Here ya go, the best of what I've gleaned this week from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
LOL CATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP, 1 APRIL 2008
GREENS FOR SPRING
(Aunt Penny, spokeshen for Boggy Creek Farms Hen House)
Every week, one of my "farm gals" writes a newsletter that goes out to those of us smart enough to sign up for it. Carol Ann Sayle is one of the owners (with her hubby Larry Butler) and hard workers at our urban organic farm here in Austin, Boggy Creek Farms. She's as good a writer as she is a farmer, and her weekly description of what they are doing always leaves me feeling hungry and ready for a rest -- she makes it real. This week, her epistle began:
March 31, 2008
Spring Tonics
Greetings Friends of the Farm,
I just finished eating an entire head of dinosaur kale for lunch. It formed a rather huge dark-green mound on my plate, as I barely wilted it in a skillet (not wanting to reduce it to threads), with butter, fresh garlic, mushrooms, and slices of fennel. I felt like I needed it, you know? Perhaps it would be an act of rejuvenation, or a spring tune-up, or even, satisfying. It was all three.
I can TASTE that kale...
So, here's a recipe you can try out for spring, from Epicurious -- this would be grand with the distinctive, rich flavor of dinosaur kale. Myra would probably make it with prosciutto instead of bacon. Ginny would use walnuts sauteed until crisp in garlic oil. They would both serve it with a side of canteloupe or honeydew.
Shredding the kale allows you to cook it for a shorter period of time, so it retains an appealingly bright color and is gentler in flavor than if it had been slow-cooked.
Active time: 50 min Start to finish: 1 hr
Servings: Makes 8 servings. (Have your friends over, let your friends make friends with each other.)
INGREDIENTS:
2 1/2 lb kale (about 4 bunches), tough stems and center ribs cut off and discarded
10 bacon slices (1/2 lb), cut into 1/2-inch pieces
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 cups water
PREPARATION:
Stack a few kale leaves and roll lengthwise into a cigar shape. Cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-wide strips with a sharp knife. Repeat with remaining leaves.
Cook bacon in a wide 6- to 8-quart heavy pot over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until crisp, then transfer with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Pour off and discard all but 3 tablespoons fat from pot, then cook garlic in remaining fat over moderately low heat, stirring, until pale golden, about 30 seconds. Add kale (pot will be full) and cook, turning with tongs, until wilted and bright green, about 1 minute. Add water and simmer, partially covered, until just tender, 6 to 10 minutes. Toss with bacon and salt and pepper to taste.
Cooks' note:
Large kale leaves are easier to cut in the manner described in this recipe. If all you can find are small leaves, just coarsely chop them.
And, I've already plugged this once, but it's too perfect a spot to pass up: Check out the recipe for Lesbian Kale Sauce at the Compost Maven's website. AND, the Boggy Creek Farms website has lots of recipes, as well as seasonal report, history of the farm, their horticultural practices, information on how to oppose the small-farm-destroying National Animal Identification System, hen house stories (with GREAT photos), and a place to sign up for their newsletter.
(Fresh garlic from Boggy Creek Farms)
Monday, March 31, 2008
GINNY BATES: THE BRASS PIG
Another excerpt from my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates. If you are already a familiar reader, begin below. The action in the story resumes immediately after my post yesterday. If you need background, check the links in the sidebar on the right, fifth item down, to get caught up.
For dinner, Gillam got ambitious with two leek pot pies, one with chicken and one with salmon. He talked Myra through the process of making a roux for the sauce, and after each step, her muscle memory lead the way into actual conscious recollection. As she was stirring the cream sauce, she lifted the wooden spoon for a moment to talk with Gillam and he said "Hey, watch it, you're flicking that stuff at me!" She looked at her hand which held the spoon and it was trembling in a decided manner.
Ginny, making salad at the breakfast bar, said "What's wrong, honey? Are you nervous?"
"No" said Myra. She tried to stop the jerk, and the only way she could was to begin stirring again, or rest her hand on a flat surface.
"Are you chilled?" continued Ginny, coming into the kitchen and feeling Myra's forehead. Allie and Edwina appeared from the living room.
"No. I don't know why this is happening. It doesn't hurt, and it stops when I do something" said Myra. Ginny went directly to the phone and called Dr. Desai. Her message was relayed on, and ten minutes later Dr. Desai returned her call. By that time, Myra was rolling out puff pastry with Gillam. She took the phone and talked with Dr. Desai, then handed the receiver back to Ginny. After Ginny hung up, she reported "She thinks it's something called a benign essential tremor. Lots of folks get them, for one reason or another. It's not a neurological disease, and she says to ask Dr. Reading about it but not to worry, not to go to the ER or anything."
"Hell in a handbasket" muttered Myra, turning the dough, which sent Gillam into gales of laughter. Ginny kept answering the phone, talking with Carly and Patty, her father, and other concerned friends, until dinner was ready.
Once again, everyone raved about Gillam's cooking. He was completely pleased with himself, saying it was fun. He added "You know, Mom told me once that there are some cells in your body which live for seven years before needing to be replaced. That means the meals you've had for the past seven years are still present in who you are right now. I get off on that idea, on making something I know will be carried around in the bodies of people I love even when I'm not with them."
"You are just like your mother" said Ginny, her eyes shining.
At 8:00, Myra began fading. Ginny said they needed to go to bed, both of them, but to definitely bring Chris and Sima by, Myra wanted to see them no matter what, it was more important than uninterrupted sleep. Beebo, who had reclaimed Myra's lap, got up when they did and began making passes in front of the bedroom door. Ginny said to him "No way, mister, I'm wise to your tricks -- you sleep with Gillam, remember?"
Allie and Edwina headed for the airport. Margie and Gillam decided to wait up in the living room. "Can we watch TV? I mean, once your door is shut?" asked Margie. Ginny paused on the way into the bedroom, as Myra went into the bathroom, and she said "Yeah, go for it." She didn't see Beebo rocket past her ankles and scurry under the bed. Once he could tell they were both asleep, he crept out from his hiding spot and curled into Myra's side.
Myra woke up when Beebo scrambled under the bed as Chris approached. "Hey, you, are you sure it's okay to wake you up?" Chris whispered.
"Come here" answered Myra sleepily, pulled Chris down beside her. "Lie next to me." Next to her, Ginny stood and insisted Sima get between her and Myra.
Myra buried her face on Chris's shoulder and said "You smell like you. Thank god you're back."
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here, Myra -- "
"Why does everybody keep telling me they're sorry?" said Myra. "Nobody did anything wrong."
"Except for a couple of doctors" said Ginny grimly.
Chris argued "But she had a clear sign, and I missed it. It wasn't just about her uterus, it was the air mixture of a carburetor."
"Wow" said Myra. "We all missed it, Chris. Damn."
Myra turned so she could kiss Sima and look at her to ask "How are you doing, my poor Sima?" They talked and drank in each other's presence for half an hour. Finally Sima said "We need to get home, and let you go back to sleep."
Ginny said "I know you must want to be in your own place. But you're invited back here any time -- dinner tomorrow, if you want, or any other night. As soon as you can."
"Tomorrow" promised Chris.
"Will you ask Margie to set the alarm after you all leave?" asked Ginny. Chris took note of the fact that Margie was now trusted with the security code. But both teenagers looked markedly older than when she'd last seen them less than a week ago.
The following morning, Myra got up and had oatmeal with her children. Margie reminded her twice to do her exercises, and Gillam said there was fresh shrimp in the fridge for dinner, don't defrost anything. Once they were gone, Ginny said "It's actually sunny outside. Shall we pull the yoga mat to the deck and do our routine out there?"
Narnia joined them, snuffling around the edges of the yard. Myra worked up a satisfying-feeling sweat. She lay on the mat afterward and watched Ginny work in her neglected garden. Eventually, the sweat turned to a slight chill and she sat up, saying "I sure wish I could hot tub yet. I'm going to shower."
