This Men Showing Off Their Dicks Thing

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Safe Space… no Dick Pics here.

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Most women, probably around the globe, know that men love showing off their dicks.

Between Dick Pics and (what we are now learning more about) sexual harassment/assault, men think really highly of their cocks. Much more so than women think of them.

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Kaua’ian Rooster

Dicks in My Work Environment

Penises are a normal part of my day as a Sex Worker. What most people would probably deem absolutely horrid in a work situation, I get paid to do.

I watch as men masturbate on cam, talk them through the experience and make sweet comments about how gorgeous their cocks are. Men love to hear how good their cocks look, asking me to compare it to others and want to know if theirs is the best I’ve ever seen. (Not kidding.) I ooo and ahhh, stroking their penis-egos and I am paid well for it.

Because I see cocks for a living, men often think I want to see their unsolicited dick pics even before we meet. My email address at work strips attachments unless I approve the person, so that limits it fabulously, but even then, some slip by, or past clients will toss a dick pic in their “I’m going to Las Vegas for a week” emails. I guess it’s to keep me warm and cozy until their return?

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There is another genre of men who want me to laugh at their penises… men who are under-endowed. Even men near the average 5.16 inch cock get into Small Penis Humiliation (SPH). But when they are in the 1-3 inch (erect) size, SPH is guaranteed to be their thing. Entire volumes of psychology studies could probably explain this phenomenon, but I have boiled it down to being laughed at the first time someone (usually a girlfriend) sees their size when they have already been erect for some time, anticipating sex with her. Instead, while he is hard, she laughs; positive reinforcement.

PAY SOMEONE TO LOOK AT IT!

I beg of you. Many of us beg of you. Just stop sending unsolicited dick pics. Really, really.

JUST STOP IT!

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Should You Take Your Dick Out?

Apparently, there needs to be a Tutorial on how men can make the decision to show someone their penis, either in real life or in a picture.

I love how Tiffany Haddish stated it on Saturday Night Live a week ago. Haddish is the first black female stand-up comic in 43 seasons to host Saturday Night Live. Her counsel states:

“If you got your thing-thing out and she got all her clothes on, you’re wrong.”

This is the perfect guide for men who have an urge to show their privates to women.

(Of course, I will add the caveat: Unless you are paying her or have an agreement ahead of time.)

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Indeed.

Wound Infections (Ugh)

(Rehashing of some stuff, I know.)

Itch, Itch, Scratch, Scratch

I had an iron infusion on October 11th. I receive Solu-Medrol (a steroid) beforehand, but as it wore off over the next day, I began itching. Now, this was my 6th infusion… my first allergic reaction.

I began scratching. And scratching. I took 50 mg. Benadryl. Then 30 min later, another 50 mg. I kept itching. I was using my sharp nails, digging into my skin. I couldn’t reach my back, so used scissors to get the itchies there. Some of this was in the middle of the night; the part with the scissors, I was awake and sitting up.

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Then I went to lay down again and saw a couple of (big) blobs of blood on the sheet and thought, “I probably should go to the hospital!” So I did.

ER Visit

It had to have been one of the most crowded times I’d ever been at this hospital (where they practically know me by name). They couldn’t even get me into a room for over an hour. I was bleeding all over by that point.

The doc came in quickly (yay!) and they gave me a Bolus of Benadryl, some IV Pepcid (which apparently has an anti-itch property) and a nice bag of Solu-Medrol.

It took about 10 minutes when the itching on my arms, legs, hands, belly and feet stopped feeling like I had bugs crawling out of my skin, but my back and head and face kept up almost unabated.

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I got off the table, IV still in place, and poked around the room looking for something long and sharp to scratch with. Not one damn thing. Fuck. I sat on the bed and rubbed back and forth, back and forth… and clawed at my face and head some more.

When the IV was done, I was detached, given Rx’s for prednisone, Pepcid and told to take lots of Benadryl. I went home and scratched with the scissors until I fell asleep from so much Benadryl.

It took 2 more days for the itching to chill out. I was so thankful when it did.

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Residual Issues

Now we are almost 4 weeks out and many of my scratches are still open, two gaping and not doing well at all. The Endo yesterday didn’t seem surprised considering my BGs have been so crazy with all the prednisone I have taken over the last month.

