Allergic to Aspirin

I used to get really powerful Migraine headaches. All I get now is the precursor to them. I’m sure I was under a helluvalot of stress as a child. I’m sure just being alive everyday was an effort. I never knew what was going to happen from one moment to the next, and making plans was more miss than hit.

Our family, our family.. family? Oh whatever, the people I lived with didn’t seem to give more than a second thought to the fact that from time to time I was totally imobilised in pain. I can even remember my brother and sister being so imobilised. They got sick from time to time too. I felt guilty when they were, as if I was the cause, like it was my fault! I just seemed to naturally accept responsibility for everything.

For some mindless reason our parents didn’t believe in pain relief, for children. They certainly did believe in pain relief for themselves. One time our mother spilled boiling fat on her hands, yes it felt like it was my fault as I witnessed it. Oh she was in terrible pain, it was horrific. My dad was just useless, he showed no sympathy whatsoever. It was like he said “What do you think you’re doing you silly woman?” Wow I thought, how heartless! I can recall ambulances going to the house but I can’t recall if it was for that incident of some other?

I know a Taxi stopped outside our house one time and a woman had a baby in it. That was pretty exciting. An Ambulance arrived for her, and her baby. I was having a real close look at those events until my dad dragged me away by my neck, around my collar! It was just getting to the good bit. It was so annoying, I almost had “practical sex education!”

For days later my mum’s hands were a wrapped up in, official from a doctor or nurse bandages, and they had to be changed regularly. And a nurse came, was it Mrs Murray or another nurse, I dunno, so there was pain relief involved. Really good pain relief. I could have done with some of that for my headaches. But even convincing people I had a headache was the hard part. Hands burned with boiling fat is easy to prove. Headaches not so easy, you can’t see a headache!

So I’d go for hours in agony. Literally agony. If you’ve ever had a Migraine Headache you’ll know what I’m talking about. They are absolutely diabolical! My eyes went all wonky. I couldn’t focus, I got split vision. I couldn’t watch TV, any kind of light made them worse. And they’d just arrive out of nowhere! One time I recall we were going to somewhere in Wellington, and my Grandmother was there, my dads mother. I was sitting on her lap on the front seat of the car, no seat belts. My mum had to sit in the back with the other 2 kids, I dunno why it was like that. Grandma was to be obeyed! Maybe that was the wrong impression, I could have had things confused?

And it was real fast Migraine, it was all over and done with in half an hour. At the end of a Migraine I threw up and passed out. So that’s what happened, I felt ill, my vision went, my head ached, pounding pain. Sitting in the front of the car with the sun beating down on me, and I just felt this sensation in my mouth and everything in my stomach came out, in a rush, right on Grandma’s feet. And I didn’t feel quite so well afterwards, when I woke up, and they were asking me “Why didn’t you say something?” I dunno I didn’t have a answer. I didn’t have time to say anything, it was just so quick, any other time I have a Migraine nobody takes any notice anyway, it wasn’t like it was a big fucken deal!

They’d offer me Aspirin that is the correct spelling by the way, Aspirin, weird word. It comes from the bark of a tree, so there, get used to it, so it’s NATURAL pain relief. It’s much better for you NATURAL pain relief, that it doesn’t fucken work is irrelevant! Well it doesn’t work for Migraine put it that way! Every fucken time I got a Migraine all they’d give me was Aspirin, and they’d wait so long to give it to me I’d just throw up, and pass out anyway. By the time I left home, their home that is, I had convinced myself I was allergic to Aspirin. It was that which was causing me to throw up. I had it all worked out.

My doctor said “Don’t be so stupid, If you were allergic to Aspirin with the amount you’ve had you’d be dead by now!” “The problem is you’re using the wrong type of pain relief, Aspirin is for mild pain, not Migraine.” I spent I dunno, days maybe throughout my childhood in agony for no reason, because I had the wrong type of pain relief, and there was a pain relief that was suitable for children.

Fucking stupid parents, MINE!

Klinefelter’s syndrome & 47XXY

Talking about statistics, this is not as boring as you might think.