"I'll go with you" offered Ginny instantly.
"No, I'm all right. I'll come get you when I'm done."
They had an early lunch of steamed veggies and new potatoes with a soft French farm cheese that Myra said was almost normal-tasting. At 11:00, Nancy arrived. She set several items on the table, bottles and packets of herbs, and asked Ginny to bring all the vitamins and supplements they had in the house for review. One by one, Nancy had Myra hold an item in one hand while Nancy did muscle testing. When she was done, there was a group of bottles which Nancy said Myra should keep taking, and she recommended dosages which Ginny wrote down.
Nancy then said she had talked with friends who were also practitioners, and they all agreed the damage to Myra's neural pathways was in the form of a chemical overlay which, when removed, would find the pathway intact underneath. Two strong recommendations for how to assist her in this were for her to start seeing an acupuncturist twice a week, and also to "re-trace" her memories by telling stories, looking at photos, visiting locations, smelling familiar odors -- anything to "jog" her memory.
"What about my writing?" said Myra. "I can't even sign my name."
"Read your own work" said Nancy. "I mean, begin with someone reading it aloud to you. Once retention becomes more sustained for you, read it yourself. As for the handwriting, let's work on that right now."
An hour later, Myra was exhausted and Nancy looked uncharacteristically fatigued as well. "I've never had to do this kind of work" Nancy said. "But -- take that pencil and see what you can manage."
Myra left out the R the first time and her script was large, wobbly, but it was a signature of sorts. Ginny choked back a sob. Nancy said "Myra, why don't you go rest? I need to work with Ginny a while." Myra gave them both kisses and went into the bedroom, closing the door and dropping off into a nap without Ginny there to hold her. Some time later, Ginny slid in behind her and they slept together until the children came home. When Myra showed them her paper with a signature on it, they pounded on her back in glee.
As Gillam was starting to make shrimp fried rice, the phone rang and Ginny answered. It was Dr. Reading. Ginny took notes and when she got off, she said to her family's expectant faces "There's nothing definitively wrong on the CT scan. There's an area of what she called white matter changes, but it's not a blood clot or like a tumor, not worrisome enough to biopsy, for instance. She said the activity was 'muted' but not indicative of severe trauma. I told her about Nancy's suggestions, and she was okay with all of it. Especially the acupuncture. She also said the tremor was not uncommon after something like this, and unless it progressed or interfered with her life in a major way, any treatment for it could be worse than the tremor itself. She said a glass of wine might make her hands steadier, but I told her Myra doesn't drink and she laughed, saying it was not a good enough excuse to start. She doesn't need to see you again unless something changes or you want further consultation."
Myra held out her hand and looked at the flutter of her fingers. "I guess I'm officially over the hill now. Thank god I'm not a painter."
"You know, Eli Clare has written poems about his tremor, which is much more pronounced because of his CP, and how it has become part of loveplay between him and his lover" said Ginny.
"I do NOT want to hear about that" said Margie emphatically. Myra grinned and said "Fair enough."
After Allie, Edwina, Chris and Sima arrived, dinner turned into a party with almost everything sounding funny, mostly because they were all together again, alive and more or less intact. Dessert was stewed cherries over sugar-free frozen yogurt. When the table started to be cleared, Chris said to Myra "Let's go see if you can type. That's not the same as writing by hand."
Myra froze and said "I don't know..."
"Let's find out. I'll be with you, wouldn't you rather know?" Chris took her arm and guided her gently toward the study. Ginny set down her sponge and started after them, but Allie said "Wait. Let Chris do this."
Chris set her wide ass on Myra's desk and dangled her feet as Myra sat down in front of her computer and turned it on. "Do you remember your password?" asked Chris amiably.
"No -- wait, yes I do" said Myra. She typed it in and, with fumbling fingers, got a Word document open.
"Okay, there's the blank page. See what comes up" said Chris. Myra noticed the tremor was back as she held her fingers expectantly over the keys. She rested her wrists on the edge of the desk and the tremor disappeared. She looked at the letters on the keys, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, she began typing, one click, a pause, another click. Her former speed was a dream, but she got into a jerky plod.
After four lines, she stopped. "Dried up" she said.
"Well, you did something, that's all that matters" said Chris jubilantly. "Hit print. And you can either save or not save, up to you."
As the printer whirred, Myra closed Word without saving.
"You want to share, or keep it for yourself?" asked Chris.
Myra picked up the page and walked into the living room, where Ginny's face was the only thing in Myra's view.
"I wrote something" she said. "It's four lines. It's not a poem, I don't know what it is."
"It's writing" said Chris, coming up behind her. "You think you can read it out loud, or should one of us?"
Myra handed her the page, and Chris read:
I can hear the clock ticking but the arms don't move
Nobody ever found Oates' body
Ishi was his people's word for man, but he was not
allowed to tell them his real name before he died
Ginny sucked in her breath and burst into shrieking wails. Edwina, who was beside her, pulled her into her arms and Myra stared at them. Chris hooked her arm around Myra's neck and said "This is good, she needed to let that boiler blow."
But Myra grew increasingly distressed at the grief and terror Ginny was demonstrating she'd been living through. Allie got up to stand on the other side of Myra and said "Remember when Margie was born, and Ginny freaked out about how helpless she was, both of them were? It was up to you to keep them fed and safe and okay. And that went on for a long time. Well, now Ginny's paying you back for that, for how you kept this family strong after both kids were born. You need to let her be the rock. And this is her taking care of herself, letting us take care of her. We'll keep you all going, just like we did then."
Margie and Gillam's eyes were huge. Myra said "Okay" and let her friends anchor her until Ginny was able to talk again. After blowing her nose, Ginny grinned at Myra blearily and said "It's not a poem, but it's pure Myra. You still got it, babe." Myra went to sit next to her. Chris pinned the paper to the fridge with magnets.
The next evening, after homework was finished and dinner eaten, Gillam sat beside Myra on her daybed, his long legs now reaching almost to the floor as he leaned against the Gee's Bend quilt. Myra's head was next to his, her eyes on the book in his hands. His voice carried into the kitchen as Ginny cleared up:
"All I could see from where I stood / Was three long mountains and a wood" he began.
His next selection was one of Myra's most famous poems, and probably her favorite, Ginny thought. He read four more, all of them Myra's, and stayed on the daybed while Myra went to her computer and wrote whatever lines came to her. This was the commencement of what Ginny called "priming the pump" sessions. Myra was never happy with what she produced, but that was often true of her work. She said good writing happened in rewrite. And that might be months down the road.
Myra continued her new schedule of going to sleep early and getting up when Ginny did. She was enjoying having breakfast on weekdays with her children. On Wednesday, she and Ginny left when the kids did, arriving at Dr. Desai's office as it opened. Dr. Desai began with the pathology results from Myra's surgery, which showed no sign of cancer in any of the biopsies outside her uterus, no invasion of her uterine lining by the cancer, and no metastases to her ovaries or tubes. She said Myra would need periodic check-ups with scans and blood tests, but her prognosis was they'd caught the cancer in time. Ginny kept saying "Oh thank god, thank god" while Myra grinned at her. While they sat there, Ginny pulled out her cell and sent a text message to all their friends and family with the news, before they proceeded with the rest of the visit.
Myra was beginning to complain about her staples itching, which Dr. Desai said was a good sign. The removal was painless. Much more dramatic were the still vivid bruises left by the twice-a-day abdominal injections of Lovenox Myra had been given while in the hospital.
Dr. Desai proclaimed her in excellent physical recovery, and went over the ambiguous results of the CT with them, adding nothing to what Dr. Reading had said. When Ginny asked her about the anoxia incident during surgery and what the anesthesiologist had had to say, Dr. Desai pulled off her glasses and became somber.
