You know that old joke about Country Music? The one that goes “What happens when you play a Country song backwards? He gets his job back. He gets his truck back. He gets his dog back. Oh! Annnddd, he gets a contract for his songs!” Ha! Ha! Ha! Everyone laughs.
Cue tacky twang, I’ve got a good one.
(Given that it’s Christmas Eve I’ll see what Andy Williams has going on.)
It’s the worst, awfulest time of the year!
With the kids snowmobiling,
And everyone telling you,
“Watch out for deeeeeeeeer!”
It’s the worst, awfulest time of the year!
It’s the sa- saddest season of all.
With those doctor appointment calls,
And tons of blood work
Without real answers at alllllll
It’s the sa-saddest season of all.
There were dreams we were living,
Pugs and pets we were loving
Money for spending
on travels for stories of glories
With projects we’re working onnnnnn
2017 had us jumping and begging
The vet bill was crazy
My baby girl pug passed away
My dream career (not just a job) is done
Student loans are threatening
SSA-Disability is on government vacation
My eye glasses broke on a holiday weekend.
It the worst, worst 2017 of all.
Well? Is this properly pouty and pessimistic?
The thing is, I can’t cry anymore. I am So. Far. Gone. it’s pathetic! I have to laugh at each “problem” when it pops up. This makes me look crazy. And that is ok.
I still think that if everyone in the world was given a puppy and a Coke, we could sing a song and hold hands with whomever we choose and the world would be a happy place.
Or, maybe I just need a day of The Hallmark Channel with feel good shows and movies. 😬. “Jesus, take the wheel”.
It’s been awhile since I’ve written for you. I apologize. I’m not living the dream, I assure you. However I am always thankful for my family and friends.
I married my husband back in 2005. It was beautiful. It was a beach wedding and we pretty much wrote down our own vows and chose Lake Huron as our landscape. The officiating wedding pastors had recommended that we should look at a book of wedding quotes.
For some reason I was drawn to the word dance. So when I wrote my vows I wanted him to know that my energy and expression were going to be a dance.
A dance for life, joy, memories and even the not so good stuff. I was classically trained in Jazz and Ballet; but my dances were designed to have no script.
I hadn’t been able to find the DVD that it was on… I finally found it in a cleaning of epic proportions.
The past two years are perfect for the The Flight of the Bumblebee. (Rimsky-Korsakov). A whole lot of rebuilding my new normal, appointments, pokes and prods, and confusion. I sank into such a depression so fast– (quicksand really) there was nothing in my eyes, no spark, smile, or brightness. I have been empty inside and metaphorically chasing my tail.
The hypothyroidism and Hashimoto’s were already physically draining; my emotional distress left me in dark rooms with dark circles under my eyes.
Needless to say, dancing wasn’t exactly on my To Do list. So what did I mean when I wrote those vows in 2005?
Remember that song? It came out about 15-20 years ago. I need to dance again. I want this to be my dance. I want this to be my husband’s dance. I want to go through this life dancing with my husband. I want to dance with my family and friends.
So said, so it shall be. Forgive me if I step on your toes.
Given my current situation, I decided to try to find a Physician who is informed, specialized in, and was challenge worthy of curing what ails me. I have been filling out forms galore! I went through one entire Health Park and one Internal Medicine Hospital.
Let’s see, I have traveled all over my state in the USA. The money for fuel, hotels, dinner, co-pays, prescriptions, job loss and overall mental stress is not what I am upset about. That’s just collateral damage. One’s Health is priceless. So I pushed from one end to the other of specialists, general, and …
Well, you name it, I was there. Husband in hand. Mother as a barracuda. Even a very close friend from work -all to be my “Rock”. I am always thankful to them. ❤️
My research is self-sustaining (when I don’t have brain fog, or a headache, or simply exhausted). It is also self-torture. I have gone through Social Media, Libraries and Journals.