Wow I am amazed, nobody from New Zealand reads my blog, not one single person. Germany is always about 4th on my list of ‘reader nations’ and the USA is usually on top. But yesterday Canada outstripped the USA by a huge amount, more than double!

According to my statistics of this blog, Klinefelter’s syndrome and XXY are the most read, most searched for, most popular, topics I write about. That’s amazing too, I didn’t know they were that popular with anyone. I’m a bit slow I’ve only just figured out how to read my statistics, well YOUR statistics readers. I have a lot of repeat readers, the same people come back on a regular basis.

Recently I purchased Video hosting on WordPress, and it’s quite expensive for the space I get, so I’ll have to be pretty selective on what videos I house here. I’ve discovered that Facebook has almost no impact on my statistics and neither does Twitter, so I’ve disabled my links to those sites, but another one I just started on, that I’m not sure about how to use a I’ve linked to. I can’t remember it’s name right now, no matter.

When I was 10 I had no development at all. This is pre puberty. In theory. My mum had just washed my hair in the bath and I headed off to the lounge to dry off in front of the open fire. Nothing unusual so far. I was standing like you would be in a star jump, with the towel stretched out behind my back and between the fullest extent of my arms, held with my thumb and index finger, in each hand. This is pretty typical in our house as a means to dry off after a bath, for the children. I needed to stretch my shoulder blades and as I did my head naturally lowered and I was looking straight down.

“OH MY GOD” I said audibly, in slow motion, “WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?” (silly question really, I’d had it all my life) just as audibly. I am not joking, I am not boasting, it was at least half a ruler long, and rock solid. There’s a reason why guys call it a “woody!” Half a ruler is SIX INCHES! It wasn’t as fat as it became at 12, but it was at least 6 inches long, and I didn’t even know what it was called. “It” seems to be the appropriate word.

I immediately dropped my hands to my front, with the towel tightly drawn across my backside, no higher than my hips. I needed all the towel in front as I could get. I pushed “it” down with both hands, and if “it” had a muscle I’d just pulled it. Damn that hurt! “It” did not want to go down, “It” did not want to be pointed down, “It” was adamant, “It” was staying UP. In that situation, if you were me, I’m sure you’d let out a bit of a squeal, I did. My mum said sounding inquisitively concerned, “Graeme are you alright?” “Yes mum I’m fine” I said as I headed off quickly for MY bedroom (being possessive, at these times this is MY bedroom.)

The next time my mum washed my hair, even though I had absolutely no development at all, that was visible, normally, I said, “Mum, I can wash my hair myself.” This thing was out of control, “it” didn’t have any manners. There was no warning, no touching, no thinking, this thing can go off at any moment. It was a time bomb, that set it’s own clock! My mum said “Oh oh, ok, just this last time I’ll wash it, just to make sure it’s clean.” Well as a 10 year old that kind of made sense. Now it doesn’t make any sense, the same issues still existed, whether my hair was clean or not. Never mind as a 10 year old I was a bit naive, of course. I said “well don’t look” 😀 And my mum said “Oh no, I won’t look.” Liar, I bet she did, and she would have seen no development, nothing!

This isn’t supposed to happen with XXY guys I’m told. I read other XXY guys writings and they don’t seem to have any recollection of a normal puberty. Most of the guys I read claim they had delayed or late puberty, or they don’t mention puberty at all. I can’t understand that. Some people claim the development I have now is the result of the testosterone I’ve taken since being diagnosed, and it’s just plain nonsense. I’ve looked like I do now since I was 12 in my penis anyway. There is nothing ‘inter’ about my sex, and there never has been.

Manipulating the Truth

As I have said many times, when I was a kid I believed I was the ugliest person in the world. There had to be some reason why when I was doing nothing other students would stab me with sewing needles in my hands, pins, drawing pins, anything sharp. My pastime was not being there, and their’s was making my life miserable.

Maybe they had noticed I’d drifted off to nowhere? Maybe sometimes when they did those things I didn’t respond at all? That makes sense, I suppose, if you’re cruel mean and nasty. Are children cruel mean and nasty, yes they bloodywell are!