"I...I've had to consult my attorney about this. Because the risk for litigation exists, I've been told I cannot discuss this with you."
"We're not planning to sue you" said Ginny, shocked.
"Nevertheless, unless you want to sign a waiver stating you will never engage in a lawsuit against me, I'm bound by my insurance regulations to not discuss the issue" said Dr. Desai, clearly reciting from memory. She hesitated, then said "It's not what I want. I think it's a stupid system, and only encourages legal action because people quite naturally want answers." She stopped herself. After a minute, while Ginny and Myra both stared at her, she said softly "I hope I don't lose you as patients. You both mean a great deal to me."
Myra said "I know you had nothing to do with what occurred. I know it down to my bones." Dr. Desai showed visible gratitude.
"But we may have to take action, you're right" said Ginny. "I don't know what kind yet -- it depends on how things turn out. If Myra -- if we lose Myra's income for the rest of her life, we're going to seek compensation for that. And, there's the issue of responsibility. If this was just a glitch, then, well, we don't believe in punishment. But I have to say, I'm beginning to wonder if there was a cover-up. Which might mean more than just a glitch." Dr. Desai didn't say anything. Ginny sighed and said "I guess we're going to have to talk with our attorney, then."
"I understand" said Dr. Desai.
"Well, this just sucks" said Myra. Dr. Desai reached over and squeezed her hand, saying "I agree." As they were standing to leave, she said "If it makes a difference...I'll never use that man as an anesthesiologist again. Just between you and me."
Ginny said softly "Thank you for that. It helps."
In the car, Ginny said "We were going to swing by Pike, are you still up for that?"
"Yeah. But remind me not to lift anything, don't want my innards suddenly tumbling out onto my feet." Myra laughed, but Ginny did not.
They made it through the vegetable stalls and fish market before Myra said "I'm getting -- fuzzy. I need a break."
"Back to the car?"
"No, I want to see the brass pig." They walked out the side to the life-size statue of a happy-looking pig in gleaming brass. Myra put her hand on its head and closed her eyes, grinning.
"Remember when the kids were itty-bitty and we'd have to come here first?" she said. They had a tradition that touching the pig meant good luck that day, that a nice surprise would happen before bedtime if you rubbed the pig's head. And it had never failed, of course. Ginny reached over and got her porcine luck for the day as well.
"Let's find a bench" said Myra. Ginny sat smack against Myra, momentarily remembering that potluck long ago when they had pressed together for warmth. If she'd had any idea how well she was going to come to know this woman's body...
Myra said "Something's wrong, Ginny." Ginny was jolted from reminiscence and turned to Myra in fear. "Something else, you mean?"
"No. Same thing. But it's still wrong." They slid their hands together. Myra said "I hate it. I can't describe how awful it is."
"Not yet" said Ginny. "You will."
Myra turned to look at her, a flicker of memory in her eyes. "That's like -- dammit, somebody said something like that. A poet. A woman, in Russia."
Ginny pulled it from her university days. "Anna Akhmatova, is that who you mean?"
Myra's eyes were filling with tears. "Yes! Oh, god, I know this, I learned it before I moved to Seattle..." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, strain on her face. "In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I once spent -- no, that's not right -- I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day someone in the crowd recgonized me -- no, it's identified me -- someone on the crowd identified me...and asked me in a whisper 'Can you describe this?' And I said 'I can.'" Myra began crying, quietly. Ginny pulled her face onto her shoulder and waved off a man who was watching them with concern.
Myra was done in a couple of minutes. She rubbed her face on her sleeve and said "Even crying feels different. Risky in a way it didn't used to."
"I've never known anyone as brave as you" said Ginny.
"Except for you. I just realized, I've been hearing a thread of melody in my head, some song from World War II that my mama used to hum, and I just remembered the words: 'When the lights go on again all over the world.'" She began laughing, and Ginny joined her. Myra stood and said "Beecher's next, I can't seem to get enough cheese these days. And then, before we go home, could we go look at the water somewhere?"
"The brass pig says yes" answered Ginny.
© 2008 Maggie Jochild.
STOPPING THE BOMBING
(Diary of Meg Barnett, entry written at age 12)
On this date 40 years ago, I wrote in my diary:
"Today President Johnson announced that he was going to stop the bombing in Vietnam for peace talks, and that he was withdrawing from candidacy for President. We couldn't believe it."
These two lines are very carefully worded.
My parents were of opposing minds about Johnson. They had both been Goldwater supporters against Kennedy, but Kennedy's death had rattled my mother to her roots. When Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act into law, Mama had switched camps to his side, enraging my father and his whole side of the family. They had long, loud arguments, my father not daring to be overt in his racism so instead he drew on the commonly-held knowledge in Texas about Lyndon's corruption and early stolen elections.
When it came to Vietnam, however, my mother was also a hawk, an adherent to the domino theory. Her father had been a Wobbly, but she was an anti-Communist. I remember being nine or ten and her asking me vehemently one day at breakfast, before I was entirely awake, "The decision you have to make, child of mine, is would you rather be Red or dead?" I could tell what she thought my answer should be. But I didn't want to be dead, not at that point. It tortured me for a long time.
As the war dragged on, my parents faced a new wrinkle: My older brother was about to graduate high school, and his grades were not good enough to guarantee him entry to college. Certainly there would be no scholarships for him, and we didn't have the money to pay his way. At the last minute, he saved enough one summer from a pharmacy tech job arranged for him by his future father-in-law to pay tuition at a small state school, and he worked 3/4 time to support himself once there. Still, in December of 1968 he faced the draft lottery, and missed getting called up by the skin of his teeth.
Even with that, my parents remained advocates for the war for another year, until my own pacifism emerged and I argued my mother into changing her mind. At the point of this diary entry, however, I had such beliefs still completely under wraps. Hence, my wording. My parents were horrified that Lyndon was backing down. I, on the other hand, was exultant. But "We couldn't believe it" covered it all.
Plus the fact that I thought it big enough news to put in my diary in the first place, a diary which my older brother the molestor had two years earlier jimmied the lock from so I knew I had no privacy for what I wrote.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
SUPPORT WOMEN BLOGGERS!
Vote for your favorite woman blogger! (No, not me.) There's a list of ten up at Women's Voices, Women's Vote, in honor of Women's History Month, and some of them are women I read every day for excellence and insight. Pick one and send it on. Results will be announced April 11th.
GINNY BATES: CARTOGRAPHY BEGINS
Another excerpt from my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates. If you are already a familiar reader, begin below. The action in the story resumes immediately after my post a day ago. If you need background, check the links in the sidebar on the right, fifth item down, to get caught up.
Early March 2007
A little while later, Myra's cell rang. She did not turn and look at it on her bedside table, so Ginny reached across and answered it. It was Chris, asking to talk with Myra first. Myra got on and said "Chris -- how is Sima?" Ginny looked at Allie and they both breathed out: Myra remembered something which she'd heard yesterday. After Myra was done, Allie took the phone and walked out in the hall to talk with Chris a while. When she came back, she said to Ginny "She was crying."
"Wow" said Ginny. "That's rare."
"They're coming back tomorrow night. I'll pick them up about 9:00, and Chris says she won't be okay until she sees Myra herself, so expect us to stop by" said Allie.
Myra said "Thank god", and Ginny said "I agree".
Gillam said "Mom, we need some stuff from the store. I was thinking, maybe Margie and me could go to Pike before we come here tomorrow, when are they going to discharge her?"
"Not before 10:00" said Ginny. "Here, get a pad and let's make a list, I really appreciate your offer."
Velda chased them all out half an hour later. Gillam left his books, and after Ginny got ready for bed, Myra said "How about another poem?"
"All right, which book?"
