics, and math.

And that a government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth.

We Must Fight Fear With ... A FUCKING FRENCH SMURF RALLY, Bien Sur!

Unbelievably, this is seemingly NOT fake news.

Lost amid the World War Z-esque dystopian pandemic that's descending upon us all with disturbing alacrity is this little tidbit from Corona-embattled France. 

In Landerneau, 3,500 cos-players (about 20% of the total population of the small town) painted themselves blue and dressed up as Smurfs in order to break the Guinness world record for largest Smurf gathering. (I was today years old when I learned that this was even a valid Guinness record-breaking category).

Anyhoo, not everyone thought this was a good idea, obvs, with social distancing replacing social networking as "la mode du jour." After all, we are supposed to be encasing ourselves in Purell-soaked bubble wrap--not swapping airborne phlegm pathogens with other humans dressed as tiny blue muppets.

Let it be said at the outset that the Smurfs was my absolute favorite cartoon growing up, although now it's unclear why. I didn't question why there was only one girl Smurf in a community of hundreds. I didn't think Papa was creepy. I didn't ask why they lived in mushrooms. I didn't marvel at the lack of a plot in every episode. I didn't ask why Gargamel and Azriel never got anywhere with whatever it was they were trying to achieve. I didn't think about why every other verb of dialogue was replaced with "Smurf." I didn't view the entire series through the lens of one big recurring acid trip. I simply woke up every Saturday morning, poured myself a giant bowl of Cap'n Crunch with whole milk, turned on my TV, and waited for LALALALALALLALALALLA to come on.

Well, just a few short days ago, Landerneau's mayor, Patrick LeClerc, was on the same page as me circa 1985. He more or less said "Mangez de la merde!" to the CDC, WHO, and other acronyms that would dare to use medicine and science to squelch the wisdom and joy of gathering 3,500 Smurfs in one square mile while on the cusp of a global pandemic. 

"We must not stop living," he said, vowing to fight the "ambient gloom" with a Smurferama and some baguettes I guess. Only in 2020 could insisting on holding a 3,500 person Smurf rally when the globe is poised to enter quarantine constitute "living." 

YES. We must not stop living, people. Forget about food, water, and basic necessities. It's commonly known that "Smurf Rally" is the foundation of Maslow's hierarchy of needs pyramid. I guess my question is what's going to happen if any of these smurfs get sick. Will they be treated with Smurfberries? Will there be a pop-up testing clinic housed in a toadstool? A lot of questions remain unanswered and we are just gonna have to wait and see how this plays out, I guess.

BON CHANCE!

Depression is a Legitimate and Serious Illness

I'm not airing her dirty laundry; she already wrote about all of this in great detail, twenty years ago now.

This is one of my earliest memories. Not because it was such a big deal, but because it wasn't. And yet, it was so unusual: My mother was smoking a cigarette on the living room couch in our apartment. She wasn't a smoker anymore; she'd quit before I was born. So I'd never seen her smoking. 

But there she was, smoking a cigarette; her bare feet in the caramel-colored shag carpet, staring off into space, aimlessly tapping ashes into an ashtray. 

I remember the ashtray, in particular, because it was so distinctly 70's. Big and tacky orange ceramic, hexagonal in shape, it carried the heft and foreboding of a jilted lover's improvised murder weapon. Like you could easily see a Joan Crawford-type in a silk bathrobe chucking this thing against a wall in a fit of rage, just narrowly missing someone's head. 

I didn't know it then, because she was stoic and tried to hide it, but my mom was very sick. Like can't eat, can't sleep, can't work, can't get out bed, can't think, can't function sick. 

She wasn't “in a bad mood.” My mother was clinically depressed. 

She had good reason to be--which is itself a ridiculous thing to say, because of course no one needs a "reason" to be depressed, just like no one needs a "reason" to get the flu. But just like with the flu, things can happen that reduce or increase your vulnerability to illness, and my mom had been overexposed to those things.

Orphaned at 11, living in a rough South Bronx neighborhood and then in foster care in the suburbs, abandoned by her biological relatives, existing in perpetual fight-or-flight mode, putting herself through medical school, marrying and having a child. She was 35 and could finally exhale; but when she did, she blew out a puff of cigarette smoke and darkness rushed in to fill the void. Her trauma, her bereavement, her PTSD, her anxiety--it was finally safe for her to feel and experience these things.

And she did. She was a psychiatrist. She knew what this was.

