[Marxism] A kind of personal report
hunterbadbear at earthlink.net
Sun Jul 18 10:04:09 MDT 2004
NOTE BY HUNTERBEAR:
This is a kind of report which is going to a few lists. Whatever its murky
origins within me, I have had what the docs call "full blown" SLE Lupus for
over a year now.
When I was getting fairly well into the then still not diagnosed oft-lethal
horror, around last late July or so, I had an interesting dream. Far up on
my traditional trails, I suddenly encountered Something dressed in a black
suit and wearing a widebrimmed black hat. I could smell the overwhelming
odor of rotting grain. The face under the hat was that of a male-type
Medusa full of wiggly things -- demonic to the extreme with the most
hateful, predatory eyes I have ever seen. I knew It was directly
responsible for my awful condition. I quickly drew my revolver -- and I do
indeed have one, a Ruger single action .22 Magnum. With one shot, I killed
the Thing. For a moment, I was convinced I'd now killed the illness. I then
awoke, covered with sweat. But the sickness remained. The revolver,
unloaded, still resided [and resides] in its holster on my dresser.
As widely predicted, there has been no cure -- only a kind of "management."
But I am alive. And I continue to walk well into rough country -- not, at
this point, as far as I once did, but substantially.
Although stronger for sure, periods of fatigue come and go. There are aches
and all, some at least briefly severe and many in my joints. Feet hurt much,
though the huge swellings have receded. Mild fever comes and goes. Blood
pressure seems OK. Much sweating in the restless nights. Fortunately, I am
good at fighting depression.
The diabetes which came as a result of Lupus and the primary med, Prednisone
[no known diabetes in my own family], has complicated things no end. Blood
sugar readings vacillate significantly, there are seemingly endless shots.
I am fortunate to have my fine family at hand -- and a huge host of far
flung loyal friends.
Tomorrow I see the chief medic et al. again and it should go routinely. I
know they plan to take lots of blood in order to check ANA [Anti-Nuclear
Antibodies and other things.] No surprises are really expected. However,
if they should -- and I do not expect this -- kidnap me into the hated
Hospital, I refer you to the words of Eugene Debs via-a-vis the Pinkerton et
al frameup of WFM activists Bill Haywood, Charles Moyer, and George
Pettibone [all ultimately acquitted by an Idaho jury] in the Boise trials of
1907 stemming from the murder of anti-labor ex Idaho Gov and sheepman, Frank
Steunenberg -- very likely by the Cattlemen's Association. I did a critical
review/essay of Tony Lukas' massive book, Big Trouble, for the Butte-based
Montana Standard several years ago. It's on my Hunterbear website at
Here's Debs from my review:
"The W.F.M. and its offspring - the I.W.W. - and the Socialist Party and
others on the left charged kidnap and frameup. They were quickly joined by
radical and labor people and then social reformers. The usually nonviolent
head of the Socialist Party, Eugene Debs, warned that "if they attempt to
murder Moyer, Haywood, and Pettibone and their brothers, a million
revolutionaries will meet them with guns."
Montana Socialists, who were strong at Butte, offered to meet Debs at the
Idaho border with 10,000 armed men on horseback to free the W.F.M. leaders."
I don't want to be jailed in that hospital.
All of this aside, I do seem better than, say, last December when I was
really "death warmed over." A series of photos over months reflect these
subtle changes for the better. A couple of days ago, Thomas, my
grandson/son [who plans to be a doctor] took a new photo -- this time with a
digital camera. Don't feel at all obliged to comment on it, but it may give
a bit of optimism. You can find it here
Still -- happily, very much so -- raining here in East Idaho. And that IS
heavy grounds for optimism.
HUNTER GRAY [HUNTER BEAR] Micmac /St. Francis Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings. Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunter Bear]
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