"The green one with mildew spots" said Myra. It was the first real description Ginny had heard from her in days. Ginny felt a little trembly as she opened it and Myra scooted to lay her head on Ginny's shoulder. Ginny kissed her forehead, and Myra said "Ginny kissed me."
"What -- why are you narrating?" asked Ginny, feeling a sudden fear.
"No, that's the poem I want" said Myra, with a grin.
It took Ginny a while to find, because it was spelled Jenny. But she read it with utter delight:
Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add-
Jenny kissed me!
"I can't believe I never heard this poem" marveled Ginny.
"I think about it often" said Myra, closing her eyes. "Not quite our story, but good enough."
They slept in solid chunks, despite interruptions and being crowded. At 6:00, Velda woke them up with a tray, saying "I asked for a kosher meal, I thought it might help with the taste."
"You are the best" said Myra, in an almost normal tone. It was a bagel with cream cheese and lox, a decent-looking fruit bowl, tea and milk. Myra ate half of everything, and Ginny polished off the rest. She helped Myra to the bathroom, where they both washed up and brushed their teeth. When Myra got back to her bed, Velda came in with a basin and some towels, saying "It's time to take out your catheter."
"Is this going to hurt her?" asked Ginny.
"Not the way I do it" said Velda. First she undid the IV in Myra's right arm. Then she lowered the head of Myra's bed and exposed her groin. Ginny was disturbed when she saw the length of the tube that had been inside Myra. Myra dribbled a little onto the towel Velda had placed under her. "You are going to have to pay attention to your bladder again" Velda cautioned. "I'll put a pad on you right now -- "
"Wahoo, underwear again!" said Ginny.
Velda went on, "They're going to send you home with a bedside toilet. Don't be shy about using it until you get your bladder trained again. Get up and go the minute you feel any kind of urge."
"Okay" said Myra. Ginny added "If you keep dry, we'll buy you some Wonder Woman panties" which made Myra actually chuckle.
A few minutes later, Ginny's cell rang. It was Nancy, saying "Oh my god, my cell has been out of range until this morning when I left the complex and was heading for a beach before going to the airport. How is she?"
Ginny gave her a rundown. Nancy kept apologizing, saying she'd been completely occupied and since her own kids had her hotel number, she didn't worry about not having access to her cell service. "I'm flying home soon and should be in Seattle by mid afternoon" she said. "My oldest boy is picking me up but we'll come straight to your house."
Ginny felt such relief, she got dizzy. "Thank you. We'll be waiting." When she told Myra about the news, Myra's eyes got that look of hope again. She squeezed her hand around the Ripley figure that she held most of the time now.
Margie and Gillam arrived a few minutes before Edwina and Allie. "We brought the Volvo so we can all ride home together!" said Gillam joyfully. Margie said wearily "We've been up since 6:30." Ginny waited until Edwina and Allie were there as well to tell everyone about Nancy's call, and a loud cheer went up. Velda came into the room, and Ginny began to apologize for the ruckus. Velda said "No, I just came to say goodbye, I'm going off shift. It's been an honor to get to know you all." She shook hands and accepted hugs from Margie and Gillam.
"Did you get her last name?" asked Allie after she left the room, looking at Ginny meaningfully.
"I did" said Ginny. "We'll talk later."
By 10:00, Myra was washed and dressed, and Ginny had everything in the room packed except for Ripley in Myra's hand. A nurse brought in a wheelchair, which Myra promptly occupied, but he left and they sat waiting for almost half an hour. Myra finally got up and went to the bathroom, saying "I'm barely making it to the pot in time, folks" on her return.
Ginny's cell rang again, and when she looked at the caller ID, she said "It's Dr. Desai".
Dr. Desai was still on vacation but had gotten an update from Dr. Maxwell. She sounded very apologetic and distraught. She said she was glad Myra was well enough to be discharged and asked if there was anything further she could do.
"Never use Maxwell again as your backup" said Ginny promptly.
Dr. Desai was shocked into silence. Ginny went on "If I had not been the meshugina dyke that I am and called in another doctor to start help on its way -- well, it doesn't bear thinking about. He's incompetent and disrespectful, an unforgiveable combination."
"All right" said Dr. Desai finally. "I'll -- review his notes and talk to my practice partner. In the meantime, I'm telling my service to put you through directly on an emergency basis if you call. I'll be back on Monday and if Myra continues to do well, I'll see her Wednesday for her post-op checkup and to remove the staples. But if there are any problems at all in the meantime, call me AND take her back to the emergency room." She paused. "I'm very sorry, Ginny."
"I know you are" said Ginny. "I'm glad you called and I appreciate you listening to me."
"I...also have to talk with the anesthesiologist about why weren't informed of the saturation drop. I don't remember any comment during the surgery. I hope you know, if I had, I'd have followed up, talked with you about it then -- "
"I do know that. But yes, we'll have to talk about what it means. Later. After we find out from Dr. Reading -- have you heard from her?"
"No. But it's Sunday" said Dr. Desai. As if Myra's brain was taking a day off thought Ginny, followed by Oh god, that's exactly what it's doing, only not just a day. She was so tired she almost giggled at the sick humor of it.
Finally someone else in scrubs arrived to escort Myra to the front door. There was a round of farewells at the nurse's station, and Ginny was sidetracked to sign more forms. Margie went on ahead to bring the car around. Dr. Maxwell did not made an appearance, though he'd left instructions and prescriptions at the desk.
Myra became increasingly quiet and anxious-looking as they made their way through corridors and past unfamiliar rooms of people. The automatic doors to the outside, bright and loud, made her gasp. Ginny stepped over and took the hand that wasn't clutching Ripley. Myra closed her eyes and said "It feels like I've been in there forever."
When Margie pulled up, Allie and Edwina said they'd see them at the house and walked off. Gillam helped Myra into the front passenger seat, and Ginny walked around to take the wheel from Margie. As she pulled out of the drive, Ginny said "Praise Isis" softly.
Fifty feet later, Myra shouted "No! Stop!" She had her hands pushed against the dash, and her entire body was rigid.
Ginny pulled over instantly, saying "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Myra shook her head. "I can't...I can't focus...It's too much. Too fast." She closed her eyes, but opened them again because she thought she might pass out.
"Are you overstimulated, Myra? Is it the visual -- is it what you're seeing, or is it the motion of the car?"
"I don't know" said Myra. "Things are going past so fast."
Ginny unbuckled her seatbelt. "Let's change seats. Margie, you can drive after all, but for pete's sake, focus on nothing else but the road. Gillam, you sit up here, and Myra and I will sit in the backseat. That's less of a view out the window. Margie, go as slowly as is safe. Myra, if you need us to stop again, just ask. Are you feeling like throwing up?"
Myra shook her head as she buckled herself into the back seat. Ginny said "Margie, we have to stop at a medical supply place two blocks from here, next to the French bakery, you know that place? We have to pick up the toilet chair and a shower stool."
"I don't need that" said Myra.
"Well, the insurance has paid for it, so we might as well take it home. They're the only equipment place open today and I called them to say we were coming by."
Margie nervously put the car into gear and pulled out. Gillam stuck his head between the seats and did his Dick Cheney impression, curling his lips into a snarl and saying "Make sure the goddamned TVs are all set on Fox News!" Myra laughed briefly. Her face got very pale over the next two blocks, and her grip on Ginny was intense, but she took deep breaths and endured it.
At the medical supply store, Gillam and Margie went in with the prescriptions and paperwork. Myra remarked "That bakery has really good creme brulee. And almond croissants."
Ginny sighed "Make the most of it, Tiny Tim. When the kids get back, I'll send them in for a bagful of whatever you'll agree to choke down." Myra kissed her lightly, and they sat looking into each other eyes. When Gillam came out of the store, he was carrying a large commode chair in front of him. "Please, please, don't let anybody from my school be passing by right now" he said to Margie. They stashed the equipment in the back of the station wagon, then practically skipped into the bakery with Myra's list.