I was in preschool then, and until ninth grade, my mom continued to struggle with her mental health. She emerged from that episode of acute depression very suddenly one morning nine months later. But she was still anxious and traumatized, and it wasn't until she began taking Prozac in 1991 that she really started to get relief from her symptoms.

She kept going to therapy, of course. But just like someone who is immunocompromised in some way, people prone to mental illnesses like clinical depression just need treatment. I've struggled with depression and anxiety on and off for as long as I can remember; a lot of it is hereditary. And fortunately mine is under good control right now. 

But it's important to talk about depression so that people understand what it is, and, more pointedly, what it isn’t.

Depression is not a bad mood, or something you can snap out of. It's not an attitude you can adjust, any more than you can adjust your way out of cancer. It makes you physically sick, unable to sleep or sleep too much; unable to eat, or eat too much. You don't want to leave your house, you don't want to see or talk to anyone, you don't want to do anything, nothing makes you happy, you can't derive pleasure from anything. And when you're in it, you feel like it will never, EVER end.

I’ve seen my mother and many friends experience this illness. I’ve had mild episodes of it myself. The good news is that for most people, most of the time, depression does end, or is at least episodic. The problem is, it doesn't end as easily or as quickly if we don't acknowledge that it's real in the first place. 

It's way past time to fix that.

You Should Try This Juice Cleanse Dextox Diet Which is So Totally Not Just Having an Eating Disorder for a Week

Have you tried this juice cleanse detox diet? OMG. It's so totally amazing. 

You will feel like, YEARS younger. Specifically, 23 years younger in the sense that you'll be 17 again and suffering from anorexia nervosa without technically having that disorder anymore, but the FEELING will be the same and you will DEFINITELY lose those last pesky 10 pounds before regaining them the very next week.

Seriously I cannot say enough about this paleo beet and kolrabi juice diet which is definitely not an 80's fad diet re-marketed for 2018. It will CHANGE YOUR LIFE!

It will so not remind you of when you used to write down every single calorie in a spiral-bound notepad and run like a little bunny on a hamster wheel for an hour and then chew on some carrots while watching cooking shows on cable and drooling.

This is totally not that. It's WAY better than that. 

Eating only raw lemongrass stalks sprinkled with cayenne pepper and a teaspoon of unpastuerized honey for seven days will purge your colon of harmful free radicals while totally not making you obsess about warm Nestle Toll House cookies as you writhe in hunger all day and can't concentrate on your kids or your job or literally anything else that matters more than being thin.

It's SO good for the mind AND the body. 

At first you MIGHT be a LITTLE bit hungry and chew a few Parmesan garlic croutons and spit them into the sink. Okay, fine, you WILL be starving and cry a lot. But it will be worth it because your skin will GLOW like Chernobyl and you'll have a TON of energy for weeping that you never even knew you had!

You totally won't be thinking about pepperoni pizza and that time in college when you ate 8 slices of it at once and then stuck your finger down your throat and puked because you felt guilty and then did the same thing the next day and the next day and the day after that until you had to go to outpatient bulimia therapy and it took you ten years to have a normal relationship with a fruit cup.

This cleanse is SO different from that. Gwyneth Paltrow did it and so did Oprah and they have like, the best and healthiest lifestyles.

It's a new year, and you're probably feeling super slow and sluggish and bad about yourself after the holidays. Don't blame yourself. It's all the sugar and a lack of amino acids and omega 3s. It's also that you're fat and hideous, of course. 

But the good news is we can fix that!

The only solution is to spend thousands of dollars on weird produce you've never heard of and can't pronounce, flax seeds (which are POWERFUL), and a high-end blender. You will INSTANTLY feel like a new, younger, more beautiful woman but totally NOT an adolescent with an eating disorder.

I'm telling you. You HAVE to try this.

No, I am Not "Curious About My Body Composition"

Today I received an offer from my health insurance inviting me to measure my body fat percentage and asking if I was "curious about [my] body composition."

The answer is no. No, I'm not.  Not even "Christy" my "onsite health coach" can pique my curiosity about this or get me excited about "setting goals for progress."

Like why would I go out of my way to spend my lunch hour just so Christy can put a number on my laziness? 

