The Awkward Issue

 

The Details March 2011 issue has become The Awkward Issue in my house ever since it surfaced in the mailbox. My father nearly choked when he saw it and my mother is avoiding it like it's the Antichrist. It's become the pink elephant in the room. The pink elephant that I feed peanuts and bathe and take on walks so that it gets bigger and stronger. 

I love it. I love the tension it's creating. To me, it's just a magazine (a magazine with fine specimens of man meat that I would love to just tear into. I mean, I look at the cover and I think THIS is why I'm gay, but I digress). To them, it's homosexuality incarnate. 

I love that it's bringing the gay issue to the forefront. My dad is fine with my being gay, a little too fine sometimes. I think the magazine just confuses him. He doesn't know whether to acknowledge it or just pretend like it's nothing out of the ordinary, like it's a part of our home decor. I'd rather he just ignore it because acknowledgment would inevitably lead to questions like "So, which one's your favorite?" followed by "So he's the type you like?" and those aren't questions I'm prepared to answer for my father. Regardless of his comfort level, I could never bring myself to answer "The one standing on the left. Sean O'pry. I love his lips, his eyes, his arms, the vein in his arms, pretty much everything he has to offer". 

My mother, on the other hand, still clings to her delusions of grandeur. In conversation, she describes hypothetical situations where she meets my wife-to-be (my wife-to-be named Sean O'pry). She tends to dip in and out of reality and as a result her acceptance comes and goes. Just when I think she's ready to join PFLAG with statements like "You know, I'm really trying to except the gay thing" and "I want you to know I love you and that I just want you to be happy and for you to find a partner that makes you happy, she'll inevitably follow it up weeks later with "You need to learn how to treat a woman" or describing to me what women like in a man, which coincidentally is usually what I like in a man.

We could spend days dissecting my relationship with my parents, but frankly that's not what this post is about. Back to Details...

This issue marks the introduction of a new section entitled The Body, a thirteen page section on health and fitness, which I'm definitely against. I'm not against heath and fitness (entirely),  I just think such knowledge is better suited for a macho publication like Men's Health not Details, which is supposed to be a fashion magazine. And thirteen straight pages, that's a little excessive. I don't think they even devote thirteen straight pages to fashion. Unless by the word "body" they mean fold out posters of the cover model's bodies, I'm so not interested.

I haven't really read this issue yet. I have a stack of magazines to read through before I get to Details. Until then, please enjoy a behind the scenes video of the cover shoot (I know I did):

Sometimes, You Have to Cancel

I canceled my appointment yesterday. I just couldn't make it. Rheumatoid arthritis is extremely subject to the weather. I can tell whenever it's about to rain or snow because my joints get really stiff and achey. The slightest bit of precipitation can send me into a world of pain. Think Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. 

Yesterday in Chicago, the weather gods decided to gift us with rain. It may be good for the environment but horrible for my ability to get out of bed. I was scheduled to go to the University of Chicago medical center for an appointment with an infectious disease specialist, but when I woke up I felt the pain and canceled. 

I feel like a failure. This week was my medical marathon - a non-stop merry-go-round of doctor appointments everyday this week. I told myself that if I could do this I could do anything; that progress was being made and that I was one step closer to getting back to my chosen home, New York City. And I couldn't. I couldn't make it. I couldn't bear the pain of getting out of bed; of riding into the city; the dance routine of getting me into a wheelchair; trying to sit up in the waiting room; biding my time until I can get back to my bed; which of course does not come without my inching out the backseat, walking to the stairs supported by two people, and a climb up a flight of stairs that I imagine to be not unlike scaling Mount Everest. 

It probably would have been a good idea to see her because of the fevers I've been having. Every once in a while I'll have a fever of 99-100 and above, the highest ever being 102.3. I know that's not normal but I've been brushing them off because:

• they don't happen very often
• when they do, I don't feel sick. I don't even feel warm
• they always go away in a few hours
• I'm not too keen on waiting in the hospital for a team of doctors to do countless tests only to later tell me they have no idea what's going on

Fevers are usually a sign of infection, but I've got 16 viles of blood taken for tests that prove nothing is infected. An infection would also call for a constant fever, and mine are sparse. Knowing my luck, she would have had the solution to all my problems; finally, a doctor with the answers I've been waiting for or just answers period. But I missed that chance because I let the illness win, or at least that's how it looked yesterday. I may be acting a tad melodramatic considering I scheduled another appointment for March 23rd, but that wasn't my appointment. My appointment was for March 9th, but I couldn't make it. And now I have to wait in the unknown - a medical purgatory - until I can see her two weeks from now.

It frustrates me because deep down, medical history aside, I don't feel like a sick person and truth be told, on those good days, I forget that I am. For a nanosecond, I am normal. Then I reach for something or turn to the side and it all comes racing back to me, making up for lost time. It hurts more than any arthritis pain could, when your actions can't match your thoughts.

In my mind, I feel like I can go or at least that I should be able to. When I wasn't able to, I didn't take it as "You need to rest, now. You won't need to rest, forever", which I should have. I took it as "Go back to bed, Joï. You're not like everyone else. You can't do what everyone else can".