I got into heaps of trouble for not following instructions. Halfway though it I’d just drift away, so I’d hear the first part, and the last part, but the middle part I didn’t hear. I wasn’t actually present, in my mind. What’s that saying “the lights are on but nobody’s home.” That was me, that still is me, from time to time.

Even the medication does stop it all, but it happens much less frequently with the medication. So I’ll put up with the nausea that is intermittent, and put up with the ignorant adults I meet from time to time who don’t have brains that just turn off without warning.

But it was more than that. I looked ugly. I have plenty of evidence to prove that. My parents agreed my image should be manipulated so that I looked right, acceptable, good enough to be called ‘their child.’

Neither my brother or my sister had manipulation to that degree of their image.

My parents had no desire to make me feel good about myself, they didn’t even try. What was the point, I’d already ruined my mothers life, just by being born it seemed.

She didn’t make any secret of it, she tried to give me away when I was 10, and tried to kill me when I was 8! I was late home from school, so she beat the crap out of me, not even appropriate for those days, or maybe it was?

Compared to today, growing up in 1960’s New Zealand was vicious! Well it was in Wainuiomata. I wasn’t the only kid beaten to a pulp. Remember Murray? I do.

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Those teeth are a sign of XXY. I don’t know if ALL XXY guys have giant teeth, but there is a condition called “Taurodontism” which involves a huge pulp cavity, thin enamel, and twisted roots. Not just XXY guys are affected by it, but if there’s a guy with them, who’s quite tall, skinny, no muscles, no body hair, yeah I’d suggest a compete physical examination, and karyotype.

My teeth were, well huge. They regularly went straight through my top and bottom lips. Every time I was punched in the mouth, they went straight through. Every time I fell over and landed on my face, they went straight through, I got tired of drinking my own blood, and they just seemed to attract attention.

So in most of my school photos I have my mouth closed, and I didn’t smile very much, I had to be tricked into it because I knew as soon as my teeth were seen, people’s whole attitude toward me changed.

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The Mission

On with the mission. – (This is from 1971 – Granddad had been dead for a few months) – The only thing that had ever come out of my penis before then was pee. In Science I was learning that if the conditions of a liquid changed then the liquid can become a gas, or a solid. Well what about something between solid and liquid? What about Sticky? So as heat was involved in my first discovery, and as heat was involved in my second discovery, heat must be the catalyst. That seemed logical to me. If I heat my pee up it will turn into this sticky stuff. That was the Theory.

Proving it is going to be difficult. Just being in the house on my own was a mission all of itself. For some reason nobody trusted me. Well maybe that’s stretching the truth just a little? There were some excellent reasons why nobody trusted me.

  • Like; arriving at school with a coloured piece of paper, that happened to be a large value bank note!
  • Like; losing my underpants at school and not knowing where I put them. I still don’t know where they went, must have fallen off! I had my shorts though, what was the big concern? Maybe I forgot to put them on before I left for school?
  • Like; being found with a leg of lamb under my arm, in bed. I guess I got up for a midnight snack? I just nodded off before I took it back to the fridge.
  • Like; growing several apples trees outside my bedroom window, from the apples I’d half eaten. I was good at gardening even back then, before I knew anything about Horticulture.
  • Like; climbing in through my parents bedroom window, directly under live power lines. I was at least 2 feet away, what harm could I come to?
  • 149 wainuiomata rd

    There was to be a school trip to Picton, and for once my mother wasn’t going, she had something else on, so I took advantage of it. Before then, watch this:

    Exactly the same thing happened to me, except I didn’t have any “Sex Ed.” I had to work it out for myself, and not very well. I saw a Maori woman on TV, no idea about what the programme was about, and I dreamed about her, and it was weird. I dreamed about other people too, and they weren’t in that TV programme. I woke up – and the dream really should have gone on, where the dreamed ended wasn’t the exciting bit. I thought I’d wet myself again. This was getting a bit much, this isn’t on, this is not fair, at all, I’m being cheated out of my dreams, and something’s making me wet myself, but not with pee!