Here are 10 things I'm more curious about than my body composition:

1. What it feels like to put my finger in an electric socket.

2. The much-debated actual size of Donald Trump's peen.

3. What's on page 1,456 of the annotated tax code.

4. What happens if you drink a whole bottle of Sriracha.

5. If Bernie really would have won.

6. My aunt's most recent comment on Facebook.

7. The names and addresses of every person who hates me.

8. If my kids will ever stop fighting with each other.

9. What my head would look like if I shaved all my hair off tomorrow.

10. Christy's body fat percentage.

You Can Get Used to Anything, but It's Nice Not to Have To

They say you can get used to anything, and they're right. Only now am I letting myself exhale and really experience the extent to which the largest organ in my body has been compromised, and for how long. 

How many different things I've tried over how many years. How many medical doctors, naturopaths, acupuncture, Chinese herbs, oils, and diets I have tried. How many drugs, topical and systemic, I have been prescribed and dutifully taken.

How often I've written about living with a chronic but not life-threatening disease that quietly chips away at your quality of life, and about graciously handling well-intended unsolicited advice, allergies, and magic bullets. How much sleep I've lost to itching and how driven to the brink of sanity I have been by all of it.

How I couldn't nurse my babies for as long as I wanted, because I was bleeding from my nipples, and how the lactation consultant made me feel guilty about quitting anyway and tried to tell me some unscientific bullshit about how my kids would have eczema too if I stopped nursing. (I was nursed as a baby, so, um, no).

How I can't exercise or swim in a pool because my skin can't tolerate sweat or pool chemicals. How there are tiny blood stains on all my clothes and sheets. How the only thing that ever really helped me was a psychologist in San Francisco specializing in skin disorders, and a dilute bath with one cup of Clorox bleach to kill bacteria.

Until now. 

I knew this drug was different, because it was an entirely different category of drugs.That didn't mean it would work, of course, but I had to try. My immune system doesn't work right, but fortunately my mind does, and I have extensive research skills. I knew this was the biggest medical breakthrough for eczema in my lifetime. So I followed the clinical trials closely and I was determined to try Dupixent. 

I battled my insurance company for six weeks, enrolled with the drug company, and sent countless emails to my providers to have shipped to Alaska four syringes at $40,000 a year of mysterious, scary-looking yellow liquid.

It wasn't a steroid and it wasn't an immunosuppressant. It was a "biologic" that works differently than any other type of medicine I'd ever tried. The National Eczema Society has a good description of how Dupixent works:

Dupixent is the first biologic medication approved by the FDA for adults with moderate to severe atopic dermatitis (AD). It is taken subcutaneously (by injection) at 300 mg once every other week.
 
Biologic drugs or “biologics” are genetically engineered from proteins derived from living cells or tissues. Biologics are designed to target specific parts of the immune system that contribute to chronic inflammatory diseases such as atopic dermatitis.

Biologics take an “inside out” approach to treating inflammatory conditions by addressing the issue at the immune system level, the root cause of many diseases.

Dupixent works by blocking a type of protein called an interleukin, or IL, from binding to their cell receptors. Interleukins contribute to a functioning immune system by helping to fight off viruses or bacteria in our bodies. When the immune system goes haywire, it can trigger certain ILs to mistakenly attack the body, resulting in chronic inflammatory conditions such as atopic dermatitis.

Dupixent works on two interleukins thought to contribute to atopic diseases: IL-4 and IL-13. By blocking IL-4 and IL-13 from binding to the receptors, Dupixent curbs the immune system over-reaction that results in atopic dermatitis. A calmed immune system leads to fewer and/or less severe symptoms of AD.

Ten days ago, I got my first injections of Dupixent. At first It didn't do anything, and in fact it was making things worse. I was disappointed but not at all surprised. I was flaring up on my eyelids and my neck. I had to take another bleach bath. I was worse off than I was before. Of course this was one more failed experiment, but at least now I knew.

Then about three days ago, my skin started turning a corner, and I knew it wasn't just another tenuous remission. My eczema was clearing up in places--like the seam where my earlobes meet my neck--that hadn't been free of eczema at any point in my adult life. 

The voice in my head said not to be too excited, that the next injection might cause a setback or another flareup. But I felt different enough this time to think maybe, just maybe, this was the "miracle" I had been waiting for.

It's hard to justify such drastic, remedial medical measures for a common condition like eczema. A condition most people have in one or two little spots that they can fix with lotion. 

People ask me if I've tried lotion. They wonder why I would go to such extremes. I know they mean well. I don't get angry. I know they don't understand what I've been through, and they don't know all the things I've tried to get to this place. They don't understand that living in chronic discomfort in your own skin isn't a cosmetic problem, but a medical one that's worth whatever unknown sci-fi type risks that come with tinkering with your genome.

I'm past the point of caring though. I'm more than willing to accept all of those risks if it means I can stop thinking about eczema forever.



