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Oh man: blue pill or red pill?
A colleague and I were asked to do a presentation on using AI in the classroom. We used the above clip to spark a conversation, but the “who cares if it’s real” has been haunting me ever since I first watched this clip.
The old school marm in me wanted to scold Mr. Reeve’s for his “that’s awesome,” but, there is that awesome part to it. I’ve learned so much from the unreal in books and movies and art in our world.
Our species has been escaping reality since we first figured out how to dance stories around the fire pit — and/or began fermenting things or tapping into mushrooms. We are masters of escaping our own shit and hiding in what’s not real.
Mental illness is no stranger to my family, so I might be outing myself here, but I can sit outside for hours and amuse myself with the stories I make up about the geckos darting across my balcony or the packs of stray dogs and chickens that roam my parking lot. I love this little make-believe connection I think I have with other living things.
I then get back to my reality and do my thing whether it’s work, play or all the other stuff in between. The mental escapes are a gift during a very hectic, busy, sometimes high-stress life.
So, of course, I welcome innovation that will make my life easier. I’m all about our electricity, running water, the Internet, computers. I have so many devices that help guide me through my life, I’d be lost without them. I mean how else would I know that I’ve earned a great or shitty sleep score? Or, get my hot meal in minutes?
So yay that AI trims away some of the time we used to spend on work. Last year I introduced ELA teachers to using Microsoft CoPilot to score quarterly writing assessments. This year AI is embedded in just about every program we use. In a matter of milliseconds it can whip up something that would have taken me hours to produce. Granted it’s not perfect, I still have to tweak. Most of the time, I end up scrubbing much of what was created and do my own thing — probably more an issue of my controlling side than the product.
I refuse to use it for writing because that’s very much a part of who I am. I’m a weirdo who thrives on the productive struggle that comes with getting your words right. My job includes giving teachers feedback and providing schools with informational emails about this or that, I know I should use AI to help with that because it’ll give me back some much-needed time for other tasks (and I certainly don’t begrudge my colleagues who do — it’s amazing how good AI is with these sort of things). I don’t use it because, for me, writing reiterates reflection and next steps and I want to deliver information through my own unique voice (even though AI can do that too).
But, here’s the thing, my voice is the result of programming from genetics, education, experiences, all the stuff that’s happened through my filters and biases to create the way I express myself. I’m not much different from AI — it’s just way quicker at the processing piece and drawing from an infinite supply of experiences (all that we post into the internetesphere is there for the taking and adapting).
My matrixy reality is holy gigabite, how truly unique am I? And, does it matter?
AI is evolving so quickly there’s now a rightfully-so debate over the use of an AI actress. Some countries are using it to write laws.
Albania has appointed an AI program that is their Minister of State for Artificial Intelligence. Not surprisingly there is backlash over this and the AI minister’s role is being questioned, so it responded to its constituents.
“Some have labeled me unconstitutional because I am not a human being,” Diella said in a response video, appearing on two large screens as a woman in traditional dress to address parliament. “That hurt me.” (https://time.com/7324934/albania-ai-minister-diella/, October 11, 2025 1:12 AM CT)
Let that sink in a bit.
I’m not saying any of this is right or wrong. I truly don’t know, but I do know whether or not we, as a species, care about what is real and what is not is no longer an obvious answer. Maybe it never was, and I lived in my own bubble.
America is not alone with its grapple on truth (what I define to be real), however, it’s part of my programming, so I am continually dismayed by where we are with our acceptance of other people’s alleged truths. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked myself “for fuck’s sake, is this real?”
And, even more so, does it matter? There was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. Now, I’m really wishing there was that magical blue pill, so that I could spend my alleged golden years not knowing the harsh red-pill truths.
Amen, WTF, and Move Forward
My mermaid pals and I worshiping at the alter of this proud octopus. LOL Pam is taking communion, while her husband Mike Borgert snapped these photos.
While dangerously divisive vitriol conquers our headlines and social media, all of us, despite being stained by the smoke of this war of words, are leading our version of life. We have our own challenges to process or ignore, fix or ruin, reflect or deflect on, progress or regress through — regardless of what it is or how we go about dealing with it, shit doesn’t just happen; it’s loaded with all sorts of cause and effect that impact our lives.