    You can see how my attention is being grabbed. I had to find out what this was, and it could have all been settled if my dad had VOLUNTEERED the answer. He KNEW what was happening, he must have, and he said NOTHING.

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    First on the left is Murray, in 1971, this is the school trip to Picton, I’m not in this photograph, we weren’t even in the same class anymore. That’s how long I had to wait to execute my plan, about a year, and for all that time I’d not gained any new information, even after what was supposed to be “Sex Education.

    So I got back from the trip to Picton and nobody was home, as I expected. Again I climbed through that open window under the power lines. It worked the first time, no reason it won’t work a second. I got out one of my mothers cooking pots, peed in it, and set it on the stove to heat it up. I hadn’t considered the smell, so I opened a few windows. I had that pee boiling for at least 5 minutes and it didn’t change one little bit! What had I forgotten? This was a complete disaster. A total failure.

    I turned the stove off and tipped the pee down the sink. I got a Tea Towel and wiped the inside of the pot, I didn’t think it needed washing as it didn’t look dirty. Hung the Tea Towel up, put the pot away, closed the windows, and left, through the window. I had to get back to Parkway Intermediate to be picked up to be taken back to where I was, I was supposed to wait at Parkway after we got back from Picton – but I detoured.

    Organised Chaos

    This blog is organised like my mind, if it pops into my mind I’ll write about it, that’s it. There is no precise planning.

    Working out what came out of my penis that first night my Grandfather stayed in 1970, was mission. Murray wasn’t there to talk to, Blossom wasn’t there, I never talked to my parents anyway, and it wasn’t just a puberty thing, I mean NEVER. My sister was estranged, my brother was way too young, and Granddad, I didn’t know him. I even forgot he was staying with us.

    I found a jacket in MY wardrobe. It wasn’t my brother’s it was MINE, only MY clothes were in the wardrobe as he had no clothes that needed hanging up, and I had my Scout uniform. So it was MY wardrobe. There was this strange jacket in there, and I wondered “who the hell was using MY wardrobe?” Bloody cheek! So I searched it, looking for the tell tale signs of the creep who was invading MY space! I was very possessive.

    Then it rattled. It sounded like money. I had a BANK in my wardrobe, and I never noticed it before! I was intrigued, someone gave me jacket full of money? I was rapt for about 20 seconds. That’s how long it took for me to remember that the reason the divan bed was down, was because Granddad was staying, and this must be HIS jacket!

    “Oh fuck” I thought, I was good not only as thinking “oh fuck” but saying it also. That got me into lots of shit. I had to put everything back quickly, in the right places, I was panicking. I started to sweat. Oh god if I get caught I’ll be accused of stealing it, I know I will, it’s an absolute. Tears started to well up, oh god what will I do? All this because some prick wanted to use MY wardrobe without ASKING.

    I had to ask for everything, but nobody had to ask me for anything, this isn’t fair. I had a strong sense of fairness, and what wasn’t.

    All this anxiety that I’d created in my head, was for no reason. I put the jacket back and that was it, nobody said a thing.

    The Medical Professions are Lying to You

    In my post titled “I need Therapy” I included a photograph of where the epididymis was. Then I noticed today that it does not have a complete penis with it. The penis is circumcised, and it’s a drawing! So I wondered what’s going on, that image was from a medical site, and American medical site. So I thought I’d check it out, how many medical sites show the penis in it’s natural state? This is what I found:

    Odds and Ends

    Why anybody thinks it’s a natural progression of knowledge that action equates to understanding I do not know. I knew I started puberty visibly in 1969, at Fernlea School from the incident I recounted in my last post. The connection that what I could do with my penis had anything to do with human reproduction was not made. This was an exciting time and I had to make discoveries. Since I spent huge amounts of time on my own, and interactions with other children were controlled by their desires, it just never dawned on me that they could provide answers.

    My best friend in primary school was Murray, but it was deemed by the ‘powers that be’ that we were not good for one another. Maybe that came about when we saw one of our fill-in teachers waiting at a bus stop after school one day and he wanted to harass her, and did. I didn’t know what harassment was, but looking back that is a good word for it. He would roll stones in front of her, and make snide nasty comments as she ignored him. She stood her ground, she did not move an inch. She looked nervous. I started feeling nervous too. I knew this wasn’t right and I said to Murray ‘C’mon let’s go, we’ve got things to do.” But he was obsessed with harassing her. He would not stop. Then he got bored I think, and we left. It was such a relief.