Maybe that's why yesterday was such a hard blow, because after a good week I had to admit to myself that there is still a great deal or work to be done. I'm not out of the woods yet.

I put too much weight on these appointments, on tiny insignificant events that have no bearing on my capacity to persevere. They are check-ins - mile markers on my way to recovery - and should be regarded as nothing more. What's done is done. I canceled the appointment, I didn't go, and now I have to move on. But what must be said so that I can grow to accept it, is that I canceled it for a legitimate reason, because my body needed to rest and I should not be ashamed of that. I did what was necessary to give me strength for today. The only thing I can do now is live my life until the 23rd (and after, of course) and hear what she has to say then. My Medical Marathon Week is over, for the most part. I wish I could have completed it as planned, but unfailingly, shit will happen. There's always some week in the not-so-distant future. Or the week after.

Oh, Thommy Boy

Images from Thom Browne Menswear A/W 2011

What Thom Browne is doing with traditional menswear design is truly remarkable. I dream a dream of owning a fleet of his suits in different styles - the peek-a-boo ankle, the short suit, and more recently the eighteenth century inspired garb shown at his Fall 2011 menswear show. I would be proud to wear any of his clothing to a business meeting. My professionalism may be brought into question, but my style would remain untouched.

With his more recent women's collections, now with two under his belt, I can't help but feel a little bit of jealousy. Thom Browne has always been a hidden secret, just for the boys - my compensation for having so many of my favorite designers lacking or not putting forth any effort at all in the menswear department (Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel can you hear me?). And now, one of our hidden treasures is headed to the other side. Straight men? Dainty feet? Must women get everything? So far his involvement with the other hasn't taken away his focus from the original menswear line. In fact, his lines boast a cohesion unseen by most designers that tackle both the men's and women's markets.

One of the best things about Mr. Browne is that he gives his customers options. You can be his runway vision dressed in leg-of-mutton sleeves or the jumper in gray mohair or you can scale it back and take pieces like the gray plaid overcoat for a fashion forward and sensible look. With that said, the gray jumper has my name on it. I'd pair it with a simple white button-up and a tie, maybe some brogues or saddle shoes, and run in front of a camera every chance I got because nothing says "Photograph me!" more than a 6'1'' man in a jumper.

As far as the women's line goes, you can definitely tell the hand that designed them. The shaping, proportion play, and jovial mix of plaids are Thom Browne staples yet they don't become stale when repurposed for the female form. Fashion needs more rounded skirts, especially in variations of plaid. I can't say that I understand Thome Browne's egg-shaped creations - Winter wear for the real life Russian Babushka doll - but, I can't take my eyes off of them either. I mean you kind of have to applaud the mind that comes up with that design idea. If only for its sheer brazenness.

Images from Thom Browne Womenswear A/W 2011

Good Week

It's been a good week and because it's been a good week I've constantly been looking over my shoulder for the other shoe to drop. I've been feeling more energetic, I've had less pain, and best of all I've been moving better. I still have to use a walker, but the whole idea of walking no longer makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and cry.

I saw my rheumatologist last Thursday, Dr. L. He wasn't too pleased at the progress I've been making. I could tell in the tone of his voice and the way he interacted with me - slightly frowning with skepticism all over his face. If I'm naturally getting better on my own that means that he had no part in my recovery and that he still doesn't know what's wrong with me or what medications to throw at me to "fix" the problem. Doctors don't like to be rendered useless.

My other doctor, Dr. K, his attending (who is older and more experienced), was much more sympathetic. I prefer him to treat me, but apparently choosing doctors is like choosing hair stylists - you just don't switch. Otherwise they get all pissy with each other. It's like a blood pact, once you choose, you choose for life. On countless occasions I've tried to make appointments to see just the attending, but somehow my other doctor always finds out and crashes the appointment. Now, after examining me on his own he brings in Dr. K, which I'm very grateful for.

In this last appointment Dr. K flat out admitted that they've tested for everything and can't find out exactly what's wrong with me. I wasn't mad, quite the opposite in fact. I was relieved and I admired him for his honesty. After eight years and cocky doctor after doctor, it's refreshing to find one that doesn't want to play God and can actually admit when he or she is wrong. I don't expect my doctor to have all the answers, but I do expect him to be honest. Of course, it would be nice to have a name for all of this medical drama instead of just calling it "my luck" or "my cross to bear", but I do appreciate his honesty.

My last doctor was very trendy. Very quick to (mis)diagnose and dismiss. I think my visits with her averaged around a maximum of 10-15 minutes. I guess this was her subtle way of telling me "Look, I have some shopping to do".  She once visited me in the hospital wearing metallic gold heels, which probably meant she spent more time at Saks than she did reviewing my medical records; so I can appreciate a sensible doctor.

I'm supposed to see neurology and infectious disease doctors that specialize in muscle autoimmune diseases next week. Let's hope this will be the first step in better understanding this monkey on my back.

P.S. Did I mention that next week I have appointments scheduled everyday Monday through Friday? I guess that's the other shoe.