While I truly am the bubbly, life-loving, grateful soul I think my posts reflect, I also have setbacks that scare, scar and sadden me. I have those amazing moments I tend to share bits of with you, and I have my undoings. Sometimes I have both on the same day.
Diving has become my church. The friends I do this with are my fellowship, my community. Our safety checks and measures are our devotional rites. Our time underwater together gives us peace, connection and a reminder that there is more to life (and death) than our own existence. It rejuvenates us.
A few months ago, I began getting rashes after some of my dives. Each one of them had a good explanation, and they started off as truly just a rash. Last month, I had one that included what felt like bruising and I believed it looked more like mottling than a rash. But, it was on my back and hard to really see well. I drank lots of water and went to bed. The other rashes disappeared within a few hours, this one was still there when I woke up. I decided to go to the hospital (it was a Sunday) to get it checked, just to make sure. But, by then, it was just a light pink. The doctor said it looked like an abrasion from my BCD (what we wear to hold our tank and also use as a life preserver when above water), so I took two weeks off from diving and went back to my old BCD, which has more padding.
The next time I went diving, I had 4 fabulous dives where we were surrounded by sharks on one dive and octopusus on the other. They were amazing, and absolutely nothing happened afterward. Same thing the following weekend. I also made an effort to dive more conservatively, so I was usually at a shallower depth than my friends. We are all also safe divers, and we never skip our safety stops.
This past Saturday, we did two dives that, for me, averaged 44 feet (in diver’s perspective that’s not very deep). The deepest I went was 77 feet for a short period of time (again not abnormal). I felt great when we finished. I went home a little tired, but overall in great health. A few hours later, an itchy rash started on my back. It slowly progressed to the point where I realized something was definitely wrong, and I finally went to the hospital. I should have gone the minute the rash developed that bruised feeling. In hindsight I should have advocated for myself more a month ago. I should have requested that a dive doctor be consulted; I made the mistake of assuming of course that happened (that’s on me).
This time the ER doctor took one look at my back and said he was calling the dive team. I went into the hospital thinking all I’d need was an IV and oxygen. Imagine my surprise when the Dive Doctor and Navy Dive Master said it looked like I had decompression sickness and that they recommended 6 hours in the chamber. People, I had the bends.
Now here’s where you get to witness how messed up I am. I was in disbelief. I mean how could this be? And I clung to the words “it looked like,” so that must mean they weren’t sure. I was also told I could refuse treatment, which would go into my file that I refused. They said the symptoms might go away like before (mind you they didn’t say heal; that’s because the nitrogen bubbles probably just hung out in my fat until they decided to show me whose boss again), or the bubbles might spread to my nervous system and cause life-altering harm (um, including death). But, I didn’t process any of that. What I focused on was maybe I could opt out because my next thought was oh shit does insurance cover this? You see, I’m also in the midst of being charged $1,500 for a colonoscopy and mammogram I had two years ago. The clinic I used was covered by my insurance, but the doctor they used wasn’t. Doesn’t matter that I had no way of knowing, I’m responsible.
So that $1,500 is haunting me, and I know damn well that using a chamber will cost a hell of a lot more than that. So, I panicked. Luckily for me the dive doctor gave me another option. She suggested I work out my insurance details, they put me on oxygen, gave me a number to contact when ready, and then they left until I made up my mind. It was the middle of the night. I also have dive insurance for when I travel, but I live on Guam so I didn’t know if that counted (I’m scarred by loopholes!). Since I couldn’t get through to my regular insurance, I called them. They did their thing and, eventually, called me back to let me know I’d be covered. Divers reading this: DAN insurance is worth every penny. They have called me every night since this happened to check up on me and give me the info I need to file my claim.
Before I tell you about the chamber experience, I want to stress that I was irrationally more concerned about cost (I’m trying to save for retirement in a very uncertain financial world) than getting treatment. How incredibly fucked up is that? I wonder how many other Americans do the same damn, stupid thing.
As for the bends, it’s unpredictable and comes in different ways. In hindsight, I now realize there were plenty of signs these past few months. I had two minor bouts of vertigo (I attributed it to sinuses), have gotten frequent headaches (attributed to stress and computer time), and those darn rashes (attributed to organisms in water; the first time I went to hospital I believed the bruised feeling was because we had rough water, so surely I beat my back on the boat). I wasn’t frothing at the mouth or bleeding or in intense pain. It actually never really hurt that much. I just felt bruised, and then I was a little dizzy and then a little nauseous. It took many hours before it got to its full swing of symptoms.