The rest of the drive home was equally hard on Myra. Once they got there, she leaned on Gillam from the carport into the front door, mostly because she was so light-headed. Narnia almost knocked her down when the door was opened, woofing and dancing with abandon. Myra went as far as the couch and sat down heavily. Ginny pushed in next to her. Myra looked around the room, into the dining room, took a deep sniff, and burst into tears.
Her crying was horrible, like nothing Ginny had ever heard her do. It was like the wail of an infant in extreme pain. Every so often, she would choke out "I'm so scared, I'm so fucking scared". Ginny held her very tight and repeated over and over, "We're home safe. It's okay now." Gillam and Margie sat down and watched, miserable. Narnia planted herself between Myra's legs on the floor and pressed herself as hard as she could against Myra's calf. Allie and Edwina joined them, Allie sitting forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees.
Eventually, the crying lessened, then trickled off. Ginny felt Myra's breathing alter and her weight slacken against her shoulder. "Is she asleep?" she whispered to Allie, who could see Myra's face.
"I think so."
Ginny shifted enough to pull Myra onto her chest and wrapped her arms around her. "She has no extra at all," she murmured.
"I was going to make chicken salad for lunch, should I still do that?" whispered Gillam.
"Yeah, go ahead. But we're going to let her sleep for now" said Ginny. "Will one of you get us the pillows from our bed and a blanket?"
Margie removed Myra's shoes gently and they got her prone on the couch, her head on a pillow in Ginny's lap. Once she was tucked in, Ginny fell asleep too, her palm cupping Myra's cheek.
Allie and Edwina joined Gillam in the kitchen. Margie claimed the easy chair, lifted the legrest, and watched her mothers for a few minutes until she, too, fell asleep.
An hour later, Allie woke them all up, saying "Let's keep food and liquid coming into your system regularly, My." Once she was awake, Myra said "Oh, god, I have to pee" and she walked as fast as she could to the bathroom. Ginny carried their bag into the bedroom and saw that the toilet chair had been placed in the corner. She moved it to Myra's side of the bed. She carried the shower stool into the bathroom and put it in the tub as Myra flushed.
"I think I liked life on a catheter" said Myra ruefully. Ginny held Ripley while Myra washed her hands.
They ate a slow, giddy lunch, Ginny raving about the salad and vegetables. Myra said "Either it's your cooking, boychik, or that crap is wearing off, because this doesn't taste like total shit. Only partial shit." Gillam laughed, his face going bright red with happiness. Myra ate only half portions, but insisted on sampling the creme brulee from the bakery as well. She gave what she could not finish to Gillam, despite Narnia's pressure against her calf offering to clear her plate.
They were still at the table when a knock came at the door. Before Margie could get to it, Nancy walked in. Her son trailed in after her. Nancy kissed Margie, then walked over to Myra and put her hand on Myra's chest over her fourth chakra. Myra breathed in suddenly.
Everyone watched in heavy silence as Nancy murmured to herself, doing range of muscle testing up and down Myra's body. After a couple of minutes, tears were sheeting down Myra's cheeks. Her eyes followed Nancy's face avidly.
Nancy's brow showed beads of sweat before she paused, over half an hour later. She kept her hand on Myra's forehead but turned to face Ginny and the rest.
"She's in here. She's completely intact." Ginny swallowed audibly, and Nancy smiled tiredly at her. "But the pathway out has been ruptured, like a break in a circuit. She can talk but she can't say exactly what she wants to say. She can hear you but she can't always access all of her brain to make sense of it. She can see but she can't always remember what she's seeing. She's terrified beyond description. She's been lost since she woke up from the surgery. She's had no ability at all to tell you what's actually going on."
Ginny stood up, as if to do something. Myra looked at her, with no blankness at all in her eyes.
"I did a lot of clearing and re-energizing. I believe the path can be restored, because her memory and her Myra-ness is undamaged. I don't know how we are going to do that yet -- I have to consult with some people. But I think we can do it. You need to talk to her as you always have, without any change. You need to reach into her as much as you can, yet not push her. She needs to not be left alone, not even for a minute -- one of you with her at all times. But in a peaceful environment. Her kidneys wanted to shut down, I think from the panic in her bloodstream, but she did what she could to hang onto them and those, at least, I think I managed to completely reset for her."
She looked down at Myra. "You've done great. You are quite the survivor. I'll be back tomorrow, with more ideas. You can relax now. You understand me?"
Myra nodded without a pause.
Nancy kissed them all, whispered to Ginny "You can let down your guard now", and left, her son still in her wake. After the door closed, Edwina said "Who was that masked woman?" and they exploded into laughter.
Ginny asked Myra what she wanted to do now. Myra straightened her shoulders and said "See my study." She walked back and looked around a little uncertainly, then sat on her daybed and leaned against the Gee's Bend quilt. Beebo, asleep in the corner cubby of her desk that she kept cleared for him, stood and stretched with an interrogative mew. He glided to her, sniffed of her belly with an open mouth, and decided that was where he wanted to continue his nap. Ginny reached for him, but Myra said "No, it feels good, he's warm and soft."
They settled into places around her, dishes left on the table in the dining room. Narnia was torn -- she was tall enough to stand and help herself -- but finally she joined them in the study, duty plain on her face.
"So, let's make a plan" said Allie. "One of Myra's lists."
Margie, who was at Myra's desk, pulled a legal pad from the drawer and handed it to Myra, at the last minute remembering with complete horror that Myra could not write. Ginny said gently "Why don't you take notes for us all, honey?" and Margie sat at attention with a pencil.
Ginny said "Okay -- doctor and Nancy visits, exercises, nutrition, rewiring your brain...anything else?"
Gillam cleared his throat and said "I'll volunteer to read to you, every day. And -- I'll make dinner for us each night. Plus do the weekly grocery shopping."
Edwina put her arm around his shoulder and said "We'll collaborate on some of the dinners, okay? Like shabbos."
Ginny was very moved. "Yes to the reading. Whatever Myra wants to hear. I'll let you share in the shopping, but I think we should include Myra in as much of her regular routine as she can handle."
Myra said "I can't drive."
"One of us will be with you" said Ginny. "And you don't have to go out until you want to. But you always love going to Pike."
"And if you can't remember your recipes" said Gillam, "I know most of them by now, and I can teach them back to you. Rewire, like Mom said."
Myra smiled at him. "All right."
Margie jumped in with "Then I'll be your exercise buddy. Swimming, and when you use the Soloflex again, and yoga. My crewing coach always says the best way to study for an exam is to do a medium-sized workout first, because activity makes the brain learn better. So -- I know, I'll make a schedule for us!"
"Okay" said Myra again.
"And what about music?" continued Margie. "Music is another language, you know -- "
Ginny interrupted "We have to be careful about overwhelm. If Myra wants to hear something, she gets to pick it out."
"Cris, Holly, Meg and Alix" said Myra with a grin. "Plus the Scots."
Margie was writing all this down.
"Nature" said Allie. "Let's get outdoors whenever you feel up to it."
"Jesus in the desert" said Myra with a giggle, and Allie guffawed.
"What about videos?" asked Gillam.
"Absolutely not" said Ginny firmly. "If we wouldn't do it with a child under the age of two, we shouldn't expose Myra to it. Not under her filters are back."
Gillam looked abashed for a bit. Then he said "What about...writing? I mean, like poetry. Maybe she could dictate it to one of us..."
Myra closed her eyes suddenly. Ginny said "This is what I mean by overwhelm. Myra, there's no rush, it will all come back in its own time." Gillam took Myra's hand, putting his large fingers around hers clenching Ripley, and said "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -- "
Myra opened her eyes and looked into his face, saying "It's okay." She kissed him sweetly.