I know a lot about Hypothyroidism. Throw some Auto Immune Disease in there too. Oops, don’t forget the Hashimoto’s Disease, Migraines, Hormonal Imbalances, Anxiety, Depression, Hopelessness, PTSD, Seizures, Food Intolerances, hair loss, Vertigo and Concussions due to falling. have had all of these symptoms/experiences in the past four years. This past year January 1, 2016 through today my “experiences” have become a million
times worse than when all of this started.
Kinda Cool Part<<<<<
ed that blood tests are not really necessary in my case, because they don’t test the cells which make up the body. The cells which make us human don’t get tested. Blood does. Thus getting a normal lab result is counter-intuitive to discovering the cause of my woes.
, I was declined by both attempts of becoming a patient of an Internal Medicine Hospital as well as the ENTIRE Health Park. Hmmmm. As Shakespeare would say, “Much Ado About Nothing”.
paign called “The Broken Brain” by Dr. Hyman. I watched the trailer, then I signed up for the free online Docu-series. There are eight episodes and over fifty doctors who attest to the information presented:
“With 1.1 BILLION lives compromised by brain issues EVERY day, I know this documentary series will provide vital new information, expert connections and most of all, hope.”
e wellness center in MA. They don’t accept insurance. They charge approximately $10,000.00 for their two days of service.
The similar wellness clinic in my state (as there are many centers across the country) also does not take insurance either.
o an article I read this evening, those involved were exasperated and out of money. You should read it. Alas, they have hope!
I like how the author states “When one doctor or specialist had tried everything in his or her repertoire, we’d move on to someone else.After enough traditional doctors couldn’t dial her health in, we eventually moved on to alternative doctors and treatments – chiropractic, acupuncture, herbal supplements, meditation, and on and on…”That’s (This is) the reality (body image, weight gain) for some women. With multiple issues and body systems affecting each other and playing off each other, it can be pretty challenging to get everything into balance.blockquote>We found that this condition involved so much more than just physiology. So many elements played into this diagnosis – it was about stress, food, lifestyle, belief systems, relationships and more.We have spent the last 20 years, and almost $300,000, diving deep into this dis-ease. <<<<<<<<<
ut my future, as well as my husband and family’s future. Watch the attached video shared from YouTube. It’s thought provoking. I may not have a cure or a new place to dig in and research, but I have hope (kinda, sorta, maybe; depends on the day).
Yep, that’s right. My email address is getting way too many messages. Anyone else in this boat?
I’m not putting this out there for bragging about or fishing for compliments. I’m putting this out there because I am not going to read them all. Any coupons, weekly ads, going out of sale ads, or relisting of items that I was outbid on previously are going to my trash and junk.
—-UPDATE—- 112 Emails as of 1:43 pm —-
I prefer emails from family or friends. There, I said it. The biggest offenders in my inbox are WalMart and GFS. Hint*. There’s only two of us and we are not interested in 5 gallons of potato salad, nor products for infants. I know, I know, I am not the only person they send ads and emails too. But they can take me off of their lists, for like, ever-ish. (That’s a word… ever-ish. I add ish to a lot of words now. Given that American English is a living language I can make up all kinds of words -if I wanted to; alas I shall stick with ish words for the time being.)
Which brings me to my main objective in this rant… if brick and mortar stores and webstores are insisting on emailing me, I would at the very least want the information to relate to either me or my husband. I know that there are algorithms that exist for this very purpose. They’re imbedded in those fun, little, member cards.
Again, don’t get me wrong… if you are a real, human, family member or friend, I promise not to put your communications in Junk. It’s bad enough that I refuse to answer my phones anymore because of the crazy spamming going on.
Honestly I am not sure about which is worse…🤔. The phone ringing incessantly or my inbox stretching itself out so much.
It’s obvious to consumer’s that sellers are desperately trying to communicate with us all. Did they all invest in the Nigerian Prince with a great opportunity? (Haha).
I know that I did not register for a trip to Bermuda, Florida, London or Paris.
I also know that I do not have a Windows based computer which needs an unsolicited computer tech.
I am aware that my credit card is doing just fine. So you must be making the error on your end.
I know that my vehicle is not under warranty and that I can purchase a new warranty or vehicle which comes with a brand new warranty.
