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the bamboozle

It’s cold again but sunny – winter for the weekend, then back to spring. Where am I living?! Crazy old Ontario with its crazy climate. These days I’m buried in lists, trying to get my life ready for export in two weeks. Just bought a new suitcase, that’s a big step. It is so good, so very good, to feel my energy returning, my lungs healing, my own self returning.

Yesterday, a follow-up ultrasound of my left breast – they were concerned six months ago about some nodules. As she moved the wand around, I could see the screen, see those pesky nodules lurking in there. Scary. But it turns out they’ve not moved or grown, and I am officially not to worry any more. So that’s that. Cost to me, you poor foolish Americans: $0.00.

Sad but true, this bon mot below explaining the people who voted for Mr. Disgusting the charlatan and continue, despite everything, to support him:
One of the saddest lessons of history is this: If we’ve been bamboozled long enough, we tend to reject any evidence of the bamboozle. We’re no longer interested in finding out the truth. The bamboozle has captured us. It’s simply too painful to acknowledge, even to ourselves, that we’ve been taken. Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back. 
-Carl Sagan, astronomer and writer (1934-1996)



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2 Responses to “the bamboozle”

  1. theresa says:

    Oh, it sounds like the news is quite good, re: ultrasound. It's never great to have to undergo the procedures and then wait for the results, though, and I wish you well — and a wonderful trip in the next few weeks! And how lucky we are to have our health care system. It's not perfect but man, it's better than the alternative.

  2. beth says:

    Oh for sure, Theresa – I have always been grateful for our system, always thanking Tommy Douglas, but never more so than now, watching the horror show down south. I hope your own medical issues are resolved, are they? This waiting period was odd, because it was my mother's left breast that had been removed. Let's hope such things are not genetic, at least, completely. I'm still praying I have Auntie Do's genes. She's 97 next month, and barely a thing is wrong with her.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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