"What kind of help are you going to need?" Edwina asked Ginny. Ginny glanced at her children and said "I think we're covered. I'll be with her during the days, and as she gets stronger she'll pick back up the things she likes to do around here." Not all of them her head argued.
She could tell from Edwina's face they were thinking the same question: What if she doesn't recover? But Ginny had no answer for that, except I'm hers. No matter what.
Margie said "I can pick up the slack, Mom, when you start painting again, me and Gillam can take turns."
Ginny stared at her. "I won't be painting again. Not until she's completely back."
Everyone was stunned. Allie said "You don't have to do that, Ginny -- "
"Of course I do" said Ginny. "We're a team, me and Myra. That includes as artists. And if she's lost her art, then I'm not going into Painterland and leaving her behind. I know she'd do the same for me. Myra, you understand, don't you? You know what I mean?"
Myra's face was tragic. Still, she nodded. "Feed each other's appetites" she said.
"Exactly, that was our promise. So, we'll figure this out together" said Ginny. She didn't look at Edwina again.
Allie said "Do you want to have David come for a while?"
Ginny was tempted. She looked at Myra and saw the blankness return. "No. He's a comfort but...Myra would rather not share me with him. She won't ask that, but I know it's true." She managed a grin, and so did Myra.
"Okay" said Ginny. "You've all been very nice about not mentioning how ripe I smell, but I can tell I need to sluice this body of mine head to toe. Myra, let's go try out your shower stool, steam up the bathroom and get squeaky clean, shall we?"
"What about her incision?" asked Margie.
"We have some magic stick-um to put over it, keep it dry" said Ginny. She helped Myra to her feet and they headed for the bathroom. After a minute, Gillam got up to clear the table. Allie said to Edwina, "She's the only one who hasn't gotten to grieve yet."
Margie, startled, said "Who?"
Edwina said "Ginny. She's operating on fumes. Well, we've got the rest of the day. Once it dawns on her she can let go, I think she will."
© 2008 Maggie Jochild
Saturday, March 29, 2008
FEMINISM UNADULTERATED: THE MYTH OF THE VAGINAL ORGASM
I wish my first time (my first CONSENSUAL time) had not been with someone who was drunk and using me. I'm not sorry I did it, only who I did it with.
I wonder how many of us would say the same thing. I read a study of straight women which said that, on average, their first sexual partner was a male four years older than them. When you're 13-16, four years older is a significant difference in power. It seems hard for me to believe they are meeting as equals, with sweet exploration and unhurried joy.
I remember when the Hite Report came out in 1976. The consciousness-raising and other women's groups I was in at the time could talk of nothing else. Straight women were focused on sex as if it was a brand-new idea. Women married for decades discovered orgasms. You think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.
The woman I became lovers with when I was 17 and she was 22 had been married for four years and had one child, plus had been pregnant twice more. She didn't know she had a clitoris. She had never come. When she had her child, the doctor performed an episiotomy and then stitched her up with "one extra stitch" which he explained with a grin was "for her husband". She was grateful for the medically-recommended six weeks abstinence period after birth, but her husband chose not to wait, forcing her into intercourse after a month. That "extra stitch" was torn out.
They were considered to have a good marriage. A Christian marriage.
But here's the thing: Six years ago I went out to eat with a group of straight women who were, like me, all connected with local community radio. Women who were activitists, producers, extremely smart and independent, verbal and definitely feminist. Mixed class, mixed race, a couple of them married to progressive husbands. Over our pho, someone brought up the topic of orgasms. We began comparing notes, and of those very sexually active women, none had orgasms more than half the time. I was appalled. I began asking questions about technique, and I wound up having to draw diagrams of female anatomy on a napkin because they were unaware of all the structures in their own body. Or the possibilities therein. We sat a long time after the food was gone, talking excitedly (well, they were) about the chance to have more fulfilling sex.
I think we're still faking it. By we, I mean women as a group, not me. I never have, because I've never had to. The sexual relationships I've been in have had enough leeway for me to simply say I hadn't come, if I hadn't. And, when you do what me and my lovers liked to do, faking is pretty hard to do anyhow. We're both women, we've got our faces and hands involved, and (for me at least) paying attention to what was actually going on with my lover -- not just the verbalized response, but the actual physiological changes down there -- was as pleasurable as coming myself.
I know there are straight men who share this kind of consideration and attention, I've talked with one or two. But my straight women friends say they are few and far between. Yeah, I've known some assholey, selfish dykes, too, and slept with a couple (though not repeatedly). I think this is a matter of conditioning, and it appears to me as if we've lost ground over the past 30 years. Ground we seriously did not need to lose.
It's been replaced with fakery, with porn instead of intense intimacy, with role-playing which I know can create strong orgasms but satisfaction is a lot more than coming, it's building layer on layer of connection and trust. I always laughed when I got called vanilla, because as a cook I knew that genuine vanilla flavor required pure ingredients and much more skill to achieve than other flavors.
In an interview a couple of years ago, Shere Hite said "Women can have orgasms very easily, but the kind of stimulation women need isn't being included in sex...Women need to be half of the equation, and, if we're going to have equality in sex, it has to be re-thought because female orgasm happens in a different way than during the act. This implies many things for redefining intimate activity. I'm arguing for sex to be two bodies trying to communicate. We should be trying to get each other as aroused as possible rather than racing each other for orgasm."
The Wikipedia article on her work states 'Shere Hite has focused on understanding how individuals regard sexual experience and the meaning it holds for them. Hite has criticised Masters and Johnson's work for uncritically incorporating cultural attitudes on sexual behaviour into their research. For example, Hite's work showed that 70% of women do not have orgasms through in-out, thrusting intercourse but are able to achieve orgasm easily by masturbation or other direct clitoral stimulation. Only 30% of the women in her study reported ever experiencing orgasm during thrusting intercourse. She has criticised Masters and Johnson's argument that enough clitoral stimulation to achieve orgasm should be provided by thrusting during intercourse, and the inference that the failure of this is a sign of female "sexual dysfunction." Whilst not denying that both Kinsey and Masters and Johnson have been a crucial step in sex research, she believes that we must understand the cultural and personal construction of sexual experience to make the research relevant to sexual behaviour outside the laboratory. She offered the criticism that limiting test subjects to "normal" women who report orgasming during coitus was basing research on the faulty assumption that orgasming during coitus was normal, something that her own research strongly refuted.'
The Hite Report was the first conducted by women for women, without funding from pharmaceutical or other profit-based sources, was completely anonymous, and created world-wide controversy because of "its groundbreaking conclusion that women can orgasm easily (during self-stimulation), that it is is not women but society that has a problem and needs to change". It argues against penis size, dominance, or pounding penetration as being related to women's pleasure. The attacks on Hite from male-dominated institutions was so ferocious that she eventually gave up her U.S. citizenship and moved to Germany, where she is a respected scholar today.
Oh, yeah, we gotten stop someone who's talking about women's pleasure taking precedence. Just another example of when feminism GOES TOO FAR.
Well, here's the essay that started us down the road to pleasure (or perdition). Enjoy.
THE MYTH OF THE VAGINAL ORGASM
by Anne Koedt (1970). A classic article by the NY based feminist writer. Widely read throughout the women's liberation movement at the time. Found at the Chicago Women's Liberation Union Herstory Archives -- please give them your support.
Whenever female orgasm and frigidity are discussed, a false distinction is made between the vaginal and the clitoral orgasm. Frigidity has generally been defined by men as the failure of women to have vaginal orgasms. Actually the vagina is not a highly sensitive area and is not constructed to achieve orgasm. It is the clitoris which is the center of sexual sensitivity and which is the female equivalent of the penis.