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The wound on my belly is the worst and she used a silver nitrate stick to help with wound healing, then the nurse dressed it. She did the same on my right upper arm… silver nitrate, then dressed. She said she wants to see it in a week and we will decide on antibiotics… holding off on those because 1) I am getting more and more allergic to medications (which at the moment are: Penicillin, Codeine, Azo, Flagyl and whatever was in the iron infusion) 2) they will give me yeast and fuck with my BGs some more. We will try topical first.

The Endo also said I have to see Podiatry for the Neuropathy in my feet. I have a call in to my Primary Care Provider (PCP) for that. And just have to suck it up with the diarrhea at the moment. I will ask my PCP for help beyond Immodium and Lomotil.

I go to the Hematologist tomorrow… am supposed to have an iron infusion, but we’ll see what the plan is for someone allergic to it.

Argh! I am so tired of being allergic to stuff!

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Diabetic Neuropathy Begins

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Legacy of Diabetes

I’ve had Type 2 Diabetes since I was 34-years old… for 22 years now. My entire Cuban family had diabetes as well; skinny, fat and inbetween. My entire life, I watched my pot-bellied relatives manipulate their insulin so they could eat and drink whatever they wanted. I watched as they lost their eyesight, had heart attacks, then had feet and hands cut off from infections. My grandfather died before I was born from complications of diabetes. My grandmother, aunt, uncle all died from diabetic complications. It seems I am next on the list.

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Added Challenges

My Blood Glucoses (BGs) are almost impossible to control. I have been having to take steroids (SoluMedrol & prednisone) because of several allergic reactions lately. (One reaction was to Azo… the other to the 6th iron infusion I had… that one sent me into the hospital because I was scratching myself bloody and using scissors to scratch my back… also bloody.)

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My diet is comprised of almost all carbs for a variety of medical reasons, including dental. Exercise is impossible. I am destined (doomed?) to using insulin to get my BGs under control.

Doctor Visits

Whenever I see doctors, they ask if my feet are numb, tingling or hurt. I have said no for many years. Now, however, they are beginning to hurt more and I realize the pre-pain feeling I’ve had has been like a tight sock on my right foot. Now, at night, there is distinct pain.

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I’ve never read about Diabetic Neuropathy before today and now I am scared.

Besides the foot pain, I also have what seems to be untreatable diarrhea. Taking 30 Immodium a day does nothing to quell the issue. Lomotil doesn’t do a thing either. The GI Doc said I need to get the Endo to help. I see the Endo on Monday. Hope they are able to give me something else. It is distressing, always having to dash to the toilet… pretty challenging trying to work.

I have some Cymbalta from when I was rx’d it for depression and read that was one good medication for the neuropathy. Hopefully, someone will rx it (or something else) to help with the pain.

One More Medical Problem

I have an ongoing list of medical crap I am dealing with, all because of being fat. My fat life is (quite literally) piling on the complications.

All my fault.

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I Left Facebook Over Cyberwarfare

Backstory

I watched a few days ago as the attorneys for Facebook, Google and Twitter faced the Senate Intelligence Committee, listening as the content of the “platforms” I use was defended. And not defended well.

I have been on the Internet since 1995, although I am hardly a geek or adept at the goings on behind the scenes. However, listening to these lawyers (surely, quite well-paid) not explain what happened with the “Russian propaganda group called Internet Research Agency that created a conflict….” within the Americans reading their content, terrified me.

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Loving Facebook

I loved Facebook. For 9 years. People left during the election and I was flabbergasted how anyone could leave, especially during such an important time. At times I pulled back from the more political groups I followed, but generally, I was present throughout the election experience.

Until now, I’d never considered leaving Facebook, but as the information has begun unfolding about how Russia infiltrated Facebook, some of which it seems they even knew about, I began getting uncomfortable there. I closed my Navelgazing Midwife FB Page, seeing small seeds of political discontent there, whittled my Facebook Friends down to 50 from over 400 at one point, but still, these past weeks, I began squirming more.

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As a writer, the Freedom of the Press and Freedom of Speech are enormously important to me. I’ve had a hard time watching as far-right speakers (that have not incited violence) refused a place to speak and share their thoughts. Do I wish they would shut up and go away? Absolutely. But, they are Americans, too, and deserve to add their voices to the discourse.

But that isn’t the same as having to endure propaganda from inside or outside our country.

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My Vulnerability

I can be pretty discerning, especially when it comes to medical or scientific data. But, I have always been easily swayed with some arguments. I’ll lean one way hearing one side, feeling sure that is the right path. Then, I’ll hear the other side and re-think my whole belief system based on that information.