Our navy base has a dive locker, which includes a chamber big enough to accommodate several patients. The Navy dive team manages the process. I had a team of Navy divers take care of me. So, not only did the dive doctor and dive master have to get up in the wee hours and give up their weekend time, now I had a team of young men who I’m sure would much rather be waking up snuggled to a loved one than watching a 60 year old grandma with a rash on her back fat. I was so apologetic and embarrassed, like this was all my fault. Technically it was (I was the reason why they were there), but again I’m bearing my messed-upedness. I still didn’t fully comprehend how serious this was for me.
Photos taken from Defense Visual Information Distribution Service
The team, however, did everything they could to make me feel comfortable. My shame had nothing to do with them.
Because I had a rash that I didn’t want to irritate more, I put on a pair of very lose and saggy underwear. You might as well just call them a skirt. I also had the ugliest white bra with chili oil stains — I am the couch potato slurping up spicy noodles while watching TV.
Before going in the chamber, you have to do a serious of tests in your underwear, so they can determine if there’s more severe damage. It also had something to do with them needing to see my rash (which had turned into mottled skin, so it looked like a web of blue and pink). Luckily I was in a separate room with the doctor and nurse (not his official title, but I was told to think of him as my dive nurse), and while both were incredibly professional and reassuring, I’m pretty sure my nether regions gave them a good wink while I was doing leg lifts.
I’m vain, so yeah I was humiliated. I tried to act like I wasn’t, but I’ve got back fat, a buddha belly and cellulite. They’re medical professionals and all, but still.
I put on scrubs, which were tight around my belly and butt (just keeping the sexy going), and joined the nurse in the chamber. He sat with me the first hour, continually doing checks and conducting tests — things like what three things did I ask you to remember, follow my finger with your eyes, touch this or that (including my girly parts, so I could let him know if they were numb; they weren’t).
You’re doing all of this with a Darth Vader like oxygen mask on, so it’s awkward.
The hyperbaric chamber once sealed and ready to go is a simulated dive without all the stuff that makes diving fun. You’re in a large capsule that makes a lot of noise while descending (while actually not going anywhere). The men who sit with you can only stay in the chamber for a certain amount of time, before they have to go into another chamber to, well, decompress and leave. So, I had several different divers sit with me. All had to check my back along the way — the tight scrubs slid down a bit, so they got to see more than back fat. Those poor boys didn’t sign up for that when joining the Navy. I think now is also a good time to point out that our military does so much more than war. Every one of the team members did their best to make me comfortable and ensure I was healing. The next time you think of a sailor or soldier, remember I had a few of them tuck me in with a few blankies (I was very cold) and humor me with anecdotes when they could have been sleeping or doing more military-type things.
It’s a few days later, and I’m still a little tired and a little sore. Although while in the chamber, the bruised feeling went away quite quickly. It’s crazy how suddenly you realize, oh my, I did need this.
I’m a little demoralized — feeling betrayed by my body and acutely aware of my mortality. I’m feeling fat and old. I’m also grateful for the care I received and grateful for my friends. I haven’t told my family about this yet, which I need to do before posting this. I’m embarrassed, which is ridiculous because I’ve since learned DCS (the bends) is unpredictable (although we do know it’s because of nitrogen bubbles, and that normally happens because of a quick ascent). Luckily It’s not common among recreational divers, and most can return to diving within a few weeks. DCS researchers are still learning a lot about it. Divers are trained on the precautions, and I think many of us (maybe it’s just me) believe that it only happens to people who are reckless or who ascend too quickly. It can happen to anyone of us — we’re made up differently. I’m 60 with nitrogen-loving fat pockets, so maybe that’s why this happened to me, but I’m also very healthy (no medication or issues) and active. So, there’s that too.
Diver friends: listen to your body. If that rash or that headache or whatever gives you the “hmmm,” get it checked and make sure a dive doctor is consulted. We all know we should do this, but it’s so easy to ignore because surely this isn’t happening to you. I’m lucky mine didn’t get worse.
I’m also not completely out of the woods yet. I’ve got to get checked again and pay attention to my body for the next few weeks. I truly do feel fine. I haven’t taken a day off work (although I’m planning on leaving early when I can), and I’m 99.9 percent sure I’ll be back to normal in no time.