I think this explains a great many things: First of all, the fact that the so-called frigidity rate among women is phenomenally high. Rather than tracing female frigidity to the false assumptions about female anatomy, our "experts" have declared frigidity a psychological problem of women. Those women who complained about it were recommended psychiatrists, so that they might discover their "problem" -diagnosed generally as a failure to adjust to their role as women.
The facts of female anatomy and sexual response tell a different story. Although there are many areas for sexual arousal, there is only one area for sexual climax; that area is the clitoris. All orgasms are extensions of sensation from this area. Since the clitoris is not necessarily stimulated sufficiently in the conventional sexual positions, we are left "frigid."
Aside from physical stimulation, which is the common cause of orgasm for most people, there is also stimulation through primarily mental processes. Some women, for example, may achieve orgasm through sexual fantasies, or through fetishes. However, while the stimulation may be psychological, the orgasm manifests itself physically. Thus, while the cause is psychological, the effect is still physical, and the orgasm necessarily takes place in the sexual organ equipped for sexual climax, the clitoris. The orgasm experience may also differ in degree of intensity - some more localized, and some more diffuse and sensitive. But they are all clitoral orgasms.
All this leads to some interesting questions about conventional sex and our role in it. Men have orgasms essentially by friction with the vagina, not the clitoral area, which is external and not able to cause friction the way penetration does. Women have thus been defined sexually in terms of what pleases men; our own biology has not been properly analyzed. Instead, we are fed the myth of the liberated woman and her vaginal orgasm - an orgasm which in fact does not exist.
What we must do is redefine our sexuality. We must discard the "normal" concepts of sex and create new guidelines which take into account mutual sexual enjoyment. While the idea of mutual enjoyment is liberally applauded in marriage manuals, it is not followed to its logical conclusion. We must begin to demand that if certain sexual positions now defined as "standard" are not mutually conducive to orgasm, they no longer be defined as standard. New techniques must be used or devised which transform this particular aspect of our current sexual exploitation.
Freud -- A Father of the Vaginal Orgasm
Freud contended that the clitoral orgasm was adolescent, and that upon puberty, when women began having intercourse with men, women should transfer the center of orgasm to the vagina. The vagina, it was assumed, was able to produce a parallel, but more mature, orgasm than the clitoris. Much work was done to elaborate on this theory, but little was done to challenge the basic assumptions.
To fully appreciate this incredible invention, perhaps Freud's general attitude about women should first be recalled. Mary Ellman, in Thinking About Women, summed it up this way:
Everything in Freud's patronizing and fearful attitude toward women follows from their lack of a penis, but it is only in his essay The Psychology of Women that Freud makes explicit... the deprecations of women which are implicit in his work. He then prescribes for them the abandonment of the life of the mind, which will interfere with their sexual function. When the psycho-analyzed patient is male, the analyst sets himself the task of developing the man's capacities; but with women patients, the job is to resign them to the limits of their sexuality. As Mr. Rieff puts it: For Freud, "Analysis cannot encourage in women new energies for success and achievement, but only teach them the lesson of rational resignation."
It was Freud's feelings about women's secondary and inferior relationship to men that formed the basis for his theories on female sexuality.
Once having laid down the law about the nature of our sexuality, Freud not so strangely discovered a tremendous problem of frigidity in women. His recommended cure for a woman who was frigid was psychiatric care. She was suffering from failure to mentally adjust to her "natural" role as a woman. Frank S. Caprio, a contemporary follower of these ideas, states:
...whenever a woman is incapable of achieving an orgasm via coitus, provided the husband is an adequate partner, and prefers clitoral stimulation to any other form of sexual activity, she can be regarded as suffering from frigidity and requires psychiatric assistance. (The Sexually Adequate Female, p.64.)
The explanation given was that women were envious of men - renunciation of womanhood. Thus it was diagnosed as an anti-male phenomenon.
It is important to emphasize that Freud did not base his theory upon a study of woman's anatomy, but rather upon his assumptions of woman as an inferior appendage to man, and her consequent social and psychological role. In their attempts to deal with the ensuing problem of mass frigidity, Freudians embarked on elaborate mental gymnastics. Marie Bonaparte, in Female Sexuality, goes so far as to suggest surgery to help women back on their rightful path. Having discovered a strange connection between the non-frigid woman and the location of the clitoris near the vagina,
it then occurred to me that where, in certain women, this gap was excessive, and clitoral fixation obdurate, a clitoral-vaginal reconciliation might be effected by surgical means, which would then benefit the normal erotic function. Professor Halban, of Vienna, as much a biologist as surgeon, became interested in the problem and worked out a simple operative technique. In this, the suspensory ligament of the clitoris was severed and the clitoris secured to the underlying structures, thus fixing it in a lower position, with eventual reduction of the labia minora. (p.148.)
But the severest damage was not in the area of surgery, where Freudians ran around absurdly trying to change female anatomy to fit their basic assumptions. The worst damage was done to the mental health of women, who either suffered silently with self-blame, or flocked to psychiatrists looking desperately for the hidden and terrible repression that had kept from them their vaginal destiny.
Lack of Evidence
One may perhaps at first claim that these are unknown and unexplored areas, but upon closer examination this is certainly not true today, nor was it true even in the past. For example, men have known that women suffered from frigidity often during intercourse. So the problem was there. Also, there is much specific evidence. Men knew that the clitoris was and is the essential organ for masturbation, whether in children or adult women. So obviously women made it clear where they thought their sexuality was located. Men also seem suspiciously aware of the clitoral powers during "foreplay," when they want to arouse women and produce the necessary lubrication for penetration. Foreplay is a concept created for male purposes, but works to the disadvantage of many women, since as soon as the woman is aroused the man changes to vaginal stimulation, leaving her both aroused and unsatisfied.
It has also been known that women need no anesthesia inside the vagina during surgery, thus pointing to the fact that the vagina is in fact not a highly sensitive area.
Today, with extensive knowledge of anatomy, with Kelly, Kinsey, and Masters and Johnson, to mention just a few sources, there is no ignorance on the subject. There are, however, social reasons why this knowledge has not been popularized. We are living in a male society which has not sought change in women's role.
Anatomical Evidence
Rather than starting with what women ought to feel, it would seem logical to start out with the anatomical facts regarding the clitoris and vagina.
The Clitoris is a small equivalent of the penis, except for the fact that the urethra does not go through it as in the man's penis. Its erection is similar to the male erection, and the head of the clitoris has the same type of structure and function as the head of the penis.
C. Lombard Kelly, in Sexual Feeling in Married Men and Women, says:
The head of the clitoris is also composed of erectile tissue, and it possesses a very sensitive epithelium or surface covering, supplied with special nerve endings called genital corpuscles, which are peculiarly adapted for sensory stimulation that under proper mental conditions terminates in the sexual orgasm. No other part of the female generative tract has such corpuscles. (Pocketbooks; p.35.)
The clitoris has no other function than that of sexual pleasure.
The Vagina -- Its functions are related to, the reproductive function. Principally, 1) menstruation, 2) receive penis, 3) hold semen, and 4) birth passage. The interior of the vagina, which according to the defenders of the vaginally caused orgasm is the center and producer of the orgasm, is:
like nearly all other internal body structures, poorly supplied with end organs of touch. The internal entodermal origin of the lining of the vagina makes it similar in this respect to the rectum and other parts of the digestive tract. (Kinsey, Sexual Behavior in the Human Female, p.580.)
The degree of insensitivity inside the vagina is so high that "Among the women who were tested in our gynecologic sample, less than 14% were at all conscious that they had been touched." (Kinsey, p. 580.)
Even the importance of the vagina as an erotic center (as opposed to an orgasmic center) has been found to be minor.