    He got a hiding for that, I know he did, he got a hiding at school and he got a hiding at home, and he tried to put the blame on me. Maybe she told the truth, I tried to stop it? I have this vision in my head of him being dragged past me, tears pouring out of his eyes, bright red stripes across the back of his legs, they probably went up his back too! He was shouting and pointing at me, “He was there too!” That’s true, I was there too.

    That was one of the last times I saw Murray at Fernlea School, that I can remember. He was in the same class as me so we must have had more contact, I just can’t remember it. When we got to Parkway Intermediate we were separated, in different classes. All the selection classes, there’s a word for it I can’t remember it, the ones that the student elects to do, we weren’t in together. We didn’t do anything together. At breaks he didn’t want to talk to me. It was really sad. I was really sad. I felt abandoned.

    Doing the right thing has a down side.

    My Grandfather visited us in 1970. I had to give up my bed because I was the oldest. How does that work out, what’s age got to do with it? I’ll be less put out because I’m older? The divan bed wasn’t uncomfortable it was just different. It wasn’t like the stress and uncertainty of being thrown out of my sisters bed a couple of years before.

    My mother didn’t believe in warm sheets, or she couldn’t afford them, or something? It was summer sheets all year round. Argggg, it was cold, in bed, to start with. Shivering temperatures. Sometimes we stayed at Mrs Redpath’s house and she had duvet’s, oh they were great, instant warmth! No hot water bottle required, that lost heat, so that at some god forsaken time in the morning I rolled on to it and it was, of course, freezing! God I hate being cold.

    Parents should think about their children who don’t sleep with a partner, and don’t have anybody to snuggle up against on cold mornings and nights! That would have been very helpful.

    So my technique to warm up in bed was to take the plunge, and spread right out, I want to warm up as much of this summer sheet as I can. If I just stayed in one position I’d only warm up that bit, then the bit of sheet I rolled to would be freezing. Then I’d gently and slowly massage my whole body into the sheet. This is a technique I’d been using for years, it worked perfectly. I would warm up in no time flat. That’s what friction does, I learned in Science that’s what that was called, friction!

    Friction also did something else the first night my Grandfather stayed in 1970. I was just going though my well proven routine and all of a sudden I had the most fantastic feeling I have ever experienced in my entire life. It was bloody amazing. And something else happened at that very moment of that most fantastic feeling, I thought I wet myself! I was wet, “oh fuck” I thought “I’m in the shit now! I’m gonna get a hiding for this, wetting myself is a no no!” I wet myself enough during the day accidentally, I don’t know why, it just happened, my mind was thinking one thing whilst my bladder was doing something else, there was just no connection, from time to time.

    But I didn’t feel like peeing, I’d already peed before I went to bed. This was not pee! No it was sticky. And it didn’t smell like pee, and it didn’t taste like pee. It was dark, I couldn’t see what it looked like and my penis was rock solid hard so I wasn’t about to get up and turn the light on. Hiding an erect penis is bloody hard work in pajamas!

    I decided I’d just gather all this stuff up in my hands and wipe it on my pajama jacket. That’ll do. Then I thought “I have got to do that again, but how did I do it the first time?” I had a think about that. I spent a lot of time thinking. I decided that if I concentrated my efforts on just my penis, that I didn’t know was called a ‘penis’, I’d be able to achieve the effect more quickly. I decided it had something to do with warmth. So all I needed to do was mimic the effect of massaging my entire body into the cold sheet, with both my hands. So I rolled my penis between my hands, slowly to start with, and as the sensation got more intense, speeding up this rolling technique. It worked too, but it took all night!

    I was so tired the next morning, I got hardly any sleep at all. I got into trouble at school for falling asleep in class. But it was worth it. It really was. I have discovered something fantastic and I had no desire to share it with anybody. All I had to do was work out what it was!