This is me doing wet wraps during a flareup, October 2014. If you're curious, Google it, I'm too lazy to explain!

This is me after 10 days of Dupixent.

This is My Husband's Hot Take on the Health Care Vote

Today--and Only Today!--I Shall Embrace Self Care by Walking up the Stairs at Work Instead of Using the Elevator

Have you heard of “self-care?” No? Well let me to drop some science on you.

ICYMI, self-care is like, a supes big deal right now. Technically, "self-care” is old AF, having started back in the polyester plaid bell-bottom/wood-paneled station wagon olden times as a way to drive down health care costs by promoting the consumption of grapefruits and the lifting of dumbbells with Jane Fonda.

Today, self-care is to the lifestyle industrial complex what the Macarena was to your aunts dancing at a bar mitvah in the early 90s. Self-care is the new me-time, but it’s more “Namaste and juice cleanse” than “mani-pedi and Unicorn Frappucino to cure a hangover in Vegas,” is the sense I am getting from the Googles.

Additionally, ever since America shot itself in the face by electing a demented, jowly Creamsicle with a boner for bombin' to the most powerful job on earth, self-care has become increasingly important for women, minorities, LGBTQ peeps, and other leftist libtard snowflakes who can no longer count (if they ever could) on a $75 pap smear and a safe space from Nazis.

That’s why I took a break from dreaming up plots for a new genre of Trump-demise erotic fan fic by walking up the six flights of stairs in my office today, and only today. 

I want to say that I will do this on Monday, but that would be an aspiration at best and an empty, bald-faced lie at worst. I want to say I will be like this one dude who works down the hall from me and does this EVERY DAY, and somehow is not out of breath and has a legit smile on his face every time he comes out of the stairwell and seems to always be in a really good mood.

But I will not be like that one dude, and it's pointless to pretend otherwise. 

Today I parked in the garage and walked up many stairs, to the street level, and then I walked up six flights of stairs and back down again. I did not count the number of stairs this was, and I don't have a special wrist monitor to tell me. But I'm confident that this was a yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooge accomplishment in self-care. 

Just look at the poster in the stairwell. It’s like THEY KNOW ME. The Mysterious Big Brother who wants me to Self-Care--which I'll have you know is NOT just a euphemism for masturbation after all--is telling me to "be invigorated," and I AM!

At each floor, there is one of these posters that speaks fitspiration to the Stair-Walkers, which sounds like a Stephen King novel but is actually what we call ourselves. 

See what I did there? I just "actually'd" you about walking up stairs, which is actually the most actually to ever actually, since I actually just started this "journey" today. (Pro tip: You can't do self-care unless you are on a "journey"). I say “we” like I am part of a “community” or a “movement” of “self-care,” which I am not. I did, however, bring a 12 ounce iced almond milk latte with an extra shot from the drive-through coffee stand along for the first literal and figurative steps on my journey toward self-care.

So that’s something, actually.

This might sound trite, but we are not actually promised tomorrow. And I am certainly not promising myself that I will ever walk up this staircase again, much less tomorrow. But for today, at least, I consider myself duly cared for.

Serena Williams Won the Australian Open While Eight Weeks Pregnant andI am DONE.

It doesn’t pay to make invidious comparisons to anyone in this life, much less elite world-class athletes. 

But when I read that Serena Williams won the Australian Open while eight weeks pregnant, I couldn’t help but just be totally done with life. For who among us has NOT won a major professional sports title while lending our uterus to another human being, rent-free, for nine months?

At the risk of alienating my non-uterus-owning readers who have publicly burned O.H.M. for (and I’m paraphrasing here) belaboring the theme of “eating Fritos Bean Dip while on the couch making fun of Gwyneth Paltrow,” I’m fixing to do a little compare-and-contrast that’s admittedly somewhere along these lines.

Every pregnancy is different, every woman has different abilities and experiences, yada yada. Okay, granted. 

But as far as I know, NONE OF THEM HAS EVER WON THE AUSTRALIAN OPEN OR ANY OPEN FOR THAT MATTER WHILE EIGHT WEEKS PREGNANT. (But see also, Kikkan Randall).

Anyone who has ever been eight weeks pregnant knows why winning the biggest tennis tournament in the southern hemisphere is a superhuman marvel in said condition, because no matter who you are, if you’re eight weeks pregnant your body is under hostile takeover by an evil, foreign fetal host parasite who is literally leeching off your very life force.