Other Areas -- Labia minora and the vestibule of the vagina. These two sensitive areas may trigger off a clitoral orgasm. Because they can be effectively stimulated during "normal" coitus, though infrequently, this kind of stimulation is incorrectly thought to be vaginal orgasm. However, it is important to distinguish between areas which can stimulate the clitoris, incapable of producing the orgasm themselves, and the clitoris:
Regardless of what means of excitation is used to bring the individual to the state of sexual climax, the sensation is perceived by the genital corpuscles and is localized where they are situated: in the head of the clitoris or penis. (Kelly, p.49.)
Psychologically Stimulated Orgasm -- Aside from the above mentioned direct and indirect stimulation of the clitoris, there is a third way an orgasm may be triggered. This is through mental (cortical) stimulation, where the imagination stimulates the brain, which in turn stimulates the genital corpuscles of the glans to set off an orgasm.
Women Who Say They Have Vaginal Orgasms
Confusion -- Because of the lack of knowledge of their own anatomy, some women accept the idea that an orgasm felt during "normal" intercourse was vaginally caused. This confusion is caused by a combination of two factors. One, failing to locate the center of the orgasm, and two, by a desire to fit her experience to the male-defined idea of sexual normalcy. Considering that women know little about their anatomy, it is easy to be confused.
Deception -- The vast majority of women who pretend vaginal orgasm to their men are faking it to "get the job." In a new bestselling Danish book, I Accuse, Mette Ejlersen specifically deals with this common problem, which she calls the "sex comedy." This comedy has many causes. First of all, the man brings a great deal of pressure to bear on the woman, because he considers his ability as a lover at stake. So as not to offend his ego, the woman will comply with the prescribed role and go through simulated ecstasy. In some of the other Danish women mentioned, women who were left frigid were turned off to sex, and pretended vaginal orgasm to hurry up the sex act. Others admitted that they had faked vaginal orgasm to catch a man. In one case, the woman pretended vaginal orgasm to get him to leave his first wife, who admitted being vaginally frigid.
Later she was forced to continue the deception, since obviously she couldn't tell him to stimulate her clitorally.
Many more women were simply afraid to establish their right to equal enjoyment, seeing the sexual act as being primarily for the man's benefit, and any pleasure that the woman got as an added extra.
Other women, with just enough ego to reject the man's idea that they needed psychiatric care, refused to admit their frigidity. They wouldn't accept self-blame, but they didn't know how to solve the problem, not knowing the physiological facts about themselves. So they were left in a peculiar limbo.
Again, perhaps one of the most infuriating and damaging results of this whole charade has been that women who were perfectly healthy sexually were taught that they were not. So in addition to being sexually deprived, these women were told to blame themselves when they deserved no blame. Looking for a cure to a problem that has none can lead a woman on an endless path of self-hatred and insecurity. For she is told by her analyst that not even in her one role allowed in a male society-the role of a woman-is she successful. She is put on the defensive, with phony data as evidence that she'd better try to be even more feminine, think more feminine, and reject her envy of men. That is, shuffle even harder, baby.
Why Men Maintain the Myth
1. Sexual Penetration Is Preferred -- The best physical stimulant for the penis is the woman's vagina. It supplies the necessary friction and lubrication. From a strictly technical point of view this position offers the best physical conditions, even though the man may try other positions for variation.
2. The Invisible Woman -- One of the elements of male chauvinism is the refusal or inability to see women as total, separate human beings. Rather, men have chosen to define women only in terms of how they benefited men's lives. Sexually, a woman was not seen as an individual wanting to share equally in the sexual act, any more than she was seen as a person with independent desires when she did anything else in society. Thus, it was easy to make up what was convenient about women; for on top of that, society has been a function of male interests, and women were not organized to form even a vocal opposition to the male experts.
3. The Penis as Epitome of Masculinity -- Men define their lives primarily in terms of masculinity. It is a universal form of ego-boosting. That is, in every society, however homogeneous (i.e., with the absence of racial, ethnic, or major economic differences) there is always a group, women, to oppress. The essence of male chauvinism is in the psychological superiority men exercise over women. This kind of superior-inferior definition of self, rather than positive definition based upon one's own achievements and development, has of course chained victim and oppressor both. But by far the most brutalized of the two is the victim.
An analogy is racism, where the white racist compensates for his feelings of unworthiness by creating an image of the black man (it is primarily a male struggle) as biologically inferior to him. Because of his position in a white male power structure, the white man can socially enforce this mythical division.
To the extent that men try to rationalize and justify male superiority through physical differentiation, masculinity may be symbolized by being the most muscular, the most hairy; having the deepest voice, and the biggest penis. Women, on the other hand, are approved of (i.e., called feminine) if they are weak, petite, shave their legs, have high soft voices.
Since the clitoris is almost identical to the penis, one finds a great deal of evidence of men in various societies trying to either ignore the clitoris and emphasize the vagina (as did Freud), or, as in some places in the Mideast, actually performing clitoridectomy. Freud saw this ancient and still practiced custom as a way of further "feminizing" the female by removing this cardinal vestige of her masculinity. It should be noted also that a big clitoris is considered ugly and masculine. Some cultures engage in the practice of pouring a chemical on the clitoris to make it shrivel up into "proper" size.
It seems clear to me that men in fact fear the clitoris as a threat to masculinity.
4. Sexually Expendable Male -- Men fear that they will become sexually expendable if the clitoris is substituted for the vagina as the center of pleasure for women. Actually this has a great deal of validity if one considers only the anatomy. The position of the penis inside the vagina, while perfect for reproduction, does not necessarily stimulate an orgasm in women because the clitoris is located externally and higher up. Women must rely upon indirect stimulation in the "normal" position.
Lesbian sexuality could make an excellent case, based upon anatomical data, for the irrelevancy of the male organ. Albert Ellis says something to the effect that a man without a penis can make a woman an excellent lover.
Considering that the vagina is very desirable from a man's point of view, purely on physical grounds, one begins to see the dilemma for men. And it forces us as well to discard many "physical" arguments explaining why women go to bed with men. What is left, it seems to me, are primarily psychological reasons why women select men at the exclusion of women as sexual partners.
5. Control of Women -- One reason given to explain the Mid-eastern practice of clitoridectomy is that it will keep the women from straying. By removing the sexual organ capable of orgasm, it must be assumed that her sexual drive will diminish. Considering how men look upon their women as property, particularly in very backward nations, we should begin to consider a great deal more why it is not in men’s interest to have women totally free sexually. The double standard, as practiced for example in Latin America, is set up to keep the woman as total property of the husband, while he is free to have affairs as he wishes. [Note: I have reproduced this essay as originally written, but insist in pointing out and decrying the overt racism of the term "backward nations", which renders this entire paragraph open to criticism.]
6. Lesbianism and Bisexuality -- Aside from the. Strictly anatomical reasons why women might equally seek other women as lovers, there is a fear on men's part that women will seek the company of other women on a full, human basis. The recognition of clitoral orgasm as fact would threaten the heterosexual institution. For it would indicate that sexual pleasure was obtainable from either men or women, thus making heterosexuality not an absolute, but an option. It would thus open up the whole question of human sexual relationships beyond the confines of the present male-female role system.
Books Mentioned in This Essay
Sexual Behavior in the Human Female, Alfred C. Kinsey, Pocketbooks, 1953.
Female Sexuality, Marie Bonaparte, Grove Press, 1953.
Sex Without Guilt, Albert Ellis, Grove Press, 1958 and 1965.
Sexual Feelings in Married Men and Women, G. Lombard Kelly, Pocketbooks, 1951 and 1965.
I Accuse (Jeg Anklager), Mette Ejlersen, Chr. Erichsens Forlag (Danish), 1968.
The Sexually Adequate Female, Frank S. Caprio, Fawcett Gold Medal Books, 1953 and 1966.
Thinking About Women, Mary Ellman, Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968.
Human Sexual Response, Masters and Johnson, Little, Brown, 1966.
Copyright © by Anne Koedt, 1970
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