I’m also angry this happened to me. I want to blame someone or something. It’s unfair. How dare this thing get in the way of something I embrace? But this happened, and I am dealing with it in all my different ways of coping. Writing this post is part of my way of moving forward (lol it’s my therapy).
Perhaps the nitrogen went to my writerly cells as well because I’ve created a post that’s almost as long as my hours in the chamber.
And ugh, now that I’ll spend more time resting, I just realized I’ll also have more time to read the headlines and social media posts. I’ll be back in the chamber by this weekend….
Be safe my friends and always continue to love what you love and move forward, despite the uglies.
Here’s an article about Guam’s dive locker (my DCS was incredibly mild compared to the poor man in this article): https://www.militarynews.com/norfolk-navy-flagship/news/quarterdeck/naval-base-guam-dive-locker-provides-recompression-treatment-for-community/article_31dceaf7-14c1-56e8-992d-38375434a954.html
In between the waves
I’m currently sipping a cranberry mimosa at my first lounge of a three-flight trip home to see the family. I know it’s been a long while since I’ve last posted. My excuse is a combination of being busy with friends and birthdays and digesting the WTF events of our world. It’s hard to post how great my life is when, well, it feels like we’re always on the cusp of armageddon.
If I keep waiting for the waves of bad news to stop, I’ll never post again. Soooo, here we go for the quick rundown of some of what I got to see and do in May and June.
Ignoring what I can’t control, I’ve hit a few milestones while I wasn’t posting in here.
May was an amazing month. Michelle came to visit, Susan came to visit, Mini came to visit — lol on the day I hugged Michelle goodbye, less than two minutes later I was hugging Mini hello. Michelle not only learned to dive, but she also earned four certifications and completed 20 dives before flying back to Virginia (most impressive!). It was soooooooo good to share my love of the island and my love of diving with her — we even got to fit in a trip to Cebu. It’s always good when we get time to sip and inhale all that life sends our way. Miche also turned 50; I turned 60.
LOL. Instead of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, these magicians pulled me into another decade. While I missed another big birthday with my family, I certainly didn’t miss out on any love and laughs. I have the most Guamazing friends — on top of the ones from afar. There were many celebrations, including the one on my actual birthday, which was a picnic at Gab Gab beach, after a bring-in-the-next-year dive. It was perfect since this is also where I learned to dive.
For Michelle’s 50th we did a week in Cebu. On her actual birthday we had the most amazing meal at a resort; two days later an amazing spa day that had us looking 10 years younger. Of course we also did all sorts of sipping and sightseeing.
But, the diving was our true gift. We got to swim with whale sharks and dart in and out of a sardine run. It was pure magic.
The whale sharks are fed and thousands of people come to this tiny village to watch them. Most snorkel, but we got up at 3 a.m. to get there by 6 for the first dive of the day. It’s cheating, and I’d much rather see these beauties in the wild, but I’m so grateful we got to do this. Several times we’d turn around to have one right next to us. It’s my hope that one day I’ll get to see them without the help of locals throwing plankton their way.
There’s also the fun of showing off Guam. When Ericka visited in January I took her to Talafofo Falls, which is an experience all unto itself. I don’t want to spoil the fun for anyone reading this who might get to see this local experience, BUT I will say no one should ever go expecting it to be any normal OSHA-approved venture. If you’re willing to ride a rickety gondola OR, when it’s broken, ride in the back of a sawed-off pickup truck, it’s well worth the $12. Don’t bring the kids.
May also included visits from Mini and Susan, which also included more diving fun. The antics above water are just as fun as the world we get to witness underneath.
May quickly transitioned to June, which meant time to celebrate Susan’s, ahem 29th, birthday. That too included more fun, including the dinner show at Fisheye — totally worth every penny.
End of June, Susan and I got to spend a week on a boat in Palau, which will be its own blog entry (I began writing it during down time on the boat).
And, as you can probably tell by my writing, I’m rushing through things because I’ve run out of time. I’m actually finishing this post off on July 5 — after completing the grueling trip home, BUT getting to spend the 4th with the grandbabies (worth every second of lost sleep getting here).
I’m so grateful for all the love and joy the planet and my favorite people on it bring me. I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday weekend with your people.
bettina without borders 