I don’t mean to brag, but here’s what my average day looked like then: 

• Wake up after tossing and turning all night during weird dream about tsunamis.
• Smell a banana and vomit.
• Examine prominent new veins all over body.
• Try to take shit, fail.
• Listen to NPR story about somebody’s grandpa. Cry inconsolably.
• Squeeze titties into bra, go to work with quad-boob.
• Place head on desk and pass out in small puddle of own drool while on conference call.
• Come to and drive to Fred Meyer.
• Help self to a pint of mixed olives from olive bar, eat several before paying.
• Pee for seventh time in an hour, panic about blood streak on toilet paper.
• Call doctor.
• Google miscarriages.
• Go to doctor and get sonogram, resume Googling “coffee during pregnancy.”
• Smell somebody’s turkey sandwich from Subway, specifically the bread. Vomit again.
• Eat aforementioned pint of mixed olives.
• Go to sleep for the night at 6:30 p.m.

Again—and I speak strictly from my own experience here—I felt like Sigourney Weaver in Alien when I was eight weeks pregnant (both times), and I wouldn’t have been able to toss a tennis ball up in the air and catch it again from a prone position.

So yeah, Serena won the Australian Open amid stiff competition, while in what is arguably the worst possible part of pregnancy (also amid stiff competition).

But I ate a bucket of olives, so.

I Want to Find the Loophole in This Rule

Being a lawyer and all, I'm acutely interested in the language and enforceability of rules. Not to second guess someone else's draftsmanship, but I question the number of loopholes and the enforceability of this directive outside the pool in my in-laws' housing development in "Placentia," CA.

As a few commenters have already noted, who HASN'T had "active diarrhea" in the past 14 days? And what is "active" as opposed to "passive" diarrhea? Much less "currently?" How do we define "currently?" And who will enforce this and how?

Ostensibly, the purpose of this prohibition is to limit the spread of waterborne gastrointestinal bacteria and viruses. I'm no infectious disease expert, but I'm pretty sure that it isn't just the "pool water" you need to concern yourself with here.

Like if you fit this description, shouldn't you maybe be at home? Like maybe you shouldn't be entering the pool AREA and touching every surface in sight?

Leave aside the fact that this needs to be said for some reason. Every rule has its origins in a real event of some kind. Obviously, someone in this complex pulled a Caddy Shack/Beverly Hills Cop and made "a mistake in the pool." 

I can remember this happening to a kid at day camp when I was around Isaac's age, and it was like an international incident. When you're a well-cared for six year-old, that's basically the only thing you need to be afraid of, and the sight of a little turd outlined in the butt of this girl's bathing suit is seared into my memory forever.

What is it with pools that promotes shitting so much and directives against it? It's not like chlorine is the same as coffee and a cigarette. 

I don't get it. I'm writing a letter.

So Dirt Makes You Happy . . . But Does Filth?

That is the question. This here article claims there are special antidepressant properties in soil (a.k.a. dirt) that make you happy. But let's get real for a sec. I'm not returning to agrarian times until the zombies come, I can't even keep a cactus alive for three days, and I can barely tell lettuce and cabbage apart when they're in the ground. 

So what I really want to know is, will FILTH make me happy?

Because there is plenty--PUH-LENTY--of filth in my life to go around. There's my daughter's bedroom closet, in which resides all manner of toy food (fortunately not real food) and American Girl Dolls and the occasional stray lollipop despite a strict no-food-outside-the-kitchen-area prohibition for this very reason. (This is the third of only three household rules, after no screen time during the week and no exposed anus at the dinner table. We run a very tight ship).

Where is the study that says the floor of my car will give me a runner's high? Like, I want to stare at those wet gum wrappers, pipe cleaners, moldy socks, and banana peels and just soak it all in and deadass feel a surge of joy course through my body. 

Can that happen? Because it would be cheaper and healthier than drugs or alcohol.

Also, if filth turned out to have curative properties, it would sort of kill two birds with one stone. (Not that I would ever kill a bird, mind you. I only eat my chicken in neatly-cut slices-on-Caesar-salad-form). 

Metaphorical bird one would be fighting with my kids about cleaning up their shit/doing laundry/doing dishes. That would be over, because their filth would suddenly become the source of my happiness. For example, instead of gagging and telling them to put their last three bites of cold eggs in the garbage disposal, I'd suddenly feel like Eddie Vedder just followed me on twitter and then DM'd me to tell me I'm hilarious.