I am not a fax machine.
The Nigerian Prince is NOT Raj from The Big Bang Theory; and neither exist in reality. (Bummer. I like the character traits of Rajesh Kuthrapoli)
Oh the list is endless at this point… Sadly so is my patience. So I shall leave you with these parting words of wisdom.
About ten years ago (+\- five years) and yet another fifteen years prior to that. This will make sense for you, (the readership in a few moments… hang in there.. I promise. Trust me.
I traveled to Arizona for a visit with my grandparents, sister and mother. It was time to find a full service, independent living, facility for my grandparents.
The three of us toured a few facilities each day until we found our ideal space for the distinguished Patriarch and Matriarch of my mothers’ side of the family. It took a lot of convincing to get them to see it, much less than the actual move from their condo to a facility we chose.
It was nice. They allowed my grandparents’ cats, furniture and even had it’s own kitchen. The forms were signed. Their condo was up for sale and I had to get back to Michigan.
Within a couple of months I got a call from my sister. She wanted to get a Tigger tattoo and wanted my opinion. I have a tattoo on my hip bone of Opus the Penguin. I got it when I was seventeen, so in my sister’s mind I must remember the experience…. eh… I didn’t. Seventeen and tattoos were common in my generation; remembering the details, not so much.
I did my best to explain it to her, but jeez that was fifteen years ago.
After many months of looking she decided to bring the multitudes of Tigger to a top three. In this process she had found a few other ideas that would be good on me and my mother.
She wanted all of us to get (at least one) matching tattoos. I laughed and questioned her rationale.
“It would be a bonding experience.”
Within the week I was getting pictures from my sister with a very noticeable Tigger tattoo on her calf. She even showed it to our grandmother for review. Apparently our grandmother approved and asked questions about it -the process, design, and pain. She and my sister often did Tigger themed things, like this cake, for instance.
The holidays had me back in AZ later that year. I laughed every time my sister brought up the “group tattoo idea”. However, by then, my mom had agreed to do it. My sister must have been quite convincing. They were going on and on about yin yang symbols, turtles, paw prints, etc. I was still holding firm on my “No.”
I had underestimated my sister because the day after Christmas she admitted something…
She had a plan.
We all had to agree on the design and body location.
We had to find a clean and reputable establishment that was handicapped accessible.
We had to go into it with a “No Regrets” mentality.
I was still not in love with the idea or plan. Besides, why did it have to be handicap accessible? So I asked.
Wait for it….
My sister continued, “…Grandma wants to go too. So we will just swing by her new nursing home, check her out for the day, let her go first with her tatt, get ours, and then grab something to eat, sign her back in to the nursing home without drawing attention to ourselves and Ta Dah. No biggie!”
“We are NOT kidnapping Grandma, tattooing her in a handicap accessible (air quotes) tattoo parlor, having a late lunch and then sneaking her back in to her nursing home without anyone noticing ‘something different’ about Grandma.”
“Awwww c’mon. She really wants whatever we’re having.”
“Are you crazy?! No! Soooo beyond no! We could get in serious trouble for that. Oh My Lord. (*sigh) Did you tell mom?”
“She liked it.”
Of course she did.
This dialogue continued back and forth for quite some time -months.
My sister stayed on this kick for awhile and is over it now (I think). Our grandmother passed away within a few years -tattoo free. My mother is still tattoo free.
Part of me wonders, did my grandmother have a seventeen year old self who always wanted a tattoo, like me? What would she have chosen at seventeen?
I don’t doubt that she entertained the idea then, or at my sister’s plan sixty years later. I can only fathom what 1945 art was acceptable for her standards. She was a nurse back then. She had seen it all, and knew the human body quite well. She would know where we could keep it hidden and respectable.
This past Autumn, my sister, mother and I were together again and I brought up the group tattoo idea. We thought about it, tossed around some ideas and then got back to our independently busy lives; somehow still remaining connected.
Maybe the next time we get the chance I can get us all to agree on a tree. More specifically The Tree of Life. It would be a Family Tree of Life!
“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)