I am really vulnerable to slick talkers and those with psychological skills I cannot recognize or counter. I try to stay away from these arguments, but during the election (and especially now), it is impossible to do. I have said several times recently: I love my Echo Chamber. I simply cannot process the other side’s views without a near breakdown of my values and beliefs.

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I’m not sure if it’s a mental illness in me that makes me so vulnerable or if others are like that, too. Knowing it, though, whatever the cause, I had to make a move to protect my mind and heart.

Stepping Away from Facebook

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So, I deactivated my Facebook account with a message to them stating my concern about their lack of Internet safety. Not sure if I will ever go back, but certainly not before massive changes have occurred to protect my spaces there from the propaganda that lured so many of my former friends.

I will write instead of perusing the Trending topics, saving that for Twitter, which I am still debating about leaving. I need to write. I have so many things I want to say.

Hopefully, without Facebook, I will find the time to do just that.

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Holding the Space

“Be kind to the children, for they are close to the other side.” – unknown

When my father was given 3 months to live when he had the intestinal cancer, everyone had an idea of what he should do. Take this herb! Try chiropractic! I was in the “Call Hospice” camp. But my father had a different plan. Instead, he wanted to do chemotherapy. Those of us in the medical arena of his life, holding the labs in our hands, shook our heads at the futility of that… and it might/probably will make him feel much worse. We did what he wanted anyway.

My dad did 2 sessions of chemo and then said, “Call Hospice.”

His death 2.5 months later was peaceful and gentle. And he was so so loved.

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My dad, Saturno Herrera, about 1 month before he died.

When We Need to Listen

In my life right now are a couple of people who have family or friends with terminal diagnoses. Those around them are rushing to help with all sorts of remedies, diets and even insisting on the “power of positive thinking.”

Instead, perhaps this is a time to ask the dying person what they want, not foist on them what we want.

Being near those that are dying is an amazing honor and privilege. For one thing, it isn’t a sudden, unexpected moment where there are always regrets about things not said or done. When you are at the side of a dying person, you have the opportunity for completion and the giving of your heart in a way you might never have before.

It is not a time for airing grievances that will never be resolved. Not a time for your confessions of guilt (find a Priest for that). It isn’t even a time to just sit keening and crying your eyes out, the dying person trying to comfort you in their time of need.

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Nanea Reeves with her husband Vic as he gets closer to dying.

Mindfulness

Holding the Space is a concept I learned in midwifery, but had been doing a long time already with men dying of AIDS decades ago. Holding the Space is sitting quietly, perhaps praying silently, seeing golden light of love surrounding them or just Be-ing with the person heading to the other side (into parenthood/through death/in illness/etc.). Allowing the person to say what they want… rambling speech or exquisite poetry. I like to keep notes, but not at the expense of my complete attention.

One caveat: Take as many pictures as you can… with each person separately, everyone together… take pictures holding the person’s hand… get video of them if they are still talking. I have nothing with my dad’s voice on it and regret that terribly.

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Mindfulness is a buzzword right now, but if there was ever a time to be Mindful, it is when with someone in transition. Not worrying about getting to the store, checking your phone or even talking to others in the room about mundane life crap. BE with the person. Give your full attention to them. Watch them. Witness their transition completely.

If you get tired, you rest. No one can be expected to be Mindful or present 100% of the time. Do go for walks outside. Walk the dog. Eat a good meal. Be mindful of your needs, too.

There But for the Grace of God Go I

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When I am with someone in this holy place (which does include childbirth, of course), I want to share with them how I hope to be treated during my own transition through death. Not that it is my prescribed way of dying, but simply respectful and kind attention.

My family knows how I want to go. At home. People happy, laughing, music blaring, telling fun stories, remembering all the wondrous things I have done in this life. I also want to be read to. Read to me when I am tired and need to close my eyes for a moment.

But that is me. Not everyone wants the levity part that I have requested.

Perhaps the person you are with wants to smoke again, drink until they are drunk every day, wants to go out to a forest and dig their toes in the dirt one more time. Take them! Even if you have to hire an ambulance service and need to push dirt through their toes while they are on a gurney. Be creative to give the dying their wishes. If they want to watch a favorite movie on a 24-hour loop and it makes you crazy…

…so what?!? Let them!

Talk to your loved one. Ask them what they want and need from you.

Then do it.

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An added note: I understand that children dying slowly can be another aspect entirely. I have not lost a child to cancer or another illness or malformation, so cannot speak to it accurately. But, as with everything anyone in the world writes or says:

Take what you want & leave the rest.