Bird two would be the aforementioned drugs and alcohol currently necessary to maintain a calm perspective on the filth. Suddenly, I'd have all this money back in my pocket, because all my mental health needs and buzzes could be found on Isaac's dresser in an old box of pull-ups now serving as a house for pine cones. True joy could be unearthed in this weird corner of our living room where Isaac's frog lives and Paige has fifteen different plastic bags lined up with different types of garbage in them that I'm not allowed to throw away. 

And what would I do with the savings? Why, buy more shit to filth up my house and make me even happier, of course!

Suddenly I would no longer have conflict over my filthy house and car, nor would I need to numb all my senses to cope with the filth, because the FILTH ITSELF would deliver happy juice straight into my bloodstream!

Please, someone tell me this study extends to filth and not just dirt. Or, at the very least, shit.

These Clorox Disinfecting Wipes Probably Cause Cancer and are Killing the Planet but My Kid is at School Today so IDGAF

OMG. How did we ever live without these?! It's like I don't even remember what it was like to wipe down a counter with soapy water and a dish rag. I think the last time I did THAT I was talking on a rotary wall phone in my parents' kitchen.

I know, I know. 

I've so-called "read" the so-called "studies" and even have this one friend who's a so-called "epidemiologist," and has an entire company dedicated to eliminating so-called "toxic" cleaning products from your house, but that seems like waaaaaay too much work and seriously? 

These wipes are LIT AF!

What's a little maybe-cancer somewhere down the line? By the time it shows up, it'll probably be in my grandkid's colon or something, and will be curable anyway. And even if not, I can blame it on Not Clorox Disinfecting Wipes, if I'm even alive by then, which is like, a BIG if.

Amirite?!

The bottom line is, unless and until I can 3D-print my own full-time free nanny and hippie cleaners actually work and don't cost half my paycheck, it's Clorox Disinfecting Wipes for me! 

My kids can't afford to get sick and miss school, not because they can't miss a day of school in kindergarten and third grade, but because I refuse to waste precious vacation days on minor illnesses and trips to the pediatrician when I'm saving all that time and money to go to Hawaii.

I do realize (with no small amount of irony, of course) that these Clorox Disinfecting Wipes are probably choking sea turtles and bringing the planet to a full-roiling boil that will ultimately drown much of the Hawaiian archipelago anyway, buuuuuuut....

Like, I reeeeeeallly need my kids to not get sick RN. Know what I'm saying? 

The definitive flu right now is so much worse than maybe-cancer later! And there are also sooooo many other things besides Clorox Disinfecting Wipes that are killing the planet and maybe cause cancer, right?

I mean there's Fabreeze--which I DID throw out because come on, I'm not a MONSTER--and there's something else too, wait, I'm sure I'll think of it. It wasn't any of my dope MAC makeup, that I can tell you. Come back to me on this one, K?

Also there are worse things for the planet, like individually-wrapped hummus from Costco and two dozen cans of lime-flavored LaCroix, both of which let's face it are supes convenient for school lunches and good methadone for a Diet Coke addiction, but I'm not saying I wouldn't consider giving those up for the future of humanity. 

I might.

For now though my kids CANNOT get sick and Clorox Disinfecting Wipes are the only line of defense standing between me and insufficient time and money to go on vacation.

#priorities.

5 Morning Workouts That Will Make You Say, "On Second Thought,How 'Bout I Just Sit on Your Face Instead?"

Lots of women are looking for that magic workout that will be quick, easy, and get results fast--especially in the morning when our metabolism is at peak levels for exercise. But what most women don't realize is that it's hella easier to start doing those workouts, stop to think for a second, and then say to your bae, "you know what, fuck it, I'ma just sit on your face instead, m'kay?"

Downward-Facing Dog: You could get into a position that makes you look and feel like someone or something is going to eff you in the no-no, all in the hopes that your ass will look toned as a result. OR, you can turn the tables on that power dynamic and say, "know what, babe? I'ma just grab a quick moustache ride right now, k?"

Jumping Jacks: Get your heart racing with this old school calisthenic! You'll feel like Olivia Newton John doing these right at your bedside, and after you do one or two you can just kick your man in the ribs gently but with purpose and be like, "Actually, I'm just gonna get my workout in by humping your head instead. S'that cool witchoo?"

Wall Sits: Tighten your thighs right there on the wall of your bedroom with 40 seconds of wall-sitting, or actually fuck it, just put dudebro's face in a thigh vice, check to see if he's breathing every once in awhile, and kill two birds with one stone.

Jog-in-Place: Put on a sports bra and run in place like a total asshole for a few seconds, before deciding that no, that's actually stupid and makes your boobs hurt, so sorry, your man is just gonna have to eat poon for breakfast.

Push-Ups: A handful of push-ups every morning will tone your upper body all while making you tell your guy, "actually, I'm taking a hard pass on these push-ups, so your face is gonna hafta take a hard pass up in here, whaddya say?"


Photo: Fitness/Classpass

At the Risk of Sounding Vulgar, "Bros Are Making Themselves Sick Eating Pussy" is Not a Headline I Ever Thought I Would Read Anywhere, Much Less in the Washington Post

And yet, that is a 100% accurate paraphrasing of this article, which reports on a health study finding a "startling" rise in oral cancer among American men, and illustrating both "the cascading effect of human papillomavirus (HPV) in the United States and our changing sexual practices." 

By "our changing sexual practices," the reporter means that Baby Boomers are more likely to develop tongue and throat cancer from chewing tobacco and smoking Camels, but millennials are more likely to end up on chemo from smoking camel toe and chowing box like it was their job. (Which, arguably, it is).

Specifically, the study found that "although fewer teenagers and young adults are having sex than in previous years, more are engaging in oral sex than vaginal intercourse under the assumption that it's safer."

I've got some mixed feels on this. 

First of all, I take this study as a positive sign that contrary to popular belief and their bad rap (made worse in recent months by the Orange Menace), American men are the WOKEST BAES ON PLANET EARTH, since obviously only dudes who are woke AF go spelunking for their dinner every night.

Second, I think it was always the assumption that oral sex was safer. It's just that old-school, curved-brim baseball hat bros are all about gently-but-firmly pushing a woman's head down with one hand while holding a red Solo cup of Natty Ice in the other as Dave Matthews plays on a CD in the background. 

By contrast, modern-day, Snap-Chatting feminist poon-hounds listen to Vampire Weekend and Arcade Fire on their iPhones and like to return the favor--or simply forget to ask for the favor in the first place--because IT'S ALL ABOUT YOU, QUEEN! 

YAAASSSS! SUH-LAAAY BITCH!

Anyhoo, the collateral conclusion of this study is clear: Bros who are not down for a trip to Taco Town in 2016 will find themselves burnt and alone every Saturday night with a web cam and a half-empty bottle of Jergens.  

Or, in three simple words: DELETE YOUR MOUTH.

However, I'm concerned, because fear of one's tongue turning green, shriveling up, and falling off threatens to wind back the clock of major social progress in this, um, area, and that's the last thing women need. FORTCH, science has women's backs crotches, because there's a vaccine! So if bros are smart and get it, they can subsist on a steady diet of chanch to their heart's content! 

Yay!

Once vaccinated, I think the approach should be similar to any other menu that has warnings like "consuming raw or under-cooked eggs and shellfish can increase the risk of foodborne illnesses," etc. 

You read that sentence every time you go to the latest hipster pop-up bistro in Brooklyn or the Mission District to Instagram your brunch, and yet you still order up a sushi roll with a raw quail egg on top. So bros, don't hesitate to wax your beard with some lady beef carpaccio as an appetizer either.

Bon Appetit!

Health Advisory: You Might Have Democratitis

HEALTH ADVISORY

Democratitis is a serious, contagious, airborne illness endemic to the United States and most prevalent in the summer and fall months of even-numbered years. It can also be transmitted by contact with donkeys, elephants, and eagles, and if left untreated, may result in profound disillusionment and/or death.

Democratitis is most common among 18-65 year-old Americans, particularly those who maintain a steady diet of hourly information from an algorithm-curated internet echo chamber delivered by social media.

Contact your health care provider immediately if you experience any of the following:

• Intermittent Wiki-leaking from your Assange.
• Hard, messy data dumps.
• Hacking cough.
• Depression, anxiety, and shortness of breath.
• Mysterious pangs in your legislated lady parts.
• Migraine headaches.
• Nausea and vomiting.
• Acute pain in the feels.
• Carotenemia (increased orange pigment in the skin).
• Blood coming out of your whatever.
• Suddenly going from a "10" to a "5." 
• Losing.
• Sadness.
• Lightweight choking.
• Dopiness.
• Declining ratings.
• Crooked urine stream.
• Dark feelings of disbelief and imminent DISASTER and catastrophe.
• Urge to use ALL CAPS, BOLD FONT, AND EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!

Democratitis is sometimes confused with and therefore misdiagnosed as Toxic Masculinity Syndrome or Internalized Misogyny, so don't wait or take chances. 

Contact a medical professional today.

Back in MY Day, You Got Your Temperature Taken Up the ASS!

Have you had your temperature taken at a hospital or doctor's office recently? It's right out of Star Trek. They zip a little wand across your forehead, and then "boop-beep-bip-beep-boop zing! 98.6." It kinda makes you feel nostalgic (?) for the days when checking your temperature was literally an ass ream.

Remember that? I assume most of you do. 

It wasn't so very long ago (or maybe it was) when a day off from school meant you'd better be ready to take one up the ass. Your mom would ask if you were really feeling sick, and then call your bluff with a glass thermometer full of mercury and lubed up in off-brand Vaseline. 

I can see vividly in my mind's eye that giant jar of generic "petroleum jelly" with a faded blue label peeling off of it. I recall the few occasions when my mom accidentally dropped and shattered the thermometer on the turquoise linoleum of our cramped rail-car style NYC apartment kitchen, and I'd crawl after the little balls of mercury, poking them with my finger and watching them separate and bounce away.

These kids today, man. They don't know how good they have it. 

Show me ONE millennial who's ever played bare-handed with liquid mercury or had anything shoved up their ass as a component of legitimate parental health care, as opposed to some experimental 50 Shades S&M dungeon-type shit.

THIS is why America is on the decline. It's chock full of pussies who grew up with a Jetsons-style temperature-taking system instead of a violating rectal probe.

Make America Take One Up the Ass Again!

Magic Bullets

If you have a chronic illness or condition, you're always looking for a "magic bullet" cure. 

Only a few days after I started writing O.H.M., I happened to have a pretty bad eczema flareup. Here's what I wrote at the time:

I've struggled with the common trifecta of allergies, eczema, and asthma my whole life. Sometimes it's a simple nuisance. Other times it's put me in the hospital. It ebbs and flows, but over time, it's gotten worse. I've given up on trying to find a cause or a cure. I've been to dermatologists, naturopaths, acupuncturists, allergists, online forums, and Chinese herbalists from Alaska to California to New York City and back. I've eliminated allergenic foods from my diet. I've taken herbal supplements. I've been on systemic immuno-suppressants, antihistamines, and steroids, both topical and oral. I've tried every lotion, cream, and ointment on the market, both prescription and over-the-counter. I've come to accept that my body is just sensitive to the world, and that like bad weather, I just need to hunker down through the squalls until they blow over.

Since then, I've done a few other posts about my eczema/allergy/asthma problems and how they impact my quality of life. Because it's not fatal or life-threatening, I feel like I'm not entitled to be annoyed by it, but it is a big quality of life issue.

It really limits what I can eat and where I can go. When I show up at someone's house for the first time and they have a cat, I have to go home or spend the whole time outside. When I check into a hotel, I have to call ahead to make sure they take all the down pillows and comforters off the beds. Plenty of people have seasonal or mild allergies, especially to animals, but then I sort of have to explain that no, this is kind of worse than the sneezing and watery eyes you're used to seeing. My skin acts up under stress. The last two trials I had in Anchorage, I had to ask my friends and co-workers to bring me bleach, so I could take a bleach bath in my hotel room (I know it sounds crazy, but it really helps--I won't bore you with why).

So naturally I was thrilled to hear about a new "biologic" due to be released this March, which has shown a lot of promise in clinical trials. The drug is called dupilumab (brand name: Dupixent), and it's a targeted immunotherapy delivered by periodic injection, similar to other targeted immunotherapies that have been used in cancer trials in lieu of chemo. 

I immediately emailed my dermatologist in San Diego, who is super thorough and always up on the latest research. He was as excited about it as I was, and he's a pretty understated guy. He gave me some resources to read up on it, and contacted the medical liaison for the pharmaceutical company that makes the drug to see if I could get a "compassionate use" exemption for early use. 

Then came reality. I started to do more research, and I realized it's a very serious drug and no one knows yet what the long-term side effects are. No one knows if the drug will keep you in remission or if your symptoms will return the minute you go off it. Which matters a lot, because it costs $60,000 a year. I'm lucky I have insurance, but good luck getting my insurance to cover this. 

Suddenly another magic bullet wasn't looking so magical after all. 

Maybe I'll get this drug, my insurance will cover it, and it will work once and I'll live happily ever after, but my real point is this: As tempting as it is to get excited about a miracle, it's healthier and a lot less frustrating to plan for life without one.